Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Thanks.” I hand Oliver the warm washcloth, noting the way his eyes immediately drift closed. Exhaustion or pain? “Eddie, want to get this bloody shirt off him and I’ll go get some pants on?”
“Sure thing.” Eddie turns then seems to remember why he was facing the wall in the first place and gives us his back again.
I head toward the bedroom, but behind me I hear, “I fucking swear, if you don’t get your eyes off her ass, I’ll cut them out.”
Eddie sounds unfazed. “Maybe I just want a good look at the first girl I’ve ever seen you twisted up over.”
Oliver grunts and says something I can’t make out.
“You heard the woman,” Eddie says, once I’m in the bedroom. “Strip.”
“What the fuck are you, my nurse?”
I shut the door behind me and wonder what Eddie means. Does Oliver talk about me? Or are Eddie’s comments really just a reaction to whatever Oliver’s been saying to explain my presence here? Are Oliver and I supposed to act like a couple that’s living together, or does Eddie know what’s up?
I step into a pair of Oliver’s sweatpants because I don’t have any of my own and don’t feel like squeezing into my jeans right now.
When I return to the living room, Eddie’s taken my spot on the couch and Oliver is patting his bloodied side with the rag. “Jesus,” I say, surveying the damage.
“It looks worse than it is,” Oliver says.
I drop to my knees in front of him, snag the cloth from his hands, and take over where he left off. “What happened to you?”
He’s right; it’s not that big of a cut and there’s not as much blood as I thought. His rain-wet shirt made it look more gruesome than it really is.
“Someone doesn’t like losing,” Eddie says from the couch as he flips through the channels.
“Losing what?”
“Losing fights,” he says. He stops on the History Channel and puts down the remote. “This ancient Egypt shit is so cool.”
When I look up from cleaning his wound, Oliver’s smiling down at me. “What?” I ask
He shakes his head. “Just didn’t know you cared.”
I glance over toward Eddie, who seems totally happy to keep his attention on the TV.
“I just don’t want you bleeding out. I’m not an asshole,” I say. “Who did this to you, anyway?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Chuck jumped him after the fight,” Eddie says.
“Fucking hell, man,” Oliver growls. “Don’t bring her into it.”
“What?” I jump to my feet. “Chuck did this?” I spin around in a circle, looking for my phone. “I’m going to call him and—”
“Chill, Cujo.” Oliver hooks two fingers into the waistband of my sweats—his sweats. “Relax. I’ll take care of it.”
“Why did you fight him? I thought you didn’t do that anymore. And why would you agree to that when you knew he was pissed about what happened with me?” I bite my bottom lip. “He did this because of me, didn’t he?”
“He did this because he’s a dick,” Oliver says. “He couldn’t beat me in the ring, so he tried to jump me with a knife afterward. But he’s not fast enough, and I’m fine.”
“Oliver, I’m so sorry. I—”
“Hey.” He tugs me toward him until I collapse into his lap. He searches my face, but his gaze snags on my mouth for a few too many beats, and I think he might be about to kiss me, and I want that kiss more than I should. More than I ever thought possible. “Relax,” he murmurs. “I’ve got it handled.”
I swallow hard. “You should call the police.”
I try to stand, but he loops his arms around my waist and holds me still. “It’s handled.”
Eddie’s phone buzzes, and he pulls it from his back pocket before scowling down at it. “Fuck. Again?”
Oliver chuckles then winces and grabs his side. “Roommate?”
“We had an agreement, but this is the third time this week,” Eddie says. “It’s getting ridiculous. I can’t take another night on the lobby couch.” Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll get a room at the Holiday or something.”
“Dude,” Oliver says, “that’s unnecessary. Just crash here.”
Eddie looks back and forth between us. “You two really don’t care?”
My eyes widen. I’m not sure I want to answer this question. If Eddie sleeps on the couch, where will Oliver sleep?
“It’s totally cool,” Oliver says. He glances at me. “I’ll sleep in the chair.”
“You’re hurt,” I object. “If anyone’s going to sleep in the chair, it’s going to be me.”
“You think I’m going to have you sleep out here with Mr. Roaming Eyes just so I can sleep in a bed?” Oliver asks. “Woman, I’m not that soft.”
I bite my lip.
“I can sleep in the chair,” Eddie says. “It’s totally cool if you two are, like . . . saving yourselves or something. Wouldn’t want to be the one who put you in temptation’s path.” There’s a question in his tone and his eyes that Oliver doesn’t answer.