“I don’t think it’s broken.”
“Huh?” His words break through my thoughts.
He brings his hand back, but this time it’s holding a bag of ice wrapped in a dishtowel. “Here. Hold this there. Should get the swelling down.”
“Thanks.” I groan and hold the cold to my cheek, wishing it was his hand instead.
Snap out of it! Having dirty thoughts of Rex does me no good. Remember who he is and why I’m here. A wave of nausea rolls through me. I’m not ready for this. I drop my head back to rest on the couch.
“You’re one tough broad, Mac.” He stands and moves into the small kitchen. “You took that hit like a man.”
“Ha. Yeah . . .” Taking a hit for Rex feels good. I mean my cheek hurts like hell, but the pain is relative. Knowing that I saved Rex from even one hit makes it easy to take.
I hear him moving around in the kitchen, and it sounds as if it’s a space he’s comfortable in, one he’s been in before. But who lives here?
“You want something to drink? Water, there’s some red juice and um . . .” I hear him moving stuff around in the fridge. “Starbucks coffee crap.”
“Water would be great.”
He drops back onto the couch next to me with a bottle of water. Cracking open the lid, he hands it to me. “Here.”
I sit back up and take a shallow gulp to avoid hurting my face. “Ahh, that’s perfect. Thanks.”
Silence settles between us, so I take my chance to ask. “Nice place. How long have you lived here?”
“This isn’t my place.” He fidgets a little but catches himself before it’s too obvious. “I live a few doors down.”
We’re in an apartment, in his complex, that he has a key to. What the hell? “Whose place is this?”
He avoids my eyes. “A friend, um . . . my neighbor. She’s out of town for a few days.”
My stomach drops. She. She! The girl from this morning. That’s why he was helping her with her bags. Holy fuck! He’s seeing his neighbor. He probably spends the night over here most nights, wrapped up in her arms, curled together on this couch. Ugh . . . I feel sick.
My jaw locks so tight my teeth ache and pain rockets through my cheek. The room starts to spin. I pinch my eyes closed. “Oh no. I think . . .” Yeah, I’m going to barf all over Little Miss Perfect’s pea-green plaid couch.
“Whoa, you don’t look so good.” I feel his hands on my shoulders, laying me back. “You probably have a concussion. They’ll make you sick, puke . . . it’s not pretty.”
I don’t have a fucking concussion! I’m sitting on your girlfriend’s couch. Probably where you two, oh no. Don’t throw up, do not throw up.
“You sure I can’t take you to a hospital?” There’s a new tone in his voice that I haven’t heard before. Is it . . . worry?
“I’m fine. I just want to go home and sleep—”
“Fuck no.”
My eyes pop open and snap to his. His eyes flame with anger.
“Rex, I can’t sleep here at your—”
“No, you should be at a hospital. But if you refuse to go, you’ll sleep here.”
“Here. At your girl—”
“Yeah. Why not?” He motions to the short hallway that leads to a bedroom I can see from where I am. “There’s a bed, probably plenty of girlie shit in the bathroom, and something to change into. Emma won’t mind.”
Emma. So that’s the bitch’s name. “I’m sure she’ll mind.”
“I’ll crash out here on the couch so I can check on you every few hours, wake you up and ask you shit.”
“No. You don’t need to do that.”
He lifts his pierced eyebrow, and I’m suddenly curious about what it would taste like if I kissed him there. Ugh, stop it.
He shrugs. “You goin’ to the hospital?”
“No, I told you—”
“Right. So you’re here and I’m waking you up every couple hours.” He holds my stare. Seconds pass.
A small smile curls my lips. “If those are my only choices—”
“They are.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“I’ve been called worse.” A very relaxed and equally gorgeous smile plays against his lips.
“Fine. I’ll stay.”
He nods and leans back, putting his feet up on the coffee table and crossing his arms at his chest. “Settled.” He pivots toward me. “And you call me stubborn. That’s three times tonight I’ve had to beg you to let me help you.”
I study my lap to avoid his probing glare. “I’m not used to people wanting to help me.” Especially the one person whom I promised to help. I could’ve saved him from the abuse if only I’d been smarter, older, more aware. If only I’d asked him, forced him to tell me what he was going through. God, all those men. He was a child, a defenseless boy!
“Mac?”
I peek up at him to see his concerned eyes on me. “Yeah?”
“You’re going green again. I think you need to lie down.”