Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 49416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
“Lyla,” I say through her closed bathroom door. “Can I come in?”
“No,” she says. “I'm mortified. Go away.” She mumbles the words and I hear the sounds of her toothbrush running as she brushes her teeth.
“There's nothing to be embarrassed about,” I assure her. “I can't just go away when I know you're sick. Can I please come in?”
“Ugh, fine,” she groans. “I can't get my stupid jacket off.”
I open the door, entering the bathroom timidly, doing my best to bite back a laugh when I see her struggling to get out of her jacket. I don't know how she's able to make looking angry as hell so damn adorable, but she does.
I move over to her, tugging on the fabric that's giving her trouble until her arms are free.
“Thank you,” she sighs, walking to her shower and turning on the water.
Heat spikes my blood at the idea of her climbing into that shower, but I keep my shit in check. She's in no condition for me to be thinking about her like that.
I move past her, double-checking the water temperature, and then whirl around when she starts getting undressed right there.
“Jesus, woman,” I groan.
“Oh, please,” she chides from behind me. “It's not like you haven't seen a thousand women’s bodies before,” she says. “I'm sure mine isn't even memorable. And I need to get into the shower like now.”
“Definitely memorable, and definitely not a thousand,” I grumble, staying right the fuck where I'm at. She may act like she doesn't give a shit now, but come morning, I know she’ll care, and luckily, I’d barely got a peek before she started sliding off her shirt.
“I need your hand,” she says, and I swear my jaw almost comes unhinged, my mouth falls open so fast.
“I'm afraid if I step into the shower on my own, I'm going to fall over,” she clarifies, and I lock it the fuck up, extending my hand backward, allowing her to use it to steady herself to get into the shower.
Once I hear the curtain close, I blow out a breath.
“Just let me know when you're done, and I'll close my eyes and help you out. I'm going to sit right here and wait for you,” I say, closing the toilet lid and taking a seat.
She giggles behind the curtain. “Never thought it'd be you helping me into the shower,” she says from behind the curtain. “I mean, helping me in the shower…I've had that dream a lot, but not like this. So freaking mortifying,” she says, almost like she's talking to herself.
It’s all I can do to hold back my laugh.
Wait, she's dreamed about me and her in the shower?
The water shuts off, quickly killing that thought, and I clench my eyes shut before I hear the curtain swing open.
Her wet hand braces against my extended arm, and she safely steps out, hurrying to get dressed.
“Okay, you can open them,” she says, and I open my eyes to see just how damn tiny she is compared to me. Without heels on, she barely comes up to my chest, and she looks cute as hell in her white shorts and T-shirt pajama combo.
I don't hesitate to follow her out of the bathroom, happy she's a little steadier on her feet as she makes it to her bed, climbing under the covers as she leans against her headboard.
She eyes the Gatorade I left open there, immediately bringing it to her lips and taking several deep swallows. She sighs after a few minutes, glancing at where I linger across her room. “Thank you for this,” she says, her eyes hanging just a bit heavier.
“Keep drinking that for me before you fall asleep,” I say, and move to the arm chair in the corner of her room, taking a seat.
“What are you doing?” she asks in between sips of Gatorade.
“Good girl,” I say out loud, nearly punching myself for the slip of my tongue. But she did as she was told, and that deserves some praise.
Her eyes flare, her lips parting for a few moments before she takes another drink.
“I'm sitting here just in case you get sick again.”
She finishes off the Gatorade, and then takes a few sips of water. “You don't have to,” she says, shifting lower in her bed, leaning against her pillows. Her eyes still on me. “I'm so sorry. I seriously didn't mean to get sick.”
“Why are you apologizing for getting sick?”
“I'm just sorry,” she says, her eyes drifting closed. “I'm feeling better. You don't have to stay.”
“I'm not just going leave you like this.”
Another soft laugh tumbles from her lips, but her eyes remain closed where she lays against her pillows. “Well, then you don't have to stay in the chair,” she says, lightly tapping the side of the bed next to her.