Page 47 of Give Me Perfect Love

I picture it streaming down his Hatter tattoo, into his wild eyes, and over his pointy chin. The thought reminds me of last night. I want him. All over again. My eyes sink lower to his ass before jumping back up when he shuts the fridge door.

“What the hell happened?” I ask, looking at his swollen face.

“It’s nothing,” he says, tossing the empty bottle into the trash before lifting his shirt from behind his neck.

“That’s not nothing.” I loosen the towel on my head and toss it back into the laundry room, ruffling my hair as I walk over to him. “Another fight, Bryce? I thought you were going to work out?” I grip his chin, turning his face to get a better look at it.

He licks his bottom lip. I release his chin and walk over to the fridge.

“I did go to work out. Some punk ran into me.”

I turn around after grabbing a bag of green peas and handing them to him.

“So, you decided fighting would be a good idea?” I ask sarcastically.

He removes his snapback and tosses it onto the countertop. “It got out of hand.” He looks me over. “You need some clothes over here.”

I look down, not ready to talk about that just yet. I walk over to the counter, tying my wet hair out of the way before I jump up on it. My muscles groan in protest. Grabbing his hat, I place it on my head.

He walks toward me, spreading my knees before placing his body between them. He smells of sweat and spicy aftershave. I run my hand over his now smooth face, a little sad that the stubble is gone, wondering what it would have felt like downthere.

“You shaved.”

I’m close enough to see the muscles beside his good eye flinch. “You’d rather I didn’t?”

I shrug, dropping my hand, looking at the cut on his lip and the redness on his cheek that I’m sure will be blue tomorrow. The small birthmark on his neck moves with his beating pulse, slow and in rhythm. “I like it either way.”

He nods. “Good.” He quick-kisses my lips before moving away from me. “I like you in my hat.” He winks. “I gotta take a shower. Be back.”

I lick my lip, tasting copper from his cut, as he runs up the stairs. On a sigh, I jump down from the counter and search for food.

Eggs, bacon. I look behind me at the breadbox. Toast. While I’m cooking breakfast, I think about how I’m going to approach the things we need to discuss.

One, I’m going to try to avoid the moving in topic.

Two, he needs to chill on fighting people.

Three, I’m going to address the use of heroin and make sure that’s not something I need to stress over. I grew up seeing that shit everywhere. I’m sorry, but that’s a deal breaker for me.

Four, the girl who was on top of him when I walked into that room at that fucking party house. Who was she? How does he know her?

I go about scrambling eggs and nearly burning bacon before I plate the food and pour us both some orange juice. Bryce walks down just as I replace the juice back in the fridge.

“Damn, is that bacon?” he asks.

“Yep. I was starving. Figured you might be, too, after working out and fighting.” I roll my eyes.

He grins before grabbing his plate and walking into the living room.

I’m confused. All the times I’ve eaten here, he’s never taken his food into the living room.

“What are you doing?”

He takes a seat and places his plate onto the coffee table, patting the spot next to him. “Come over here. I want to watch the news.”

I shrug. Claire and I eat in the living room all the time, but this is a first over here.

Bryce’s home, while comfortable, is also very clean. I’d hate to spill anything on that cream-colored couch. But I do as he asks.

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