Page 147 of Ripped & Shipped
Chris shakes his head and his jaw clenches.Die Hard. But way, way sexier. He’s in military mode, ready to eliminate whatever threatened me.
“Basically, I had some things to wrap up yesterday, but I got a ticket and made sure I was here as soon as I could be. Now, go change and get comfortable. I’ll order us some pizza. We can catch up over pepperoni.”
I rifle through the dresser drawers and pull out something infinitely more comfortable than this fashion-statement I’m wearing. Then I kick off my shoes and walk to the bathroom.
“... and onions!” I shout just before I shut the door.
I hear Chris mumble something like, “You and Duke and your onions.”
Once I’m changed, and I’ve cleaned my face and held a warm cloth to it while I take deep breaths to calm myself from this whole night, I rejoin Chris in my room. He’s sitting in the same chair, looking out at the lights that seem to spread out forever outside my window.
“I can’t believe you came,” I say, plopping down on the hotel bed near the headboard and fluffing a pillow behind myself to lean back on.
“I can’t believe you didn’t call me.”
His lips are in a thin line and he’s staring at me with a piercing gaze that holds me in place.
“I didn’t want you to go all Rambo. And I didn’t know how bad it was going to get.”
“What do you mean, how bad it was going to get?”
“Yesterday, Drake asked me to come over under the guise that there was a pre-party. I thought there would be other people there—influencers he wanted to introduce me to.
“But we were alone. And he gave me the creeps, so I called Meg, and we made an exit plan, and I skedaddled out of there.”
“So she told me.”
Chris is none too happy that this had to come from Meg. I get it. Maybe I should have told him. But in my defense, he’s one to call in the artillery. Literally. And I had a lot of sorting to do.
“So, I waited until tonight, knowing there would be a houseful of people there. When I showed up, he cornered me in the kitchen.”
Chris’ jaw looks like it’s about to pop. The skin on his neck is slightly red with light white splotches. That dent over his one eyebrow is back.
I get up off the bed and walk over to him, nestling myself on his lap. I brush my thumb over his brow, trying to soothe away that telltale sign of stress and concern.
“I took self-defense. I could have given him something to remember me by, don’t worry, Soldier.”
Sure, I’m still freaking out inside, but Chris is here. And something about the way he’s distraught over this makes me want to lessen his worry. He doesn’t have to know how I really felt—my tears in the lobby probably told him all he needed to know about that anyway.
“You think you could have defended yourself?”
“Yeah. I could even take you down if I needed to.”
I so couldn’t.
“Right. We’ll have to see that one day. We can use the high school wrestling gym.”
“Bring it, Big Boy.”
He chuckles, his face relaxing a little.
“Tell me the rest, Boots. I promise not to drive to that jerk’s house and hang him off his back patio.”
“That’s an awfully specific promise.”
“It’s one of the plans I considered on the flight. And that was when I only knew about yesterday.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath. Then I look into Chris’ eyes. There aren’t words for the way he’s looking at me. I lean in and hug him. Yes. I want to tell him the story—at least in a general way. But more than that, I just want him.
