Page 73 of Knot So Sweet
But it was special. And we both know it.
She studies my face like she's trying to solve a puzzle. Her eyes trace over my features, and I fight the urge to squirm under the scrutiny. When did someone last look at me like this? Like they were trying to memorize me?
Can't recall that either.
"Thank you." Her gratitude stops me hard. I don't know what to do with it. Don't know what to do with the way she's looking at me either, like I did something heroic instead of just driving across town because she was three sheets to the wind and slurring my name into the phone.
She continues, "For last night. For coming to get me."
"Course I came." The words scrape out, raw in my throat like I've been shouting. I clear it, useless. "You called."
"Still." She pushes off the counter and takes a step closer. Now we're barely a foot apart in the narrow space. "You didn't have to. You could have told me to figure it out myself."
The thought never crossed my mind. Not once.
"You were drunk." I cross my arms, trying to put up some kind of barrier. But nowhere to go in this kitchen. Nowhere to retreat. "Wasn't gonna leave you there."
She chews on her soft pink bottom lip, frown deepening. Crap. How much does she remember? The way she sagged against me in the truck?
"Did I say anything last night?"
"You passed out."
She was honest. Raw. Vulnerable in ways making my heart ache. Told me things about her ex making me want to drive to wherever he is and introduce my fist to his face.
But she doesn't need to know any of that.
She nods, but something lingers in her expression. Like she's trying to piece together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.
"I should probably eat that pastry before I pass out again."
The words hit me wrong. Make my stomach clench. She's swaying on her feet, face still pale as death.
"You need to lie down." The words come out like a command. Can't help it. Every alpha instinct I have is screaming at me to take care of her. "Before you fall down."
"I'm fine."
"You're green." I push off the counter, close the distance between us. "And you can barely stand. Bed. Now."
Her eyes widen slightly at my tone, but she doesn't argue. Just lets me guide her back to the bedroom with a hand on the small of her back. The touch sends heat shooting up my arm, but I ignore it.
Her bedroom's small. A double bed with a pale blue comforter, rumpled from where she rolled out of it to be sick. Nightstand with a lamp and a stack of books. More of her scent here. Vanilla and strawberry and something uniquely her.
"Sit." I point at the bed.
She sits, looking up at me with those big blue eyes. Trusting. Like she knows I'm not going to hurt her.
The trust guts me.
I crouch down in front of her, unlace her fingers where they're twisted together in her lap. "You eaten anything since last night?"
"No."
Course not. "Drink any water?"
"A little. Before I threw it up."
I stand, head back to the kitchen. Grab the plate of pastry, a glass of water, the bottle of aspirin I spotted in her medicine cabinet earlier when the door was open.
