Page 97 of Cheap Shot
“You did not. They’re orange with little black cats on them,” Cole snipes back, causing me to giggle softly.
“Exactly. Thought it might keep the little demon over there from attacking us.”
“Imhotep likes you. He’s guarding me,” I say, trying not to laugh and wince at the same time. “He does this. You’re lucky he hasn’t clawed you yet.”
“Hehasclawed me,” Cole whines, his eyes narrowing at the cat as he strolls by, taking another swipe at his ankles. “See? Hates me.”
Cole sets the basket down on the table like it’s an altar and starts unpacking it with quiet care—pain reliever, eucalyptus balm, one of those cooling gel eye masks. A literal get-well survival kit.
“Dinner’s handled,” he says. “We’re doing grilled cheese and soup. Darius is on sandwich duty. He claims he’s a master.”
“Iama master. Don’t let the man slander me,” Darius calls. “Do you want it fancy or classic? I can add basil and make it gourmet.”
“Bread. Cheese. Done,” I rasp.
“Say less.”
I ease myself back onto the couch, pressing the cool washcloth to my temple again. Imhotep hops up beside me and flops across my legs like a smug king, flicking his tail in Cole’s direction with a calculated disrespect.
Cole edges around him like he’s navigating a minefield and crouches beside the couch. “How’s your head?”
“Still attached, unfortunately.”
Darius’s voice floats from the kitchen. “She’s still got jokes. She’ll live.”
Cole’s smile is soft, his eyes scanning my face like he’s memorizing every detail. Slowly, carefully, he lifts the gel eye mask from the basket and holds it out. I take it with trembling fingers.
“You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to.” He brushes his lips gently against my forehead as Darius pretends not to notice us from the kitchen, but I see the way he smiles when Cole leans in and presses a kiss to my temple.
I want to lean into him, but Imhotep shifts, letting out a low, threateningmrrrroww, and I still value Cole’s limbs.
“You take care of everyone else,” Cole says quietly. “Let us take care of you for once.”
That shouldn’t make my throat burn. But it does. I can’t remember the last time someone took care of me. To make sure that I had everything I needed. If I weren’t already half in love with Cole already, I’d be in fear for my heart. But maybe this is his way of showing me, without words, that he feels the same.
We end up curled on the couch, with Darius on one end and Cole, very carefully, on the other. Imhotep sits between us like a furry chaperone, occasionally batting at Cole’s arm if he dares move too close. They stay for hours—long after the soup is gone and I’ve changed into the new socks, which are absurdly cozy. Cole hands me my tea every time I shift. Darius tells embarrassing stories, making me laugh so hard I almost forget the pain pulsing behind my eyes.
At some point, I doze off. When I wake, the apartment is hushed. The lights are low, casting a warm amber glow across the room. A blanket—definitely not mine—has been tugged over my shoulders. Imhotep, the ever-judgmental cat, is curled into a tight ball atop Cole’s socked foot like a furry little sentinel.
“Where’s Darius?” My voice is a rasp, and when I try to sit up, a dull throb pulses behind my eyes. Cole gently pushes me back down with a shake of his head.
“In a twist even soap operas would envy, he lives in the same building as you. With my brother, Cooper, and his aunt.”
“Hewhat?” I screech, instantly regretting it as pain slashes through my skull. I hiss and squeeze my eyes shut.
“I probably should’ve explained that one better,” he says, wincing with me.
“You think?” I mutter.
“I’ll tell you everything,” he says, lips twitching into a crooked smile. “But only if you lie here and relax while I do. It’s a doozy.”
“Deal.” I sigh and sink back down, adjusting until I’m snug against his side. He lifts the blanket again, draping it higher over my shoulder, his fingers grazing the soft curve of my arm.
His eyes find mine—steady, searching. There’s an unspoken question there. We haven’t touched much—not with the migraine or my feline bodyguard—but now his hand inches toward mine, and I don’t pull away. His thumb brushes the back of my hand—warm, calloused, steady. It sends a quiet flutter through my chest.
“Are you feeling any better?” he asked softly.
