Page 62 of Hiss and Make Up
“I’m going to check on y’all later tonight, but call me if you need anything.” Freddy nodded toward the bathroom. “He’s stubborn. Do not hesitate to call me if I need to drag his butt to the hospital.”
She smiled. Marc was lucky to have this guy in his corner. “I have no doubt. And I’ll hold his feet.”
Freddy shouted down the hall, “Later, man! I’m leaving you in good hands!”
Marc grumbled from the bathroom, and Freddy winked at Sierra before he left. She locked the door behind him and debated whether to check on Marc. He was still pretty pissed.
Instead, she went to the back door and waved at the dog through the glass. Happiest flea-bitten mutt ever. The bowls of food and water made her feel a little better about leaving the little guy there. He didn’t look like he would be much trouble, but she'd have to call the vet and some rescue groups over the next couple of days.
It was a shame. He fit back there. Like he was the dog Sierra and Marc always wished they’d had when they were kids. Sierra’s dad had been a lost cause on the issue since he didn’t believe in pet ownership as a matter of principle. But Marc’s parents already had a fenced-in yard and everything. Their old dog had died when Marc was a baby. His mom was already tired of cleaning up after kids, so no matter how much Marc and Sierra begged and dropped hints, she wouldn’t agree to another dog.
Now here was this little guy, dropped in their laps like the dog they never got to have as kids. Only they weren’t kids anymore, and Marc seemed even less enthusiastic about the idea than his mom had been.
Sierra dug through Marc’s freezer and found a couple of empty ice trays, a frozen pizza, mozzarella sticks, and an unlabeled container of something that might have been soup a few years ago. Not a single bag of vegetables she could use as an ice pack.
When Marc emerged in the hallway, he had a black and gold jersey crumpled in his hand. In one swift motion, he removed his T-shirt and tossed it across the room onto a side table. Then he stood there—shirtless, muscles tense across his back—as he waited for the opening kickoff.
Sierra caught herself holding her breath. Andstaring.
Ever since that wasn't-supposed-to-mean-a-dang-thing kiss and the almost-hot-sex-in-the-workshop, she couldn't shake this jittery feeling around Marc. Her Marc. The Marc who was supposed to be part of her past. And Sierra had strict rules about not digging up the past.
Now she was staring at him shirtless in his living room, trying not to pant like a dog or jump on him. She stuck a finger in her mouth and chewed on her fingernail to keep herself from doing either of those things.
To her disappointment, a whole pile of men tackled the guy with the ball, so Marc slid his jersey over his head.
"What?"
She shook the image of him half-naked from her head.
“You’re being weird,” he said. “I mean, weird for you.”
“You’re imagining things. It’s the concussion.” She pointed at his head. “Sorry again, about that."
In truth, she was definitely feeling weird, but she wasn't about to tell Marc that. He walked to the kitchen, grunting as he passed her.
“So, this is going to be a fun evening.” It was a much better plan to keep him cranky—for the moment, at least—than clue him in on what she was really thinking about.
He pulled two beers from the fridge.
“Should you be drinking that? Maybe I should call a doctor and see if that’s okay. Or at least check the internet.”
“No.” He popped the cap off one with a bottle opener attached to his key chain. She took it when offered and watched him place the second bottle against the lump on his head. He tensed as the cold bottle hit his skin, then relaxed and sighed. “I don’t want to fight with you, Sierra.”
“I’m not fighting. I’m trying to take care of you.” Her voice sounded a wee bit pathetic and pleading, but for once, she didn’t care. “And apologize.”
He took a deep breath and stared at her. “Stay. Don’t stay. Call the doctor. Whatever. Just don’t hit me again.”
She nodded and made a cross over her heart with her index finger. “I swear.”
“Good.” He tried and failed to stifle a smile, then he cleared his throat and walked to the couch. “I’m going to sit here and watch the Saints game and write my column and make notes for tomorrow’s show and try not to fall asleep. I know that would freak you out.”
He grabbed the remote with his free hand, while the other kept the cold bottle pressed to his head.
She moved closer to the couch and examined what she could of his head around the beer bottle. “Why don’t I get you some real ice? I couldn’t find any frozen vegetables.”
“That’s because vegetables are for eating,” he said.
“And they make excellent ice packs. Peas make the best.” That was one of the first things she learned after moving in with Liz and Luna. Kids are walking bruises. “So you’re saying you recently ate all your vegetables and that’s why there are none in your freezer?”
