15. Bones
CHAPTER 15
BONES
M y head fucking hurts, throbbing in time with my heartbeat as I slowly open my eyes, knowing I probably left my blinds open like a moron. When I’m greeted by comforting darkness, I frown and sluggishly sit up.
I’m in bed in my jeans, my shirt and shoes are gone, and the blinds are shut. Huh, I guess I was a good drunk last night. Usually, I’m sloppy, since I take after my father, and it’s one of the reasons I never get drunk. I never want to be like him, but I was last night.
I was so fucking stupid, but as all the girls and some of the guys from my class kept going on and on about how amazing and hot Skylar was, well, I lost it. They only saw him for a second when we were on campus, but it was enough. They wouldn’t leave me alone about him, so I turned to drinking.
Turning my head, I spy the water and pills on my nightstand, and my frown deepens. There’s no way past Bones did that for future Bones. I’m never that thoughtful. Speaking of, how did I get home?
Oh God . . . Skylar.
Oh, fuck.
Everything comes back, and I fall into my bed, covering my face in shame.
I scream wordlessly into my hands. This is why I don’t fucking drink. I either get angry or sloppy. At least I didn’t hurt anyone or start a fight, but did I really try to kiss Skylar?
No, it has to be the alcohol. It’s blurring my memory.
Dropping my hand, I stare up at my ceiling and try to remember him leaving, but it’s blank.
There’s no way he’s still here, right? He probably snuck out in the middle of the night, disgusted by my behavior, and will never speak to me again. My head starts to pound harder, and my stomach takes that moment to growl. Ignoring my self-pity and hatred, I swing my legs out of bed and sit up. After taking the pills and drinking the water, I head to the bathroom, washing my face and peeing. I shuffle down the corridor in search of greasy, unhealthy food to make me feel better.
When I reach my living room, I freeze in shock for the second time this morning.
The blinds are half lowered here, letting in a lot of bright sunlight, which illuminates my spotless apartment. It’s never dirty, but I definitely threw some cushions around looking for my watch yesterday and left my clothes on the couch. It’s all gone. My cushions are even plumped, and drying before the open windows on hangers are my clothes from yesterday and last night.
Flowers fill vases on my table, but it is the person to my left I stare at. Skylar Warren is shirtless as he sings along quietly to his phone, which is playing music.
His back is to me, his impressive muscles bunching with his movement as he flips pancakes. I realize there’s eggs, bacon, breakfast potatoes, and French toast sitting on the counter before my chairs, and my stomach rumbles loudly as I gape.
He’s still here.
He cleaned my apartment.
He washed my clothes.
He’s making me breakfast.
I’m speechless as he turns to plate the pancakes, and then he stills, a wide, unchecked smile tilting up his lips. “Morning, angel. Did you sleep okay? I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“What is all this?” I mutter.
“Breakfast,” he answers with an arched brow.
“I mean, this . . .” I wave my hand around.
“Ah, I was up early. I guess I’m getting used to starting work, so I cleaned and helped while I was waiting. I figured you would be hungover and not in the mood to.” He shrugs. “Come eat.”
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” I ask, desperately searching for a way to get him to leave.
“Uh-uh, I was waiting for you to wake up. Don’t worry, my boss understood. I’ll eat with you and then go.” He pushes out a chair as he sits on the other one. “Come eat, I can hear your stomach from here.”
Skylar Warren is in my home, invading my space, cooking for me. People don’t come here. They don’t stay the night, and they never cook me breakfast.
He waits then sighs. “Bones, sit. I’m not going to pounce on you or anything, just eat. Don’t make me carry you again.”
My cheeks heat, and I glance away in embarrassment. When I still don’t move, he starts to stand, so I hurry over and sit. He instantly puts a plate together for me and pours me some water and orange juice. “Drink all of that, your body will need it.”
I can’t even look at him, but I pick up my fork, intending to play with my food until he leaves, but after one bite, I’m ravenous, destroying it all. When I glance up, he’s grinning at me.
“Good?”
I nod, embarrassed even further, and he reaches over, pressing his thumb to the corner of my lip and wiping. I blink as he pulls it back to show the berries from the pancakes, and as I watch, he sucks it clean and then continues eating like nothing happened.
My eyes drop to his lips before I look away. Did I really try to kiss him? What was all that shit he said? Was it just to calm me down or get what he wanted? But he turned me down, so maybe not?
I don’t know, but I don’t want to either. I dare not ask, it’s too much, and I’m still too sensitive from drinking.
“Oh, a few of your bulbs were out as well, so I changed them for you and ordered more because I noticed you were low,” he says without looking my way.
I frown. “The maintenance man changes them.”
“So? It needed to be done,” he replies as he takes a sip of juice and looks at me. “Can’t you do it?”
“I can. I just . . . didn’t notice,” I admit, feeling ashamed.
He grins. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll come change them anytime. You have a lot of other things to do.”
“Why would you change them?” I snap, dropping my fork to my plate.
He looks from it to me. “Because I like taking care of you,” he admits without an ounce of shame or embarrassment.
“I don’t need you to look after me,” I mutter, knowing I’m taking my annoyance out on him. It’s not his fault I got drunk and threw myself at him, but he’s here, so he gets my wrath.
It’s nasty but true.
He doesn’t seem to care, however, as he keeps eating, and when he’s done, he washes our plates while I just stare at him. He checks his phone and swears, grabbing a folded shirt from the side. He shoves it on and slips on his jacket. “I have to run, baby. My boss is nice, but I have a practice race this afternoon. Make sure to shower and rest, and call me if you need anything.” He hurries around, kissing my head before I can react, and then he’s gone like a whirlwind, leaving me looking around in silence.
Why doesn’t it feel comforting?
I tell myself I’m showering because I need to, not because he told me to. Balling up my jeans and boxers, I head to my hamper in my bathroom, only to stop at the bright blue sticky note pressed to the lid.
Rolling my eyes, I throw my clothes into the hamper and head to my shower, only to find a bright blue note attached to the outside of the glass.
Is he trying to flirt with me through notes? Ignoring it, I shower quickly, scrubbing every inch of me since I feel sweaty and gross. After I get out and wrap a towel around myself, I spot another note on the mirror. I don’t know how I missed these earlier, but I blame the hangover.
Ripping them all down, I stomp into my bedroom to see one on my lamp next to my bed.
Snarling, I open my top drawer and shove them all inside, right alongside the card he sent me with the flowers. Slamming it shut, I towel dry and dress in some sweats before collapsing onto my sofa and turning my TV on.
I hate lying around. I’m usually studying, working out, or teaching classes, but I don’t feel one hundred percent, nor can I bring myself to see anyone today after the ass I made out of myself last night, so I hide in here, watching Netflix mindlessly.
I try to relax, all while my brain screams at me that I should be working, cleaning, or doing something.
No, it isn’t my brain. It’s my father’s voice.
Lovely.
It makes my headache ten times worse, and the entire time I lie here, it berates me until I’m not really relaxing. I’m just trapped.
When my doorbell rings, my heart starts to pound and I leap to my feet, scanning for any mess or something to grab to make me look busy before I remember I’m in my own apartment and answer to no one. I guess old habits die hard.
Rubbing my head in exhaustion, I walk to the door and check the peephole to make sure it isn’t Sky. It’s a delivery guy, so I open it and frown when he shoves a brown bag at me. “I didn’t order anything.”
“Oh, I was told to give you this.” A blue note is handed to me, and the guy grins. “Enjoy the food!” I watch him go before shutting the door. Putting the bag on the counter, I peer at the Post-it Note.
Sighing, I open the bag and peer inside. There’s some soup, a sandwich, fruit, a smoothie, and a cake. Shaking my head, I close the bag, refusing to eat it. I shouldn’t give in to him and let him think he can do this or he’ll just keep pushing further into my life, demanding more. You give the guy an inch, and he cooks breakfast in your kitchen. What happens if I eat his dinner? I get married?
Not a chance in hell.
My determination lasts all of five minutes. The food smells too good and I’m starving.
After I demolish it, I stare at the note before my phone buzzes. I ignored it all morning after I opened a message from Alek with a video of me being thrown over Skylar’s shoulder, my mortification too strong.
Skylar: Are you having a good day?
Skylar: Have you rested?
Skylar: Are you hungover?
Skylar: I need to work late, but let me know if you’re awake later and I’ll swing by with some dinner for you.
Skylar: Make sure to sleep and drink plenty.
Skylar: I miss you.
Skylar: You were cute last night btw.
Skylar: Feel free to get drunk anytime.
Skylar: Was the food okay? I ordered from the diner you go to all the time. They mentioned that was your favorite.
Throwing my phone down, I stare at his unanswered messages. Why do I keep getting pulled back in? Last night was terrifying enough, and waking up to him here? No, he’s getting too close. I’m letting him get too close. I need to stop this.
Call it panic over what happened and about those confessions I heard that can’t be real, but I reach over and block his number. I throw my phone down before I can change my mind.
Dropping my head back, I close my eyes.
There, it’s done.
Skylar Warren is out of my life.
He’s no longer my concern.
He and his confusing feelings can disappear.
I’m better alone, a prince in his ice castle.