22. Reed #2
Wilder watches me move, lifting the duvet so I can maneuver myself easier, and reaches over me to turn off the lamp, plunging us into darkness except for his phone.
Only then does he get comfy himself, pulling his shirt off over his head and tossing it on the floor, his focus going back to his phone.
“You’re staying,” I say carefully. Not exactly a question, but still his eyes snap to mine. I’m not sure he can see me now in the dark, and yet still I feel his stare burning into me.
“Is that a problem?” he asks, arching a brow at me, and I shake my head.
“No, I have sleepovers with my friends all the time.”
Wilder snorts at that. “Yeah? And how many of them suck your dick?”
I chuckle. “Not enough of them honestly.”
“Go to sleep you brat.”
I’m smiling so wide now that I’m surprised the cut on my lip doesn’t start bleeding again, as I sink even further into the pillows.
I let myself look over him silently, the dull light of the phone leaving me in the shadows enough to get away with it.
His whole upper torso is broad and muscular, no doubt from all the working out and swimming he does to stay fit for racing, and I can’t help but appreciate it.
There is only the one lone tattoo that sits on his chest, and I mildly wonder what means enough to someone like him to etch it onto his skin forever. “What does it mean?” I ask, nodding toward his chest, even though I know he can’t see me. “The tattoo I mean.”
“It’s the ASL sign for I love you,” he tells me instantly, letting his phone drop to his six back, as his fingers come up to brush the dark ink. “It’s for my mom, she’s deaf.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“She got into a boating accident when she was a teen and it left her permanently hard of hearing, so she became fluent in ASL. Then my dad learned it when they met, and the two of them taught it to me, Jason, and my cousins when we were kids.”
That makes me smile, thinking of a young Wilder, learning ASL so he can communicate with his mom. “You’ll have to teach me some.” I yawn before I can stop myself, my body now actively fighting against falling asleep, and Wilder dims the brightness on his phone.
“Why? Are three languages not enough for you?” he taunts, and I huff a laugh.
“That’s rich coming from the guy who also speaks three.”
Wilder only shakes his head. “Just go to sleep, Blue,” he scolds, his rough tone sliding over me like a warm caress.
“Goodnight, Wilder.”
“Goodnight, Reed.”
When I wake up the next morning I feel stiff, heavy, and warm everywhere except for my ribs, and when I flick down my eyes I see the reason why.
Wilder is asleep beside me, still on his side of the bed, but I’ve somehow moved so I am right next to him.
I know my body is stiff from what happened yesterday, but I find Wilder’s hand draped over my side, holding a fresh ice pack in place. That explains the cold.
What I can’t explain is why he felt the need to stay here and look after me in the first place? Why does he even care?
I shift slightly, hoping to get up quietly and let him sleep, since I know he struggles to, but the second I move his eyes fly open. “What’s up, are you okay?” He's sitting up before I can even answer, his hand still holding the ice pack in place, as his eyes scan my upper torso.
“I’m fine, just need to pee,” I tell him honestly, and he climbs out of bed instantly and moves to help me.
“It’s okay, I can do it.” As much as I appreciate him trying to help, this isn’t my first rodeo when it comes to dealing with injuries at the hands of my father.
Wilder grimaces in response, but nods, letting me go unaided.
When I reach the bathroom and flick on the light, I cringe slightly at the state of me.
The bruising is out in full force now, a large black eye staining my left eye, and both my cheek and lip are still slightly swollen.
The marks on my neck are also darker today, and will take a lot to cover up.
I need to dig out a shirt with a nice thick collar, and work overtime on some concealer.
I decide I may as well grab a quick shower while I’m in here, so I use the toilet and then strip off my shorts and let myself stand under the hot spray.
In some places it feels like little pine needles are piercing my skin, but I just grin and bear it and gently wash up.
Once done, I towel myself off, and then sling another towel round my waist and head back into my room.
Wilder is laying back on my bed, still without his shirt, and the second I enter, his eyes trail over me like molten lava.
I try not to shift under his attention, and head straight to the desk to sit down on the bench and dig out my makeup.
I wince in pain, and within seconds he’s at my side, reaching into my suitcase.
“What do you need?” he asks, looking at me expectantly, and as much as I wish I could do this alone, and have him not see me like this more than he already has, I reluctantly sigh.
“My makeup bag, it’s at the bottom of my suitcase, underneath that pile of trousers.” I point where I mean, and he dutifully digs through them until he locates it and hands it over.
Then, to my surprise, he straddles the bench seat beside me and watches carefully, as I pull out what I need and start to apply.
Forgoing all the stuff I love to wear, I grab only a color corrector and some concealer, focusing on some gentle skin care first. Then I apply a mix of the two products in all the areas that need it, focusing mostly on the black eyes.
Wilder watches me silently as I go through each step, before I see him frown in the mirror. “I know makeup isn’t for everyone,” I rush to defend, but that only deepens his frown.
“What?” he asks, completely confused, but before I can respond, he is picking up the small sponge I use to blend in my concealer and dabbing it gently against my face.
“You missed a spot here.” I freeze in place, letting this broody and masculine racer help me do my makeup, biting back my smile the entire time.
“Better?” I ask when he’s done, turning to check out his work, and he’s right, my bruises do have more coverage now.
“I think you need some more,” he replies firmly, and I snap my gaze to him, before checking myself over again in the mirror.
“Why? Did I miss somewhere else?”
WIlder shakes his head. “No, I just think you look hot as fuck when you wear a full face of makeup,” he states matter of factly, and my heart jumps in my chest at his words, as I meet his stare.
“Makes my dick hard too,” he adds, and it’s safe to say I won’t need any blush today, because I feel the heat in my cheeks instantly.
“You’re ridiculous,” I whisper, but he only shrugs.
“Made you smile though.” And he’s right, I am smiling, and I didn’t even realize it. “Also, you didn’t seem to be complaining when you were cuddling me all night.”
I wish I could refute him, but I recall how close we were when I woke up earlier, and it was me encroaching on his side of the bed, not the other way around. “I hate you.” It’s the only comeback I can think of, and now he’s the one smiling.
“No you don’t,” he tosses back, letting his stare trail over me one more time, before he groans a little and jumps off the seat, making his move to leave.
“Where are you going?” I ask, watching as he grabs his things and makes his way to the door.
“To get ready for training, I’ve got a PR assistant to impress.” He winks, before turning on his heel and leaving my room, without even stopping to put on his shirt.
His reputation for being trouble really is true, but it seems I’m the one in bigger trouble, because his presence is becoming not just addictive, but comforting too.