Chapter Six
ADAM
I opened the door to my apartment and stepped inside, holding it open for Lyla.
I saw the surprise in her parents’ faces when I’d offered up my place for Lyla to stay while she recovered.
Knew there was likely some disappointment on their part, too.
That they would see her “choosing” me over them as a bit of a slight.
But I knew it was the right choice. I knew Lyla.
She was independent, and on more than one occasion had complained about how her mom worried about everything under the sun—especially when it came to Lyla’s career choice.
I didn’t think she’d be happy staying with them.
I placed a hand on the small of her back and led her to one of my oversized armchairs. “Want me to make tacos tonight?”
She smiled up at me. “Oh, I’d die for your tacos.”
I flinched. I never wanted to hear her say “I” and “die” in the same sentence ever again.
“What’s wrong?” Her brows pulled together as she stared at me.
“Nothing.” I shook my head then walked toward the back of the apartment to deposit her duffel on the bed in the spare room. I’d helped her pack it when we stopped by her apartment before coming here.
That was fun. She collected all her clothes and put me in charge of fitting everything in the bag.
I almost completely lost it when she placed a bunch of bras and panties on her bed for me to pack.
Like she didn't bat an eye. But of course she didn't. She saw me as just a friend, not a guy who would imagine her wearing said undergarments.
Regardless, there was no way I could touch them, so I did the most logical thing—I draped a T-shirt over them, wrapping it around them, and put the whole bundle in the bag.
I took a quick glance around the guest room.
I’d barely used it since Zack got his own place last year, and mostly only when my sister came to visit.
She preferred staying with me rather than with our mom.
She and Mom rarely saw eye to eye. Janet wanted freedom, and my mom didn’t care that she was twenty-four, she still had rules.
So, more often than not, Janet crashed with me.
I did a double check, making sure the room was good to go. The bed was made, dresser and nightstand clutter free. I pulled a few extra pillows from the closet so she could prop herself up if she needed to, and then made my way back to Lyla.
I found her in the kitchen, standing in front of the fridge with the door open.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Getting something to drink.”
I took the jug of orange juice from her hands and placed it on the counter. “Stubborn woman,” I mumbled, leading her back out of the kitchen. “You need to rest and let me take care of you.”
She spun toward me with her left hand on her hip and a glare trained on me. “I didn’t want to stay with my parents because I didn’t want them fussing over me. Don’t tell me you’re going to do the same thing now.”
I lifted my hands up in mock surrender. “Easy now.” Her pupils flared and I bit back a smirk. “Not trying to fuss, but, no offense, you’re a bit clumsy when you don’t have a concussion and a bad arm. I’m just trying to avoid cleaning up a mess.”
If I was Pinocchio, my nose would have grown a whole foot. Because honestly, I really did want to take care of her.
With a roll of her eyes, she reached out and swatted my stomach with the back of her hand. I fought the urge to catch her wrist and pull her against me. I’d been fighting the urge to hold her since the moment she woke up in the hospital. Maybe even before that.
I searched her face and let out a sigh. “Look, just give me a few days. Rest and let me help you. Once I’m sure you’re not going to get dizzy or lose your balance, I promise I’ll stop fussing.”
As if my words sunk into her subconscious, she reached out, gripping my arm and pinched her eyes shut. “I think you’re right.”
Shit. I laced my arm around her back and led her back to the chair, attempting to push the worry away. I knew what to expect. What to watch for. This was normal, and exactly what I thought might happen if she tried to do too much too fast. But reminding myself of all that was easier said than done.
I studied her for a moment, until she squinted one eye open to look up at me.
“I’m okay,” she offered. “Now that I’m stable, can I have that glass of orange juice?”
“Of course.” I headed back to the kitchen and poured her a cup, bringing it to her a minute later. “Here ya go.”
She opened her eyes and smiled at me. “Thank you.”
I nodded, attempting to push away the sensation that raced through me from her smile. “You’re welcome. I’m going to start the tacos. Just holler if you need anything.”
“Okay.”
As I prepared the meal, I couldn’t help but peek back in on her.
It sucked that I didn’t have an open concept apartment.
I wanted to be able to see her as I cooked.
Talk to her. Was she bored? Watching TV was out of the question for at least the first few days.
But she seemed to be resting and content, so I went back to prepping all the ingredients for the tacos.
Once I was ready to plate everything, I stepped back into the living room. “Did you want to try to eat at the table?” I hooked a thumb behind me toward the small dining area outside the kitchen. “Or in here?”
She slowly sat up straight. “Table would be nice.”
I offered her my hand, and when her fingers brushed against mine, a buzz of electricity shot up my arm and through my body. As I led her to one of the chairs, I couldn’t help but wonder if she felt it too.
“Want more orange juice?”
She scrunched her nose as she looked up at me. “With tacos?”
I shrugged. I’d seen her have weirder combinations, like pizza and milk. The first time I witnessed that, I truly thought something was wrong with her.
“Gross.” She shook her head. “Water is fine.”
I chuckled softly as I walked back into the kitchen, grabbing us both waters and bringing them back to the table. “You want yours like you usually have them?”
“Yes. Please. Extra—”
“Guacamole,” I finished for her. Months of eating at Mamacitas and a few nights of making us tacos here while we watched a movie had her preferences when it came to this dish etched in my brain.
She nodded and smiled. I stared at her for probably longer than I should have, remembering the moment in the truck as we drove toward the accident and I thought about her smile, her laugh. I turned back to the kitchen, shaking off the memory as I plated our food.
I brought our plates to the table and sat down across from her. “Your mom coming over tomorrow?”
“Yeah. She’s going to help me shower and wash my hair.”
I willed my brain not to think of Lyla naked and soapy. Friends didn’t do that. “I’ll probably run to the grocery store while she’s here. Just let me know what you want, and I’ll get it.”
She nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”
“I’ll need to let Dylan know so he can have patrol drive by while I’m gone.”
A sigh passed through her lips. “I really think he’s wrong about this whole thing.”
I cocked a brow. “Wrong about what?”
“The arsonist coming after me.” She shrugged. “It could have just been an accident. People flee the scene for so many different reasons. Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve seen that at a crash site.”
“Getting scared and fleeing the scene of an unintentional collision, sure. But Kyle was pretty adamant the car purposely ran him off the road.” I studied her before adding, “And he used to be military. Personally, I trust his instincts.”
“I do too. But, I don’t know… Assuming it was the arsonist because he thinks I can ID him seems like a pretty big stretch.”
“I don’t think it’s that much of a stretch at all.
” It was suspicious enough that they hadn’t been able to locate the kid.
But then Dylan had updated us earlier that the godfather finally turned up back at his house with a gash on his left cheek.
One consistent with an injury sustained in a car accident.
Of course, he denied being involved, and he wouldn’t give any further information on where his godson was.
She shrugged. “I guess it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
Right. Because I never wanted to experience the fear of losing her again.
We chatted about her follow-up appointment for the concussion the following week, and my first shift back later that same week. Then the usual random type of stuff we always talked about. And by the time she finished her food, it was obvious she was getting tired.
“I can clean up if you want to go in and get ready for bed.”
Her eyelids fluttered open, and she nodded. “I’m suddenly exhausted.”
“Concussions will do that.” I stood and helped her to her feet, taking a few steps with her.
She paused and looked up at me. “I’m good.”
I let out a deep breath. She chose to stay with me over her parents because she believed I wouldn’t hover. So, as much as it pained me, I nodded and watched her maneuver down the hall toward the guest room.
I carried our plates into the kitchen and began cleaning up. It wasn’t long before I heard her calling my name, and I left everything right where it was to venture down the hall to her. Standing in front of her closed door, I knocked. “You need something?”
“Yes. Can you help me, please?”
I opened the door and found Lyla sitting on her bed, face flushed red. She had the sling off, lying next to her on the mattress, along with a T-shirt. I tried not to stare at her legs that were exposed in the short sleep shorts she wore.
“What’s wrong?”
“They made it seem so much easier in the hospital.”
“What?”
“Getting my shirt off.” She huffed. “I don’t know if it’s because this shirt is too snug or my boobs are just too big. But I can’t for the life of me pull it over my head.”
I swallowed. Fuck me. Was she asking me to help her take her shirt off? Because, honestly, in all the ways I’d imagined taking her shirt off, this wasn’t one of them. I just had to hope my dick would respect the situation and behave accordingly.
Coming to stand in front of her, I helped her pull the collar of the shirt over her head.
For someone who was in an accident and spent two days in the hospital, I was surprised to find she still smelled good.
Her simple scent of vanilla diffused into the space around us.
My gaze skimmed over bare shoulders and down to where she held the shirt against her chest.
I cleared my throat and turned away from her. She didn’t need me ogling her. I was supposed to be her friend.
Just her fucking friend.
“You good?” My voice sounded husky even to my own ears.
“Um…” she began. “Yeah, I think so.”
Thank God. I took two steps toward the door before I froze when she hissed in pain. “Lyla?”
“I’m okay.” Frustration and a lack of confidence laced her words.
“Do you want my help?” I would suffer through whatever I needed to if she said yes.
“I’m just tired.” It almost sounded like she choked back a sob. “Do you mind?”
I spun slowly. The clean T-shirt sat in her lap, and she looked fucking gorgeous in just the nude-colored bra. Her tits, round and full, held my attention.
Get it together, I scolded myself, attempting to focus on the task at hand.
I picked up the T-shirt, and gently pushed the right sleeve up her arm and the neckline carefully over her head. She lifted her left arm up and pushed it through the other hole. My fingers skimmed down her sides as I pulled the material down, and I froze when I felt her shiver under my touch.
I glanced up at her, and for a brief moment I was sure desire flashed through her gaze. Stepping back, I cleared my throat.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
I nodded and turned back toward the door. “Good night, Lyla.”
“Night.”
I pulled the door shut behind me and adjusted myself. This was going to be a long couple of weeks if I couldn’t tamp down my attraction to her.
And why was that suddenly so hard to do?