Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Aury
Siobhan is an adorably terrible patient. Fiercely independent, she insists she can do everything on her own.
And I mean, of course she can. The point is, she doesn’t need to.
She ended up falling asleep on the couch last night, and she cuddled into me within minutes of her eyes drifting closed.
I thought my heart was going to beat right out of my chest and wake her up, but she slept peacefully for a few hours.
Naturally, I didn’t want to let her go, so I only nudged her awake when multiple of my limbs were numb and I was worried about losing circulation for too long.
The nurse did say to check on her after she wakes up to make sure she’s not getting more confused, which would indicate further brain damage and be a reason to take her back to the hospital.
So I dutifully asked her a couple random questions each time she woke up throughout the night, mostly quizzing her on tarot cards, although I have no idea if she answered correctly.
She seemed confident, so I figured that’s good enough.
Now it’s morning, and my arms are empty.
She bounced awake with more energy than I’d expect for someone with a traumatic brain injury.
The first thing she did when she rolled off me and stretched herself awake—apart from nearly break my brain at how enticing her little show was—was order us both breakfast.
Then she insisted on giving me a full tour and ended it by shoving me into the guest bathroom with towels and a fresh toothbrush. A guy can take a hint, so here I am, trying not to imagine her as naked as I am under her own stream of water in a bathroom feet from mine.
I sigh and step out, slipping back into yesterday’s clothes with a grimace. I’ll need to swing by my place today at some point, hopefully sooner than later, depending how Siobhan is doing.
When I walk back down the hall to the kitchen, she’s pulling food containers out of the delivery bag.
“Why don’t you go lie down and I’ll bring this to you?” I say, hoping she’ll listen despite all evidence to the contrary.
She simply darts me a droll look and pulls two plates from the cupboard. “I can’t just lay in bed all day, Aury.”
My blood heats at my name rolling off her tongue, and I swallow hard when I get a fresh hit of her earthy chai latte scent. It’s one of my favorite fall drinks, and I’m getting more desperate by the hour to see if she tastes as good as she smells.
“I have readings to do today, and I’m supposed to film content this week because I procrastinated last week. I also need to return my library books before Bea slaps me with another stack of fees.”
“Another?” I say with a grin.
“That’s what stuck out to you from all that?” She pretends to glare at me, but her lips twitch up at the corners. I grin back with a shrug.
“How about this,” I say, ushering her over to the table while I take the plate from her hands.
I load it up with food while I talk, and she pretends to pout while waiting for me.
It feels like domestic bliss, like we were always supposed to be doing this.
“Let’s listen to the doctors today. Take it easy.
And then tomorrow we can give your to-do list a shot. Hmm?”
I set the plate down in front of her and she purses her lips, eyeing me. Trying to see how serious I am? What she can get away with? I’m not a hard-ass, but I can try to be if that’s what she needs.
“Do I really need to babysit you?” I say, knowing that will get under her skin.
She huffs and picks up her fork, stabbing it into a pile of fresh fruit and sending a grape shooting across the table.
I cover my laugh with a cough and retrieve the grape, popping it into my mouth.
She narrows her eyes at me, then intentionally stabs a strawberry and presses it between her plump red lips.
The grape is suddenly hard to swallow, and I stare at her until she smirks, breaking the spell.
“No,” she finally says, all but sticking her nose in the air. “You don’t need to babysit me.”
“Great, so we’ll relax today, I’ll run home quick to change and feed my cat, and depending how you feel, reassess the whole work idea tomorrow?” I frame it as a question, sensing she won’t respond well to directives.
“Fine.” She pauses to lick fruit juice from the tines of her fork, and I wonder if she’s torturing me on purpose. “But only if you play witchy themed Scrabble with me.”
Of course she only gives up control in one area if she can seize it in another. However, playing games with her sounds divine, even if I’m bound to lose because I know nothing witchy and haven’t played Scrabble in decades.
Turns out, losing isn’t so bad when it means Siobhan lights up with laughter at every incorrect, nonsensical word I attempt to play.
Maybe I like losing when it means I end up sitting with her thigh pressed to mine so she can “help” me.
Although, with her scent invading my nose, that might be another form of torture, since I’m not about to make any moves on her when she’s still recovering.
Of course I wish she wasn’t injured, but I’ll be eternally grateful for the chance to spend this time with her.