by AJ Nuest
“That’s right, I forgot.” She knuckled one of her eyes and his focus fell to the slouchy pink socks bunched around her ankles, the adorable way she twisted one foot to the side. “You’re a morning person, aren’t you?”
A yawn cracked her jaw, and he shook his head as she repeatedly blinked those heavy-lidded eyes that had always commanded his full attention. Made everything else in the room shrink and blur out of focus.
“Sorry. Old habits.” For as long as he could remember, his internal alarm had been set to six hours of shut-eye. Any more and waking up on the streets—or in foster care—usually brought on a world of hurt. He nodded toward his laptop, keeping their gazes locked. “I was working, but I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“No, no, I…” Her focus fell to his bare torso, and she tucked the sides of her robe more squarely over her chest, wrenched that damn belt a couple inches tighter. “Not your fault. I should’ve been up hours ago.”
He squinted as she nervously hooked a piece of hair behind her ear, glancing at the floor, the wall, the window. Anywhere, but at him.
What was this now? Some screwy insecurity peeking through? Why? Because he had his shirt off?
Hell, maybe he should march over there and back her against the wall. So she’d get it through her head that even in that loud, fluffy bathrobe she was full-blown sexy 10.0.
“What smells so good?” She pivoted toward the kitchen and took a halting step forward. “Have you been cooking?”
“I had some time to kill, so I made breakfast.” Shortly after their conversation last night, she’d headed for a bath and then bed, and he didn’t like the idea his crashing on her couch had made her skip dinner.
They’d already missed enough meals. Neither of them needed to be passing on any more.
He tossed his shirt over his head and stuffed his arms into the sleeves, tugging the snug fit down his sides. “I’m no Bobby Flay, but I can work out how to scramble a few eggs.”
A slow swivel of her head, and the frown riding her brow was reformatted by a hint of surprise. “Wow. I think you just knocked my socks off. No one’s made me breakfast since…” Her shoulders fell. “Well, you.”
Jesus, there was so much subtext hidden in that sentence, he didn’t even know where to start. So. He cocked a brow. No guy had made breakfast for her since the morning she’d left Malcolm’s, huh? “Then I guess you’re overdue.”
Sack of shit that he was, a part of him got all geeked out to learn he’d been the only guy to ever cook for her. Starting for the kitchen, he made a pit stop at the table and pulled out a chair. “Come on. Have a seat.”
And the rest of him? Damned if it wasn’t really pissed off.
The scent of her sleep-sated skin sweetened the air as she sat and he adjusted her chair. Shit, she smelled like heaven. A caramel apple he wanted to nibble and then lap up the sugary syrup until there was none left.
Unable to resist, he leaned down and brushed a whisper across her ear. “Good morning.”
She shivered against his lips and the temperature in her apartment went from comfortable to the heat of a solar flare as he pivoted for the kitchen.
In the time they’d been apart, he wasn’t dumb enough to believe Charlie had never spent the night with anyone. Unless every red-blooded male in the five boroughs had lost the use of their five senses, it was pretty much a given she’d had her fair share of hook-ups. Not that the tally on her scorecard mattered to him, and since the two of them comparing a list of sexual partners held about as much appeal as giving a wet willy to a light socket, he wasn’t about to ask.
He poured her a cup of mint tea and carried it to the table with a pile of frosted cinnamon scones.
“Aw crap, you found my kryptonite.” She dug in before he’d left the table, snatching one off the plate. “I can’t resist.” A few crumbs stuck to the corner of her mouth, and sweat popped along his hairline as she used the tip of her finger to push them back inside that tempting spot with the rest. “Sorry. These are my favorite.”
Sorry? And why would she have to resist? He’d been hoping he’d remembered right, counting on the fact she still loved them as much as she had as a kid.
A grunt left his chest, and he strolled back to the kitchen.
As her friend, he’d always wanted the best for her. From the second she’d found him holed up in that Chicago subway maintenance building, he knew Charlie’s giving nature made her worthy of every happiness.
But that’s exactly where the signal went haywire in his head.
Using a mismatched set of oven mitts, he pulled two plates of scrambled eggs from the oven and eased the door shut with his foot. To hear none of the dickheads she’d been with could be bothered to Google how to scramble a fucking egg was bullshit. It was the mornings after that counted. Or, at least, he assumed as much since he’d never stuck around long enough to find out.
Hell, maybe she hadn’t either.
And, yep. He was right back to the grinning dork he’d been at sixteen.
“Careful, these are hot.” He centered the plates before their chairs and walked the mitts back to the counter, grabbed the orange juice and cubed melon from the fridge and joined her at the table.
“Mmm…” She slid a forkful of eggs onto her tongue, and her moan of appreciation radiated through every cell in his body.
Christ, did she have any idea what that sound did to him? How he would’ve easily offered the passwords to his entire network to have her whimper like that underneath him, over him, hot and heavy as she chanted his name in his ear?
His knee ratcheted to a fast bounce under the table as he stared at his food. So not what he wanted to eat right now.
Another bite, and she plucked a paper napkin from the holder, pressing it to her lips. “I gotta say, this is a far cry from the soggy cereal and burned toast you made me last time.”
His stomach muscles worked a dry chuckle. “I trashed two omelets before opting for those Cheerios. Trust me. You got the better end of the deal.”
Her quiet laugh thickened the air. Made it dense. Hard to breathe. But based on the way his jeans tightened like a vise, his cock loved the sound. Flexing against his groin, the head prodding his fly like it was wide awake and ready for more.
He speared a cube of melon and crammed it into his mouth. Tasteless. Bland and mushy as a wet sponge. A shitty substitute for everything he craved, just out of reach on the opposite side of the table.
He swallowed and cleared his throat. “So, what hospital is Ellis staying in?”
“New York-Presbyterian.” Charlie broke off another hunk of her scone. “Takes about an hour to get there by bus.”
“We’re taking a cab.” Not up for discussion. There were too many people on a bus. Too many chances they might get separated. She knew that, otherwise she would’ve never agreed to let him tag along. “Both there and back, Chuck. My treat.”
She squinted, and his focus dipped to her mouth as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. His cock sat up straighter for a better peek, and he locked his molars in a hard grind.
Apparently, his grin wasn’t the only thing that thought it was still sixteen.
“Okay, before this goes any further, I gotta ask. Are you positive you want to get involved in this, Xander?” She lifted her mug and cupped it in both hands, easing back in her chair. “To tell you the truth, I’m not exactly sure what I’m dealing with yet.”
Good. She hadn’t wasted a bunch of time by trying to brush off his concerns as if they were unreasonable. Hadn’t tried steering their conversation onto another topic in some weak attempt at throwing him off track.
Whatever was going on with her, whatever she wasn’t telling him, at least she’d admitted that much. Seemed only fair he lay down the same amount of honesty in return. “Until we do, you should know I’m not going anywhere.”
She searched his face, but she could use those incredible blue eyes on him however she wanted. He
wasn’t changing his mind.
“You would do that?” Sitting forward, she returned her cup to the table, trapping the steam by placing her palm on the rim. “If it turns out I can’t leave, you would stay in New York and miss the funeral?”
Damn straight, he would. He owed her that much and then some. Even though keeping her safe was about more than reconciling his guilt or the way it had stopped him from searching her out years ago.
During the next twenty-four hours, he had a lot of work to do if he planned on clearing up any confusion about why he was here. To figure out where she stood as a result and decide if telling her what he’d done would cause more harm than good. “Heartless as this may sound, Malcolm and Viv are already dead. They don’t need my help. You do.”
Pursing her lips, she tapped her nail against the side of her cup. “All right then, tell you what. How about we treat this like any other job. You help me and, in return, I pay for your services. Square deal, regular rate.”
Aw, hell no. He collapsed against the chair, crossing his arms. “We’re friends, Chuck.” Hadn’t they already reestablished that? “Friends don’t pay. If she’d called me two weeks ago and asked for my help, I would’ve done the exact same thing for Eden.”
Charlie sputtered. “Eden? Miss even-Steven, cause and effect, everything must remain equal at all times or planets will collide, Eden?” She waved off his comment. “I’m not sure she’s the best example to plead your case. She would’ve found a way to pay you back and we both know it.”
Dammit. His knee resumed its silverware-rattling bounce.
One of the things he’d always appreciated about Charlie was her street smarts. The way she could wield common sense as if it were a cocked and loaded semi-automatic.
Appeared as if it was time he reassess that whole deal.
Her bangs shimmered in the light as she shook them out of her eyes. “Look, all I’m saying is what you’re suggesting goes beyond the limits of normal friendship. Getting me to the hospital and back is one thing. The two of us shacking up until we figure out who’s gunning for me is another.” She opened her palm over the table. “That could take months, for all we know. I can’t expect you to put your life on hold for that long without some sort of compensation. In fact, it would make me uncomfortable if you did.”
Months, huh? The two of them shacking up for months?
Whether here or in Chicago, that didn’t sound like any big hardship. “Are you offering me terms, Chuck?”
Then again, coming to some sort of agreement would definitely take care of the guesswork. Define things in a way that would make her comfortable with him hanging around.
Raising her mug for another sip, she fluttered her lashes by way of a response. But if she thought a bunch of stupid ground rules were gonna stop him from using every moment he got to his fullest advantage, the woman was in for the surprise of her life.
The friend zone sucked. And he’d been stuck there long enough. “Okay, I’m listening.”
“Shocking as this may sound, I don’t take orders well. I’ve been on my own a long time and I’m not about to let anyone bust in here and start telling me how to do things. If you’re serious about helping me, then I expect to have a say in everything.” She aimed her finger at the table. “And I mean everything, Xander.”
So she wanted them to be partners. Make all decisions together moving forward. Yeah, he still wasn’t getting the problem. If the call were his, they’d work as a team for the next sixty years. “Fine. Anything else?”
“Yes.” Her eyes softened at the corners, and he unlocked his arms as she lowered her cup to beside her plate. “Regardless of how this plays out, we agree that, no matter what, we’ll always be friends.”
Hands down, that was a no-brainer. Reaching across the table, he coaxed her fingers off the mug and threaded them through his. He’d been an asshole for letting her go the first time. No chance in hell he was about to repeat that mistake.
“I don’t want to lose you again. If there’s any risk of that happening, I’d rather call it quits right now.” Her grip tightened in his. “I waited ten years for you to show up at my door. It would really suck if I had to wait another ten.”
The corner of his mouth inched up in a smile. Yep. There were definitely some challenges ahead. But agreeing to her suggestion would also give him some much-needed time. An understanding they would stay together so he could figure out when and even if he should come clean. “I’m gonna do my damnedest to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
She grinned, rocking their hands side to side. “Good.”
As of this morning, he still wasn’t sure whether or not Charlie had ever considered exploring the benefits side of their friendship. If it turned out he wasn’t her type, the smarter option might be to spare her the headache altogether.
Neither of them could change the past. Those days had disappeared a long time ago. But that didn’t mean the future was outside his control.
Starting this second, he was going to do everything in his power to convince her they belonged together. And when the right moment came, he’d tell her the truth…and then beg her forgiveness for being such an all-consuming prick.
“So, how expensive are you?” Her hand slipped from his, and she reached for her tea.
Shit, they were back to this? The woman needed a new SD card. “Tell you what, Chuck. How about I charge you the same fee I earned from my last job?”
“Perfect.” She stood and grabbed a second scone off the plate. “Whatever it was, I’ll be happy to pay you in cash.” She turned from the table and he zeroed in on the tempting swing of her hips, fingers itching to yank her backward onto his lap.
Too bad the penalty would be worse than her finding out he hadn’t pocketed a single dime.
An evil chuckle pushed against his breastbone as she sauntered down the hall.
“Be ready to leave for the hospital in ten minutes, Dade. I’m getting dressed.”
Not that he’d had the first clue what to expect, but the children’s oncology ward inside the Morgan Stanley wing of New York-Presbyterian was a lot more colorful than the preconceived images that had been floating through his head.
Xander trailed a step behind the steady click of Charlie’s heels, assessing every person they passed and committing each face to memory.
Uplifting inspirational messages welcomed visitors and incoming patients. Swirls painted in bright primary colors decorated the walls. Children’s artwork hung framed around every corner and even the floor had been tiled in a geometric pattern that reminded him of a hopscotch board.
He had to hand it to the decorator. The place was a lot more…optimistic than he’d anticipated. Upbeat even, which went a long way toward conveying the staff’s commitment in caring for the kids who were unlucky enough to have a room reserved for them on the inside.
A young woman glanced up from the desk as he and Charlie rounded the nurses’ station. Her eyes snapped over for a double-take, and she smiled, scanning him from head to toe.
Green eyes. Brown hair. Small scar above her left eyebrow. Check.
Not that he was overly concerned. Xander bobbed his chin and her smile grew. Even though several shady characters had been loitering outside Charlie’s apartment building, none of them had seemed out of place. There’d been no sign of a tail on the cab ride over and they’d hit the hospital’s front door without drawing any unwarranted attention.
Still… Never hurt to play it safe.
Charlie sighed—loudly—and he peeked at her out of the corner of his eye. “What’s the problem?”
She stopped at room #432 and turned to face him, her hand on the silver lever that doubled as a knob. “You stick out like a sore thumb. Can’t you just try to be…I don’t know. Less attractive?”
Uh-huh. He cocked a brow, taking his own sweet time absorbing every delicious inch of her. The long, red cardigan that hit her mid-thigh, the relentless promise of something
white and lacy that made his mouth water every time her slouchy collar slipped off one shoulder. Those tight black leggings bunched around her ankles, over a pair of stacked heels that made his cock pound in anticipation if he risked the visual of them draped down his back.
By some chance, her remark wouldn’t have anything to do with how that nurse happened to be the third one to smile at him since they’d hit the premises, would it?
Funny, how those sarcastic nips kept bringing her insecurities into sharper and sharper focus.
He strode one step forward and Charlie’s spine collided with the door. But the woman was bat-shit crazy if she thought for one second she didn’t shut down all the other ladies in the place. Hell, on the way in, her determined, sexy strut had turned the head of every Y-chromosome in a ten-mile radius.
She smacked her hand on his chest. The tips of her fingers dug into his pec. But her elbow kept right on bending until he’d brought them nose to nose. He angled his chin and her lashes fluttered. “You set a high standard, Chuck. Just doing my best to keep up.”
A derisive snort shot from her throat and their breaths mingled. The tempting sweetness of her coated his tongue.
Not a second later, she rolled her eyes and pushed backward into the room, her fresh scent gusting past his face and yanking him forward as if she led around him by a damn leash.
He stepped inside and his grin pulled an abrupt about face as everything went gray. Gray walls, gray floor, gray blankets on the bed. As if they’d left Judy’s Technicolor world in Oz and crash-landed back in the monochrome black and white of dustbowl Kansas.
Charlie sang a cheery greeting, but any optimistic impressions he’d received in the hallway careened straight toward the gray sky between the blinds, smacked the window and slid down the wall to the floor.
No wonder she’d been panicked to get here. Even the thin, bald kid propped up in the bed was gray.
Christ, life sucked sometimes. Xander scrubbed his hand across the stubble on his jaw. Cancer. And the kid was only ten years old.