Read Online Never Been Kissed by Molly O'Keefe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Molly O'Keefe
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bunched across the bottom.
At the sink, his back was to her so she didn’t bother not staring.
He had a scar near his spine and another at his shoulder, a long jagged slice.
Was that all from the IED blast?
Once ten years ago when she’d asked about his knee, the limp, he’d told her it had been reconstructed. She’d made a joke about being bionic but he hadn’t laughed.
Now when he crossed the room with her glass of water, pain meds, and a banana he didn’t limp.
“Here,” he said and she took the pill, drank the water, and let him peel the banana for her.
“Thank you.” She took a giant bite of the banana, managed to chew it and swallow though the smell turned her stomach.
She handed back half the banana and shuffled toward the bedroom.
“You need to eat.”
“I need to sleep.”
“Ashley …” He was concerned, which at any other point in her life would have been something to marvel at, to study and ponder, perhaps frame, but at this point she didn’t care. His concern was just one more thing between her and sleep.
“I’m not paying you to be a nurse, Brody,” she said, using her mother’s voice, and he was silent. Immediately she regretted it. She regretted everything that threw them into each other’s orbit.
“You could leave,” she said.
“I’m not going to leave.”
“I’m not a whole lot of fun right now.” Her lame attempt at a smile didn’t work. He stared at her with his level, knowing eyes and again she wanted to cry. “I’m … I’m not very good at needing people. I’m the one who is needed and it’s making … well, I’m just not myself. I’m sure you have far more important things to do than watch me sleep and walk me to the bathroom.”
“I’m not going to leave.”
“Brody.” She sighed. “I want you to leave.”
His silence, his stony gaze said it all. He wasn’t going anywhere.
In the bedroom she shut the door behind her and crawled back into bed.
Brody’s back was never going to survive the futon. It was just not made for his body. His feet hung off the edge, the bar hit him low across the spine. He shifted, trying to find a spot that wouldn’t feel as if he were being stabbed in the back, but there was no such place.
The futon wins,
he thought and sat up, the sheet falling across his lap. He ran a hand over his chest, and face, through his hair.
It had gotten hot in the night and he’d thrown off his T-shirt. He sat on the uncomfortable futon naked but for his boxers.
Through the window over the sink in the kitchen there was blue sky. Bright sunlight. He checked his watch. Noon. Nearly twelve hours of sleep, give or take the few interruptions when Ashley woke up crying. Or that last one at dawn when she had to go to the bathroom.
He turned, his muscles protesting, and looked toward the nearly shut door of the bedroom. Through the crack he saw one long tan foot poking out from the sheets.
What had seemed like a great idea during their GreatEscape from New York in the Arkansas sunlight struck him as ridiculous.
He’d brought Ashley Montgomery to a shabby one-bedroom apartment over his brother’s bar.
Yes. Great plan, Brody.
And now she was having nightmares in a saggy double bed with only him to look out for her.
I want you to leave.
As much as he wished he could take her up on that, he couldn’t leave her here in the shape she was in.
She needed something to keep her looking and moving forward. And a bath. She really needed a bath.
From the coffee table he grabbed the phone Harrison had given him and sent him a text asking for Kate’s number.
That should motivate her out of bed.
Hard to say which creaked louder as he stood, the floor, the futon, or his own body. He took a few minutes getting his knee under him; it ached hard in the joint.
Junk filled the tiny apartment, which was still and quiet like a tomb. He hadn’t opened any windows last night, and the air sat heavy on the futon, the white wooden cupboards, the rug
At the sink, his back was to her so she didn’t bother not staring.
He had a scar near his spine and another at his shoulder, a long jagged slice.
Was that all from the IED blast?
Once ten years ago when she’d asked about his knee, the limp, he’d told her it had been reconstructed. She’d made a joke about being bionic but he hadn’t laughed.
Now when he crossed the room with her glass of water, pain meds, and a banana he didn’t limp.
“Here,” he said and she took the pill, drank the water, and let him peel the banana for her.
“Thank you.” She took a giant bite of the banana, managed to chew it and swallow though the smell turned her stomach.
She handed back half the banana and shuffled toward the bedroom.
“You need to eat.”
“I need to sleep.”
“Ashley …” He was concerned, which at any other point in her life would have been something to marvel at, to study and ponder, perhaps frame, but at this point she didn’t care. His concern was just one more thing between her and sleep.
“I’m not paying you to be a nurse, Brody,” she said, using her mother’s voice, and he was silent. Immediately she regretted it. She regretted everything that threw them into each other’s orbit.
“You could leave,” she said.
“I’m not going to leave.”
“I’m not a whole lot of fun right now.” Her lame attempt at a smile didn’t work. He stared at her with his level, knowing eyes and again she wanted to cry. “I’m … I’m not very good at needing people. I’m the one who is needed and it’s making … well, I’m just not myself. I’m sure you have far more important things to do than watch me sleep and walk me to the bathroom.”
“I’m not going to leave.”
“Brody.” She sighed. “I want you to leave.”
His silence, his stony gaze said it all. He wasn’t going anywhere.
In the bedroom she shut the door behind her and crawled back into bed.
Brody’s back was never going to survive the futon. It was just not made for his body. His feet hung off the edge, the bar hit him low across the spine. He shifted, trying to find a spot that wouldn’t feel as if he were being stabbed in the back, but there was no such place.
The futon wins,
he thought and sat up, the sheet falling across his lap. He ran a hand over his chest, and face, through his hair.
It had gotten hot in the night and he’d thrown off his T-shirt. He sat on the uncomfortable futon naked but for his boxers.
Through the window over the sink in the kitchen there was blue sky. Bright sunlight. He checked his watch. Noon. Nearly twelve hours of sleep, give or take the few interruptions when Ashley woke up crying. Or that last one at dawn when she had to go to the bathroom.
He turned, his muscles protesting, and looked toward the nearly shut door of the bedroom. Through the crack he saw one long tan foot poking out from the sheets.
What had seemed like a great idea during their GreatEscape from New York in the Arkansas sunlight struck him as ridiculous.
He’d brought Ashley Montgomery to a shabby one-bedroom apartment over his brother’s bar.
Yes. Great plan, Brody.
And now she was having nightmares in a saggy double bed with only him to look out for her.
I want you to leave.
As much as he wished he could take her up on that, he couldn’t leave her here in the shape she was in.
She needed something to keep her looking and moving forward. And a bath. She really needed a bath.
From the coffee table he grabbed the phone Harrison had given him and sent him a text asking for Kate’s number.
That should motivate her out of bed.
Hard to say which creaked louder as he stood, the floor, the futon, or his own body. He took a few minutes getting his knee under him; it ached hard in the joint.
Junk filled the tiny apartment, which was still and quiet like a tomb. He hadn’t opened any windows last night, and the air sat heavy on the futon, the white wooden cupboards, the rug
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