Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
I quickly get out of the tub as he stands next to the bed, his back to me.
“Hey, I’d never sneak a look at you taking a bath or make a move on you,” he says out of nowhere. “I’m not like that.”
His words are more disappointing than I would have expected.
“Oh. Are you gay?”
He laughs softly. “No. I’m just not a guy who takes advantage of situations. You’re Dalton’s sister and he trusts me with you.”
I side-eye his back as I finish drying myself and put my clothes back on. I’m not going to argue with him because I’d have no dignity left by the end of that conversation. If he doesn’t see me as a grown woman capable of making my own decisions, I’m not going to try to change his mind.
“Bath is all yours,” I say, grabbing my book and limping over to the bed to lie down.
It takes every ounce of my self-control not to sneak even one look as he undresses and bathes, but I force myself not to. I want him to think it’s because I’m not interested in what he looks like.
Even though it’s a complete lie and I’m still daydreaming about lying against his shoulder, his arm wrapped around my back.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lincoln
Trinity’s lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Though she’s been putting on a smile more, I catch her looking miserable when she doesn’t know I’m looking. Sleep and food don’t seem to be helping her much. I’ve gotten glimpses of the feisty woman I boarded the plane with just over a week ago, but she’s not completely herself.
I was planning to go back out looking for help today, but I don’t feel right leaving her when she’s sick.
“Have you ever been anemic?” I ask her as I sip a cup of coffee from the love seat.
“Anemic? No, why do you ask?”
Should I be honest? I know she won’t like it, but I’m frustrated with trying to figure out how bad she’s feeling because she won’t just tell me.
“Anemia can cause fatigue.”
She sighs heavily. “I’m fine. It’s not like I can catch up on work emails, dude. I literally have nothing to do.”
“You don’t want to read anymore?”
“I’ve already read the books that interest me.”
I set my mug on the coffee table and stand up, stretching. “Want to do some bodyweight exercises with me? I can modify everything for your ankle.”
“No, thanks.”
I run a hand over the short beard I’ve grown over the past week. “We have to stay mentally and physically strong, Trin.”
“Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I pinch my brows together in confusion.
“Don’t try to be my team captain. I’m not a hockey player you need to motivate to win a game.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not doing that. I’m just concerned about you. The fatigue, the headache, the mood swings--”
“Mood swings?” She sits up and glares at me.
I fight back a smile. “Yeah, like just then, when you went from calm to pissed off in three seconds.”
She shakes her head. “That’s not a mood swing; it’s you.”
I ignore her and keep pushing on what’s going on with her. “It’s not caffeine withdrawal after a week; that would be over by now.”
“Will you just drop it?”
“Do I really seem like the type who drops things?”
“Why don’t you do your exercises and burn off some energy?”
I pick up my mug and take a sip. “I will, but first, I want to know what all of your symptoms are.”
“No thanks, Dr. Dickhead.”
She’s the definition of headstrong. This time, I’m not giving up, though. If there’s something serious going on with her, I need to know what it is.
“You do realize that in the past twenty-four hours, you’ve cooked me a meal, flirted with me, yelled at me, thanked me and called me a dickhead?”
Her lips part and for a couple of seconds, she seems too shocked to speak. “Flirted with you? You arrogant asshole.”
“Oh, come on. We both know you were teasing me during your bath last night. Talking about how good it felt in that sexy voice, asking me if I have a girlfriend.”
She balks. “That was me being polite. How could you possibly have a girlfriend when you treat women like this?”
I set the mug down again, walking over to the bed. “I’ll stop pushing your buttons if you’ll just tell me what’s wrong with you.”
She gets out of bed and stands face to face with me, having to tilt her head back to meet my eyes because of our height difference.
“What’s wrong with me is you.” Angry tears fill her eyes and I feel a stab of guilt. “You bitch when I’m in a bad mood and accuse me of flirting with you when I’m in a good mood. I can’t win.”
I try a softer approach. “I see you cringing when you don’t know I’m looking. It’s making me crazy not knowing what’s going on with you. Will you just tell me? I don’t care if it’s a...I don’t know, a menstrual thing or whatever, just tell me.”