Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 202638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1013(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 675(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 202638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1013(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 675(@300wpm)
‘I bet your head is banging a lot harder than mine was.’ I dismiss his reminiscing and secure the towel around his waist. ‘Food and then the hospital.’
‘Hospital?’ he blurts, his voice startled. ‘I don’t need a hospital, Ava.’
‘Your hand.’ I clarify. He probably thinks I want to section him.
I see understanding surface in his eyes as he lifts his hand up to inspect it. The blood has all washed away, but it still looks nasty. ‘It’s fine.’ he grumbles.
‘I don’t think it is.’ I protest softly.
‘Ava, I don’t need to go to the hospital.’
‘Don’t go then.’ I turn and walk into the bedroom.
Following me in, he collapses on the end of the bed and watches as I disappear into his huge walk-in-wardrobe. I rummage through his clothes, finding him some marl grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt. He needs comfort. I retrieve some boxer shorts from his chest of drawers and walk back over to find him sprawled back on the bed. Just getting him upstairs and bathed has knackered him out. I can’t imagine a hangover on this scale.
‘Here, put these on.’ I place the clothes on the bed next to him, and he turns his head to inspect my selection, letting out a heavy, tired breath.
When he makes no attempt to dress himself, I pick up his boxers and kneel down in front of him, holding them at his feet. He’s done this to me plenty of times. I tap his ankle and he pushes himself up on the bed, looking down at me, a small twinkle lighting his eyes. It’s another familiar trait.
He silently lifts his feet into the waiting holes and stands so I can negotiate the boxers up his legs, but then his towel drops when I’m halfway up his body and I come face to face with his huge arousal.
I release his boxers and jump back from him, like it might burn me or something. Not all of him is broken then, I think to myself, trying to ignore the steel rod of flesh within touching distance. I flick a glance up to him and for the first time, his eyes sparkle fully, but it’s not a good thing. I’ve seen that look, more than once, heaps in fact, and it’s not what I need right now, although my body is completely disagreeing with my brain. I struggle to control the urge to push him on the bed and straddle him. I’m not risking sidetracking either of us with sex. There’s a lot to talk about.
He reaches down to pull his boxers up the rest of the way. ‘I’ll go to the hospital.’ he says. ‘If you want me to, then I’ll go.’
I frown at him. ‘Agreeing to have your hand looked at won’t make me fall to your feet in gratitude.’ I say curtly.
His eyes narrow slightly at my harshness. ‘I’ll let that slip.’
‘I need to feed you.’ I mutter, turning and walking out of the room, leaving Jesse to put his sweatpants and t-shirt on.
I need him to want to sort himself out, not just do things because he thinks it will get him closer to me. That won’t help. It would just be another form of manipulation, and I’ve got to avoid anything that influences the small part of my mind that is functioning correctly.
Chapter 4
I examine the contents of his fridge. There is nothing I can do with a can of squirty cream, a jar of chocolate spread or some peanut butter. There is plenty that Jesse could do, though – like make an Ava éclair. I shake my head on a shudder.
‘You have nothing.’ I say as he approaches behind me and grabs the jar of peanut butter.
He cradles the jar under his arm and unscrews the lid with his good hand, tossing it on the breakfast bar, before perching on a barstool and proceeding to dunk and lick his finger clean.
‘I’ll go to the supermarket.’ I shut the fridge door and make my way to the stairs.
He pulls his finger from his mouth. ‘I’ll come.’
‘Okay.’ I carry on my way.
‘I’ll come because I want to.’ he says quietly.
I stop in my tracks. ‘Okay.’
‘Ava, will you look at me?’ His voice is impatient. I don’t appreciate it.
I turn to face him, silently pleading with him to instigate a talk, but he just stares at me, looking almost mad.
‘I’ll get ready.’ I turn, leaving him in the kitchen.
I shower in the spare room en-suite, leaving myself standing under the hot water for an eternity, like it might wash away all of my troubles. When I eventually emerge from the shower enclosure, I search through my bags and find that Kate has, quite literally, chucked anything and everything in. I throw on a cornflower blue fifties dress which flares at the waist and my cream ballet pumps before rough drying my hair and pinning it in a low mess at the nape of my neck. A quick flick of blusher and mascara and I’m done.