she had, seems to have helped with any stiffness the bruising she sustained on her torso caused her, because her movements aren’t as jerky as they were earlier.
“Is your brother going to kick my ass if I go downstairs like this?” I point to the towel riding low on my hips. “Or do you think JT would mind if I borrowed more of his clothes?” They may only live a few blocks from each other, but they both have stuff for the other at their homes.
Gray eyes coast down my body, blatantly checking me out. See? I’m not the only one who does it. She’s as hot for my body as I am for hers—one of the many reasons she is perfect for me.
“No need.” She smooths down the Henley. “Yours are in the upper left.”
“Huh?” Her lips quirk at my less-than-eloquent response.
“The top drawer on the left side of the dresser is filled with your clothes.”
As much as she likes to give me shit for always trying to get my name on her by giving her my football shirts and hoodies, there’s no way she’s amassed enough to fill a drawer. Besides, even if she did, it would mean I would have to Donald Duck it because I’ve never given her boxers or pants to wear.
“Aw…” I loop my arms low on her hips, crossing my hands at the wrists and letting them hang loosely over the curve of her butt. “You gave me a drawer,” I tease.
She gives me an Of course, dumbass eye roll, the move only bringing a mild grimace with it. “You’re important to me. I wanted to make sure you felt at home here.” The complete lack of humor in her deadpan delivery hits me in the squishy part of my heart I didn’t even realize I had until I started dating her.
Oh, baby.
It isn’t flashy, but like her including my birthstone band in her collection, this is one of her own ways of making a declaration about the seriousness of our relationship. When I slide the drawer open, I’m taken aback by how full it is. T-shirts, a hoodie—both not the ones I’ve given her—a few pairs of basketball shorts, joggers, boxer briefs, jeans, and socks round out the collection.
How?
“I asked Livi to bring me a bag of your stuff to practice one night,” Kay says, answering my unvoiced question.
Herkie meanders in while I make quick work of dressing in gray sweats and a black Property of U of J Football tee. Liberating the wide-toothed comb from Kay’s grasp, I take over brushing out the last of her tangles. Once done, I give her a gentle nudge and motion for her to get in bed.
Reaching for the painkillers and bottle of water Bette left on the bedside table, I uncap both and pass them to Kay. When she’s done, I trade them out for the instant cold packs.
“Lie on my side,” I suggest, patting the side she usually sleeps on for Herkie to jump up. She’s less likely to roll over onto her broken cheekbone if she’s cuddling her pup this way.
Squeezing the packs, I smack them against my thigh to finish activating them. Peeling down the comforter, I get two in position between her tank and Henley, arranging them where I know the worst of the bruising is.
The last pack gets wrapped in a hand towel before I gently place it over Kay’s healing cheekbone. I note that the swelling has gone down considerably, but I won’t be happy until I can no longer see the discoloration from what happened to her.
Her arm goes around Herkie’s furry body as I tuck the covers in around her, hoping the blankets are enough to keep her from getting too chilled by the ice packs.
“Sleep, baby.” I kiss her forehead and give Herkie an ear scratch and a “Good boy.”
I’m closing the door behind me, making sure to leave it cracked in case the dog needs to leave, when I hear a whispered “Love you, Caveman.”
A smile tugs my lips. “You too, Skittles.”
“She good?” E asks the second I enter the kitchen.
“Yeah. She’s down for the count.” It’s not surprising either. It’s only the afternoon and this day has been packed with drama. First Kay finally gave her statement to the police about what happened. Then there was all the crap with the press at the hospital. It’s enough to make me wish I was the one who crawled into bed with her, and I’m