Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

Oh god.

“Rosie!” He’s closer now.

“I’m fine!” I try to shout back, but my headache spikes.

“Rosie, where are you?” His voice has entered the bedroom.

“I’m fine. Please go away,” I say at a normal speaking voice, knowing he can hear me now.

But he doesn’t listen.

He’s a man. Of course he doesn’t listen.

“Rosie.” Nathan appears in the doorway, wearing sleep pants and a white T-shirt.

I slap my hands over my lap and slam my knees together, causing pain to zip up and down my limbs.

“Nathan. Get out.”

“Are you okay?” His eyes jump from Charles to the crutches to me. To my hands. “What happened?”

“Your cat opened the door.” I press my legs together tighter.

“But you’re okay?” His eyes roam over me. “Do you need help with…” He gestures toward the toilet paper.

“Oh my god.” I strive for a calm tone. “I appreciate the concern, but I need you to go away.”

He sighs, like I’m the one being absurd. “Rosie, I hate to have to remind you, but I’ve already seen those pretty little curls between your legs.” He drops his eyes to my lap, then back up to mine. “And when you’re feeling better, I’m going to put my mouth on them. So there’s no need to cover yourself.”

I blink at him once.

The thought of Nathan going down on me is appealing.

Very appealing.

But not when I’m currently sitting on a toilet. With my pajama pants pooled around my feet.

“Nathan, if you ever want to have sex with me again, you will get the fuck out of the bathroom. Right. Now.”

His eyes rove over me once more, his expression turning more serious. “Come to the living room when you’re done.”

Crouching, he picks up my crutches and leans them against the wall of the toilet room where I can reach them.

He takes a step back. “C’mon, buddy.” Nathan pats his thigh, and Charles lets out a sound of assent, then follows his human out of the bathroom.

Pinching my eyes shut, I don’t move until I hear the main bathroom door shut.

EIGHTY-EIGHT

NATE

Only a few minutes pass before Rosie crutches her way down the hall and into the great room.

She eyes the wall of windows.

When the sun started rising and the light started filling the condo, I realized it would be too bright for my concussed girl, so I had the hidden shades roll down to filter the light.

“On the couch,” I direct her.