When we returned to our bodies, we fell asleep in a tangle of sweaty limbs on the couch.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I am here to tell you that having heart-pounding sex after you get your ass kicked might sound like a good idea, but your body will absolutely not agree with you later on.
When Desmond and I woke up an hour later, the sun was starting to set, and my entire body felt like it had been run through a paper shredder, then put back together in the wrong order, with jagged edges and little bits of tape sticking out everywhere.
Impressively, Desmond’s bandage work on my knee had held up through our sexual Olympics, so when I limped away from the couch with my underwear in hand, at least I didn’t need to get patched up again.
I took a quick shower, keeping my knee out of the water—which was precisely as awkward as it sounded—then pulled my wet hair back in a ponytail. I was in no mood to worry about drying the curls or thinking about the disaster that would await me later. I dressed in stretchy black leggings to account for my new bandage and swapped out my mangled Chloe boots for low-heeled motorcycle boots in the back of my closet. I wasn’t yet ready to bury the pool-soaked and hellfire-melted Chloes, but where I was headed I wanted comfort over all else, and that meant a low heel.
Just because you can run in heels, doesn’t mean you should run in heels.
I applied Lily’s miracle balm to the purple-hued mark on my cheek, and was impressed with how flawlessly it covered. The healing factor would help me get back to normal in no time flat. I’d have to ask her about a deep-tissue version that might be able to fix things like my knee without needing hours of downtime in the lab.
Once I was satisfied that I didn’t look like I had gone three rounds against a grizzly bear, I returned to the kitchen to go one last round with the big bad wolf.
“I owe you several apologies,” I said.
“Hey, we both got a little heated earlier.”
I waggled a brow at his double entendre, and he smirked, but I quickly put my serious-girl face back on. “No, some of what I said to you was out of line. You’re not Lucas, and you’ve never been Lucas, and for me to say that was just mean.”
“Yeah, that was a verbal testicle punch, I’m not going to lie.”
“If there’s a low blow, you know I’ll find it.”
“I’m not going to bring this stuff up again, not now, but could you at least promise me that next time we talk about this you’ll try to have an open mind and not immediately go on the defensive?” He offered me a cup of coffee, which I gratefully accepted. Years of keeping vampire hours meant I was the kind of person who really enjoyed evening coffee.
Plus he knew how to make it exactly the way I liked it.
Like most things in life.
“I can’t promise to not be defensive, because that’s how I’m wired. But I will try to work harder to listen to what you’re saying rather than coming up with ways to weaponize it against you.”
Desmond, who was having a beer instead of a coffee, stared at me for a long second without saying anything. Then he sipped the beer and gave a slight nod. “At least with an answer like that I know you’re being honest.”
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“I don’t like fighting with you,” I admitted.
“You’re so good at it though.” The glimmer of mischievous humor in his eyes told me this wasn’t his way of opening up the wound again, so I decided not to be bothered by the jab.
“Mama always told me, if you’re going to do something, do it well.”
“I thought your mom always told you, Secret, you’re a blight on the world, and I’m going to murder you.”
“Yes, and she did such a good job of trying, didn’t she?” I smiled at him and drank a swig of the coffee, which was black and bitter and absolutely wonderful.
“What’s next?”
“For us, or in general?” I asked.
“I’ve been present for all our fights, McQueen, I know what’s next for us. Us doesn’t have me worried. What’s next for you, since you’re clearly geared up to hit the pavement again.”
“Not literally, I hope. I think my rib is broken.”
He didn’t say anything about that.