I threw my arms up in frustration and defeat, and even that hurt. Damn it. “Yes, the air mattress is most certainly the devil’s work. I don’t want to hurt Yael’s feelings, but I can’t keep sleepin’ there. It tries to suffocate me every night, and I’m pretty sure my spine is tied in knots.”
“Maeve.” He shook his head grimly.
“You’re sayin’ my name again.”
“You should have told me,” he groused. After a second, he climbed to his feet and held his hand out to me. “Come on. You’ll stay with me.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I did not move my behind, even though my behind felt like it was on fire.
“Do I need to haul you over my shoulder?”
“That would be physically impossible.”
He gave me a long stare. “Care to test me?”
“I’ll break you.”
He exhaled through his nose, hands going to his hips. Standing over me, he looked stern and powerful, and perhaps entirely capable of carrying me.
“You might break me, but it won’t be because of your weight.”
I heaved myself upright without his help and patted his chest. “Bless your heart, you’re dramatic. I am not in the man breaking business.”
I started toward my room, but he caught my arm. “Where are you going?”
“Packin’ my things so I can go to your place. I expect the bed to be made of clouds, though. You’ve really raised my expectations.”
“Let me help.”
I flipped my hand around in the air. “All I need is my hoodie.”
“Myhoodie?”
“If you mean the hoodie that used to be yours, but is now very clearly mine, then yes.”
He ended up helping me gather most of my stuff and carried it out to his truck. I walked my proud ass next to him, carrying a fluffy pillow under my arm and a small bottle of Gatorade. Santi tucked me into his truck, then drove us in silence to his historic rowhome in Fells Point, a part of Baltimore with cobblestone streets and water views.
The inside of his house was warm, comfortable. It didn’t screamrock staror wild parties or debauchery. I liked it. It was simple, with its weathered wood floors and exposed brick walls, but it was also far nicer than anything I’d be able to afford…maybe ever. And though I’d grown up in a big house, a place like this would be my ideal.
Of course, I didn’t say any of that. I let Santiago lead me through the house, barely nodding when he pointed out bathrooms and light switches. When he took me into what had to be the master bedroom, I finally did speak up.
“I’m not sleepin’ with you.”
Sighing, he tossed my bags on the small bench at the end of the big bed. “I know. But this bed is more comfortable than the guest bed. The sheets are fresh. No fabric softener, but I think they’ll do.”
I snorted. “No fabric softener? Oh, you.”
I wanted to protest, but my back was protesting enough for us both. I felt like a steaming pile of crap. I was desperate to get some solid rest. It’d been three weeks since I’d slept through the night, which I figured had to at least be partially to blame for my current illness.
Santi pulled back the covers and patted the bed. “Get some rest. When you cool off, I’ll bring you the heating pad.”
Out of arguments and weak with fatigue and fever, I climbed into Santi’s bed. This would have been a fantasy come true when I was eighteen. I wished I could go back to that time, pinch my younger self’s cheeks, and say,“Bless your heart, sweetie, you’re so dumb.”
Santiago’s bed was the stuff dreams were made of. Soft, but not too soft, with a fluffy comforter that smelled so fresh and clean, I’d be burying my face in it as soon as I was alone. The man himself stood over me, taking in the sight of me in his bed. My eighteen-year-old self would have translated the look as longing. But now...well, I didn’t know what the hell he was thinking. Not longing, that was for sure.
I must’ve dozed off, because the next thing I was aware of was a careful hand on my forehead, brushing my hair from my face.
“Mmmm.”