Page 31 of Need Him Like Oxygen

We didn’t gather there as much as we used to since Renzo married Lore, but everyone was still invited over on a regular basis.

And, normally, I would be there.

At least just to show my face.

Were people going to talk when I wasn’t there?

I could probably fake it now. Get some of that makeup that hides tattoos, slather it on my face to cover the bruises, and just move more carefully, so no one saw that I was favoring my ribs.

“I’ll mention that I ran into you,” Dav said as if reading my mind. “That you were in the middle of something. They don’t need to know it’s sitting on your lovely ass and recovering.”

“I can’t ask you to lie to Renzo for me.”

“It’s not a lie. It’s an omission.”

“Which is still a lie,” I reasoned.

“Okay. You want me to tell him you’ve been crashing in my bed for a few weeks, covered in bruises, and barely able to move?” he asked, watching me shift my feet. “Exactly. So an omission it is.”

The intercom buzzed, making my whole body jolt, the adrenaline snapping through my veins.

“I’ll be eating at Renzo’s, so I ordered you dinner,” he explained, reaching in his wallet for a tip.

“I’ve been managing to feed myself for many years now, you know,” I told him, even as that gooey sensation in my chest started again.

“And now I get the pleasure of doing it,” he said as he went to the door, then disappeared into the hallway for a moment. “Eat. Get some sleep. I’ll try to be quiet when I get home,” he said as he placed the bags and a tray of drinks on the island.

With that, he was gone, leaving me to check out the bags, finding that he not only got me a coffee from the place I liked, but the lemon-lime soda I preferred, a big serving of fettuccini Alfredo with chicken and broccoli, and a slice of cheesecake.

That gooey sensation only intensified as I pulled each item out, realizing that I’d never known a man who knew how I took my coffee, let alone what dinners I liked, and what kind of dessert tended to call for me in the middle of the night.

I mean, this man had even had the delivery guy pick up a can of whipped cream because I’d mentioned once that I liked to use that as a topping on my cheesecake.

I took my food to the coffee table, eating while watching someone turn their garage into, I shit you not, a giant craft room.

And I didn’t, not for one moment, wish that Dav was sitting there beside me, grumbling about paint and wallpaper choices, or wondering how the hell two public school teachers could afford a hundred-thousand-dollar renovation.

When I was done, I made up the couch and lowered myself onto it, pleased when the movement created more of an ache than the stabbing pain I’d been dealing with in my ribs for weeks.

Did my paranoia have me placing the gun Dav gave me on the coffee table? Yes, yes, it did. I may have also stashed my mace in between the cushions and my knife under the pillow.

Then, to the sounds of drilling and sawing on the TV, I drifted off to sleep.

Which was probably why, at first, I thought it was a dream. Just another in a long line of sweet moments that led to sweaty bodies entangled in one another in bed.

It was the only explanation for how Dav had managed not only to come into the apartment, but reach down and slide his arms under my body before he even woke me up fully.

By the time I realized it wasn’t a dream, I was already being lifted into Dav’s arms and cradled to his chest.

My senses filled with him.

Tobacco, leather, and vanilla surrounded me, dizzying in its intensity.

The heat of him warmed my chilled skin.

I settled into the strength of his arms, the breadth of his chest.

Sure, I was still a bit hazy from sleep, but I felt oddly drunk on all things him at that moment.

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