Page 75 of Never Your Girl

It’s always a surprise when she drops her guard. Even if it’s not entirely purposeful.

Holland is tough.

Fiercely independent.

It’s one of the things I like most about her. The girl can give just as good as she gets.

But right now, she’s letting me take care of her.

The strangest part of all this is that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

25

Holland

The sunlight streaming through the blinds is what wakes me. It’s soft and warm against my face. I blink, momentarily disoriented, until memories from the previous day come rushing back.

The fever.

The soup.

The feeling of Bridger’s steady presence after he discovered me curled up in his bed. My cheeks heat as I roll onto my side and pull the blanket tighter around me. I feel a million times better than I did yesterday, though a dull ache still lingers in my muscles. Only then does my stomach rumble, reminding me that I barely ate anything in the last twenty-four hours.

Movement beside me draws my attention, and I glance over to see Bridger sprawled out on top of the comforter, one arm slung over his eyes. His chest rises and falls steadily as the soft sound of his breathing fills the quiet room. It’s comforting in a way I can’t explain.

I swallow hard, my gaze lingering on him longer than it should.

I hate to admit just how great he was yesterday.

After finding me in his bed, he didn’t hesitate to jump in and take care of me. He made sure I ate, stayed by my side, and didn’t so much as complain once. My mind reels as a confusing mix of gratitude and fear swirls inside me.

Because as much as I liked it, as much as I liked him taking care of me… it terrifies the hell out of me.

This isn’t real.

Not in the way it feels like it is.

What I’ve learned is that relying on someone like this opens you up to all kinds of hurt.

Bridger stirs, his arm shifting as he cracks one eye open. “Caught you staring, Tate,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.

I scoff, sitting up and tucking my legs beneath me. “Don’t flatter yourself, Sanderson. I was actually thinking about breakfast.”

With a grin, he sits up against the headboard. His hair sticks out in every direction, and the scruff on his jaw is more pronounced than usual.

He looks… good.

Too good.

“Liar. You were totally staring.”

“Only because you’re taking up most of the bed,” I shoot back, narrowing my eyes.

With a chuckle, he stretches his arms over his head before letting them fall. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much,” I admit. “Must’ve been a twenty-four-hour thing. I’m fine now.”

“Good. Because you looked like death warmed over yesterday.”

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