Page 13 of When the Smoke Clears

Inside, I set Maci gingerly on her side of the bed.

Her cheeks warm with color before it disappears. “You can’t keep me locked up here for the next two weeks.”

I stuff another pillow behind her and fluff them to prop her comfortably. “I don’t plan to. But even if I have to tie you to the bed, your ass is chilling out today.”

“That could be fun.” She grins with a coy tone.

The corner of my mouth tugs but I push it away, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Not what I mean, and you know it.”

“I know playing protector comes naturally to you, but in case you haven’t figured it out by now, I can’t sit here all day. It’s not possible.” She runs a hand through her hair, but it gets stuck and she makes a face, untangling her fingers from the knotted strands. “I need a shower.”

“You weren’t listening during your discharge, were you?”

“Oops. Must have left those instructions in Izzy’s car.” Her lips pull together in a tempting purse, and she blinks rapidly at me.

Again, I try to smother a smirk. Her safety is important, no matter how frustrated she is or how irresistible I find her. “No problem. I was listening for the both of us. No showers ’til tomorrow night.”

Her green eyes go vacant for a split second before they scan the bed and side table. She leans to her right, reaching for a hair tieshe’s spotted. A tiny grunt follows as she gets stuck trying to sit upright again.

I’m already moving and grip her ribs, adjusting her back onto the bed. “You trying out diving, Firecracker?”

She breathes a small laugh, even though her face drops in annoyance. “I just want to pull my disgusting hair up.”

I keep my hands to myself. They itch to help her, as stubborn as she is. I don’t want to reiterate that she’s had surgery and it’s ok to accept help. “Let me guess; you don’t want my help with that either.” The weight of my feelings for her settles on me, and this time I don’t hide my gentle smile.

“It’s gross, but if you insist.” She presses the black band between her pointer and middle fingers and lifts it to me.

An unexpected win, but I maintain my stoic face. “Ponytail or bun?”

She stares at me with her mouth slightly agape.

“They’re the only two styles I’ve seen you wear besides a braid, and I’m not going to embarrass myself by attempting that,” I explain.

A light blush dusts her skin, reaching up her neck to her face. “A bun.”

“Full disclosure,” I stand and move to her side, “I’ve never actually done this before. This may come as a surprise to you, but my sister never asked me to help with her hair.”

She breathes another laugh. “I wouldn’t know if that’s normal or not. But don’t worry. Nothing can be worse than it is now.”

“Good. You’re setting your standards low.” Dirty or not, her dark hair still feels soft between my fingers, which I use as a makeshift comb, transferring everything to one hand. I’m not actually sure what to do from here. “Now what?”

Mirth coats her voice. “Twist it and then wrap it around itself. Like…like you’re making a cinnamon roll.”

My brows tighten. “A what?”

“Ok, that wasn’t a great analogy. Sorry, I’ve never taught anyone how to do this before.”

Gently, I pull the fist full of hair back, encouraging Maci’s face to look up at me. “We need to work on your teaching abilities.” She swallows.

I grip her hair tighter, keeping her in place as I plant a soft kiss on her lips. “Don’t worry, I think I’m good.”

“You are,” she mumbles as I right her head and begin twirling the hair. Her posture softens, and she seems to relax as I work.

“How’s that?”

“Perfect.” She doesn’t touch the bun. Maybe can she tell some other way.

“Good. Are you hungry? I can grab some lunch.”

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