Page 5 of Treat

“I think you should sit,” he said, guiding her to do just that, and since the tingles had reached her knees, she let him.

“I’m fine.” Tilly waddled over to plop down beside her, her heavy and surprisingly bony chin resting on Brynn’s bare thigh. “Really.”

Jude peered into her eyes, then shook his head. “Maybe, but I don’t think we should take any chances.”

“I’m not going to the ER,” Brynn said, swallowing panic. She could not afford that. “It’s barely a bump.”

“You know how many guys I’ve known with ‘barely a bump’ who’ve ended up puking and cross-eyed at three a.m.?”

“Yes, but they’re hockey players. They’re…” She struggled for something to say that didn’t call into question the intelligence of those in his chosen profession.

“Yes?” he drawled.

“I’m not going to the ER,” she repeated.

“Okay.” He sat down on the bed, Tilly between them, a distance that felt like not nearly enough. “Then we’ll do the at-home version of concussion protocol.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll check you regularly throughout the night,” he said. “Make sure your pupils are equal and reactive, that you’re orientated to time and place?—”

“I get it,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. But it was trembling, so she dropped it again. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

“Maybe,” he allowed. “But believe me, you don’t want to take chances with your brain. It’s either this or the ER.”

Damn, damn, damn. “Fine,” she sighed and started to stand.

His hand shot out to grip her knee, holding her in place. Tilly stretched forward to sniff at his wrist. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to sleep in the guest room,” she said, ignoring the weight on her knee and the drool on her leg and looking around for her leggings. They were on the end of the bed, behind Jude—to get them, she’d have to either reach past him or get up and walk around the bed with her ass hanging out of her nightshirt.

Not happening.

“What’s wrong with here?”

She stopped trying to figure out how to get her pants to frown at him. “I can’t stay here. It’s your room.”

“Sure, you can. You already were,” he pointed out.

“That’s…different,” she said feebly.

“How?”

“It just is,” she insisted. “You weren’t home, and…you weren’t home.”

“It’s fine, Brynn. I’ll stay in the guest room.”

“It’s full of boxes,” she reminded him. “And old hockey equipment.”

He shrugged. “So?”

“A lot of it is piled on the bed,” she pointed out. “Which isn’t even made.”

“I’ll deal with it. You’re hurt, so you’re staying here.”

She should’ve just died of embarrassment and gotten it over with. “I’m really not hurt, I just?—”

“And I’ll be in every two hours to check you,” he continued, shifting his hand from her knee to Tilly’s head. “Will she bark at me?”

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