Page 12 of Accidentally Fudging the Beast
By the time Daniunlocks her car, my eyelids are drooping and my skin is half-crawling off my body, but my brain is wired like I mainlined espresso. The air outside is subzero, sharp enough to freeze my thoughts mid-sentence, but I let it hit my face, hoping it keeps me functioning a little longer. I need to be sharp if I'm going to wrangle her into my bed.
She guides me into the passenger seat, cranking the heater before she even buckles herself in. The car smells like her: apples, vanilla, maybe a little lemon-scented Lysol like she uses on the PT tables.
"Seatbelt," she says, her voice firm.
I buckle up, then side-eye her with what I hope is a devastatingly wounded expression. "So what's the plan? You dropping me at home and letting me die all alone?"
She's so busy checking the rearview, she doesn't even see my dramatic expression. "I was planningon getting you home, setting you up with water and Gatorade, and then calling your brother to come babysit you."
I try to look offended, which is tough when I'm smiling like an idiot. "Noah is just going to put me on speakerphone and lecture me while eating donuts. He's working a case."
He's a homicide detective for Chicago PD. He's always working a case.
She pulls out of the parking lot with the silent, grim determination of a woman who's seen too many men fail to follow basic aftercare instructions.
"You should stay with me," I suggest, casual as can be.
Her eyes snap to mine, wide and startled, before she recovers. "You're high as a kite."
"Not that high. Besides, I'm not supposed to be alone, right? What if I go into shock? What if I can't reach my phone? What if I accidentally eat more fudge?"
She snorts, but she can't hide her smile. "You're impossible."
I want to tell her that I'm desperate because she's the best thing that's ever happened to me, but I also don't want to scare her off. She's skittish as hell…and she has no idea that I'm fucking head over heels for her. I should ease her into it, right?
Shit, probably.
I don't want to do that, though. Now that I've finally gotten her outside the training facility, I want to rush rightto the good parts where she's in my arms and everything is right with the world for once.
"That's not a no," I point out instead, and then press my luck. "Come on. I'll be the world's easiest patient. Just put me on the couch and queue up Netflix. I'll be out like a light in thirty minutes. You don't even have to talk to me. Or you could talk the whole time, if you want. Honestly, your choice."
She's gripping the wheel with both hands, eyes laser-locked on the icy road, but her cheeks are bright enough to set off a road flare.
"I can call Liz," she suggests, but she's caving. I know she is.
I shake my head, letting it loll against the window for maximum effect. Desperate times and all that. I need this woman in my house. In my space. Preferably in my bed. "Liz isn't the one who tried to kill me. That was all you, Sunshine. Do you want the whole team to know you just abandoned me to fend for myself?"
"Are you trying to blackmail me, Trent Kirk?"
"Depends. Is it working, or should I try harder?"
Her lips press together in a heroic struggle not to laugh. "Fine," she says at last, tone pure martyr. "I'll stay with you. But if you so much as breathe funny, I'm calling 911."
I raise both hands in mock surrender, feeling triumphant. It's weird to be this happy while my immune system is trying to forcefully evict mefrom my own damn body, but fuck it. I am happy. Dani is spending the night at my place.
Christmas miracles really do exist.
Chapter Three
Dani
It's amazing how quicklyadrenaline wears off once you're not responsible for keeping a six-foot-three beast of a man from dying on your watch.
The entire way to Trent's place, I'm a shivering wreck with the emotional regulation of a five-year-old. My hair is also doing that thing where it looks like I just got electrocuted…which is precisely the look you want when you're about to spend the night with the man of your dreams.
In short, conditions are not ideal.
But I shuffle Trent up the sidewalk, anyway, propping his weight on my shoulder. He's not really half-dead anymore, but the odds of me getting him from the curb to his front door without one—or both—of us faceplanting into the snow are still iffy.
