Page 93 of Free to Dream
Immediately, the edge is gone. “No, Little Girl, it’s not. Why don’t you head to the bathroom and start with the cleanup? Tell me what you want and I’ll hand it in.”
“My old College of Charleston hoodie and a pair of sleep shorts. Bottom drawer dresser. I don’t care if they match.”
A few minutes later—gross clothes handed to Phil that I don’t care if he burns—I’m sitting back in bed with the ginormous bowl of ice cream cradled next to me. They must have dumped the full quart in here, with about a pint of fresh whipped cream.
Taking another blissful bite, I’m so not complaining. I’m eating this until A, I get sick. B, it melts. Or C, I fall asleep. I gently shove another spoonful into my mouth and sigh. All I need is…
The door opens.
Caleb walking in and making me forget about the ice cream.
His eyes meet mine across the room and I start to sit up.
“No, baby, don’t move,” he protests. He drops his bags near the entrance of the room and crosses it in a few quick movements. Placing his knee on the bed, he moves my dark hair away from the left side of my face and hisses.
Misunderstanding, I babble, “It just looks worse than yesterday. The doctor said since there’s no longer an open cut, I could put something on it to hide the bruising. Em has this makeup that should work.”
He puts his finger in the center of my lips to hush me. Leaning over me, he touches his lips gently on the bruise, kissing it better. My heart melts faster than the ice cream. He gently traces around my face and lips with his finger. “I want to kiss you to reassure myself you’re okay. I don’t want to hurt you though.”
“Be gentle, Caleb. It should be fine.” I reach for his jaw to angle his face toward me.
His lips meet mine, and I feel only a slight twinge where the cut is next to the corner of my lip. The kiss is slow, soft, and filled with so much emotion.
I feel Caleb’s pain, his regret, his fury, his desire, his promise. In this one kiss, he’s cherishing me. He’s worshiping me.
We break apart and our eyes lock in a bubble of desire before his sharpen and change to perplexed. Glancing down, his face changes to one of utter disgust. When I see why, I start to giggle. Maybe I should have added a final option for when I would stop eating my ice cream.
D, when Caleb’s hand ended up in the center of it while kissing me.
Lifting his hand from the puddle of chocolate and mashed peanut butter, he holds his hand carefully over the bowl. “Well, I can’t say this has ever happened before.”
My giggle turns into a full-blown laugh. I groan and reach up to my cheek to hold it, but can’t stop the snorting sounds that erupt.
His face tries to look stern, but his eyes are filled with humor he hasn’t shown for far too long. His deep laugh collides with mine and pretty soon, we’re both doubled over—me with my hand holding my bruised face, him holding his ice cream-covered hand over the bowl so as not to get it on my bed.
Finally, after our hilarity calms down, I wipe my eyes. “Let me get you a towel.”
“You are not leaving that bed for the next several days, my love.” His voice is firm with no room for argument. “I was already briefed downstairs. I know the doctor said to rest.”
“Rest, Caleb. Not be a prisoner of my bed.” I pout. The full one requires too much cheek movement.
“But that could be so much fun,” he returns with a wink.
My jaw unhinges. Ow. Wince.
“Okay. Maybe in a day or so, that could be more fun,” he amends.
“I…you. What. Seriously?” I stammer.
“Want to try that again?” he asks, amused.
Taking a deep breath, again, and again. Huh. Only three needed. “You want me looking like this?”
“Cassidy, I honestly can’t think of a time or a place I wouldn’t want you. Even if it was your hand stuck in the bowl of chocolate ice cream.”
Shit, the ice cream.
“Yell for Phil,” I tell him.
