Page 5 of Cannon
I’m going to make her something to eat,
then take it up and see how she’s doing.
* * *
For once,my minor in dietary science is going to come in handy instead of annoying the shit out of everyone. There are certain foods that Elliot needs for concussion recovery, and while she’s a smart girl, I doubt Little Miss I-Only-Have-Coffee-For-Breakfast realizes how important her nutrition is right now. My brain takes a swift detour to the day I first found out about her eating habits, and I grow warm all over. What a spitfire. Maybe it makes me a masochist to get turned on by the memory of the pain of her grabbing my balls. Though… maybe not because I don’t remember particularly enjoying it as it was happening. It’s only now that the thought of my spunk bunkers in her grip makes me wanna hunt her down and fuck her.
Anyway, I’m unsure what her reaction will be to what I’ve prepared for her, but I guess I’m about to find out. With one hand carrying the tray, I pat the other on her door. From the faint noises on the other side, I can tell she’s awake.
“Who is it?” Her muffled voice sounds… strained. Kinda weird. Off.
I sigh, not knowing if she’ll figure out it’s me if I don’t respond.
“Kingston?” Her voice is quiet, barely audible.
I slide my tongue over my bottom lip before I bow my head, heaving out a dismayed breath.
“Archer?”
My forehead pinches, and my teeth gnash. Comeon.Shewouldcall their names first. I’d be lying if I said disappointment didn’t rise right up to the top of my throat before it unleashes to flow through my veins. Women… they’ve never been easy for me. I would have thought with the disciplined and rigorous routine I’ve adhered to for so long, I’d be more comfortable and less worried about freaking out in front of a girl. But no. My brain is as fucked up as it’s always been. Literally and figuratively. It’s like a never-ending cycle I can’t escape.
“Cannon?” Her voice is louder when she says my name. “Is that you?”
With a flattened hand, I pat the door once, pause, then three more times quickly and wait.
A moment later, the dead bolt Kingston installed flips, and Elliot pulls the door open, squinting at the light in the hallway like she’s slept away most of the day. I give a low grunt of approval. Sleep is good for her right now. Her face is free of makeup, and her superlong locks are piled on top of her head. For a split second, I worry whether having her hair up with a hairband might cause her pain, but then I notice it’s loose, like she hasn’t used a tie at all, but has made a messy knot out of her own hair. If she wasn’t concussed, I’d like to tug it free and run my fingers through it.
Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I allow my eyes to scan downward. I recognize the T-shirt she’s wearing as the one she’d put on last night after our shower, and that does all sorts of crazy things to my insides.
She looks at me quizzically as she grips the door. “I’m supposed to be resting.”
I nod, holding out the tray in front of me with one hand, and gesture with the other that she should take it.
Elliot peers at the salmon, broccoli, and brown rice. “You cooked for me?” She brings her arms up as if she’s going to take it, but then folds them across her chest.
Nodding, I offer again, but several strained moments pass. Unable to figure out what the expression on her face is all about, I frown.The fuck?
She should be hungry, so this standoff is bizarre. Finally, with a tiny huff of what seems like exasperation, she takes the tray from me, and I let out a relieved breath. My eyes follow her for a moment as she heads over to the little sitting area on the opposite side of the bed and sets the tray on the coffee table. Slowly, I cross the threshold into her room and shut the door behind me with a soft click.
She turns around, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and rests her hands on her hips as she watches me close the distance between us. “What are you doing?” Her face flushes a pretty pink color.
Fuck, she’s pretty. Even when she seems a bit irritated. I gesture to the tray.
As I approach, she glances at me, but doesn’t make a move to start eating, so I quirk my brow at her.
“Um.” Her face falls, and she shakes her head. “I’m not hungry—”
I press my lips together, not buying that for a second.Woman. Eat.I point insistently at the tray in front of her, then tap the side of my head, hoping to get across why I’m being so insistent. She scowls and shakes her head again, so I put up my hand and dig into my pocket for my phone.
I inhale deeply before letting my thumbs fly over the keyboard on my phone.
You’ve gotta be hungry.
You haven’t eaten.
Protein and omega-3s are important.
For concussion recovery.
