Page 22 of Fight For Her
“Coby?” Her voice rasped with my name rolling off her lips. I kneeled beside the bed so I could be close enough to hear her.
“Baby, I’m here to take care of you. What do you need?”
“Water.” She rubbed at her eyes and darted her tongue out to moisten her lips. I hopped up, filled a glass from the bathroom with tap water, and watched her gulp it down. After refilling it and leaving it on the end table, I waited by the door. She was settling back into sleep now considering the rise and fall of her chest beneath the blanket.
“I’m going to head back to my room. Call me if you need me, okay?” I knew she wouldn’t. Her phone wasn’t in her purse, so I couldn’t leave it next to her.
“Wait,” she whispered. I held my breath and turned back around to face her again. “Don’t go.”
Fuck. My first thought was to hop into her bed and pull her against me, but no. That wasn’t right. I eyed the purple lounger across the room. My body would hate me in the morning, but what my girl asked for my girl got. Plus I was anxious about leaving her anyway.
“I’ll stay with you. Rest, I’ll be right over there.”
A smile lit up her sleepy face, and she snuggled back into the pillow. Stiff neck be damned, seeing her light up like that would be worth the pain.
Chapter 10
Kendahl
IgroanedasIrolled over and watched rain pelt at the sliver of uncovered window. Did someone put a brick on my head? Or a lead pipe? What time was it? For all I knew it could have been three a.m. or noon. Images from the previous night played back in my head like a slideshow with blurred edges. Then the smell hit me. I sniffed a hardened strand of my hair.
Holy hell! How was it possible for my vomit to still smell like alcohol?
As I reached around, looking for my phone, a rustle from across the room made me jump back.
A very bare-chested Coby was asleep, scrunched up and looking ridiculous on the small lounge chair. A knit throw blanket covered the space between his navel and thighs.Seeing Coby and his tan chest, abs like a washboard, and pecs that should be illegal on any human, sleeping like Michael Scott on his tiny end-of-bed bench did absolutely nothing for me. Nope.
My heart squeezed and my treacherous gut fluttered, but I chalked that up to my enormous hangover. Tequila was known to do that to me.
Coby shifted, knocking the throw blanket to the floor and exposing a pair of black boxer briefs. I sat up straight, trying not to ogle him like a creep, but hot damn, that man had thighs like tree trunks. Speaking of tree trunks, I was not seeing what I thought I was seeing. I sat forward and confirmed that yup, Coby’s very prominent morning wood was attempting to break free of his shorts.
I cleared my throat louder than I meant to and woke him up.
“Sorry,” I muttered, my tongue somehow weighing ten pounds. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Why was I being nice to this jerk? His freaking hot body and morning wood were distracting me from the fact that he had dumped me via text, then bailed out of town for weeks. God only knew what he did during that time orwhohe did for that matter.
A sound rumbled from his lips, making my skin heat involuntarily. I had to get him out of here.Standing up to use the bathroom, I noticed I was only in my bra and panties. I yanked the covers around myself.
“Uh, sorry. I didn’t realize I wasn’t dressed. I’m just going to go get cleaned up. You can see yourself out,” I said.
A husky laugh came from his corner of the room, and I put my hand on my hip.
“What? Ugh, you know what? I don’t even care. I’m going to shower.” I reached down to grab his shirt and tossed it at him. “Here you go. You can laugh all you want…back in your own room.”
While I rummaged around the room mummy wrapped in a purple duvet that dummy just sat there with both his arms casually on the armrests like I was some kind of entertainment and he was the audience. I huffed out another annoyed groan, finding his pants and tossing them over, before heading into the bathroom to pee and run my hair under the sink. When I opened the door he was still in the same spot.
“You don’t remember much from last night, do you?” he said it on a yawn while rubbing sleep out of his eyes and cocking his head.
“I remember owning you in karaoke.” I straightened my posture, trying to look as smug as I could while being a hungover woman wrapped in nothing but a blanket.
He rubbed at his beard and his eyes lit up in amusement. “Owning me, huh? I don’t know. If memory serves, I think I had more applause. I guess we’ll have to ask around.”
“I guess so.” I cast my eyes downward since he chose that moment to stand up, giving me an eyeful of more than I needed to see.
As he stretched and made that suggestive groan again, he added, “So remember anything else from last night? Anything from after your pop star debut?”
He wanted me to talk about getting sick, but I was already embarrassed enough. Did he really have to rub it in?
