Page 49 of Sassy Love
With nothing else left to do, I track back to the suite and get started on some work.
Four hours later, I am fighting off a tension headache and have only cleared half my inbox. I rub my eyes and yawn. It’s only six, but it may as well be midnight by how fried my brain feels.
Six . . .Shit.
Dinner.
I grab a jacket and shove my slip-on shoes over my feet and cross the lawn to the restaurant area next to the bar and pool. Rawlins—I mean, Lawson—is still there, perched on a stool. Weaving through the tables, I wander to the bar and slide ontothe stool beside him. His hand grips a tumbler with amber liquid in it.
How long has he been here?
He forces a smile as he slides his gaze sideways. “Get some work done?”
“Yes, I’m guessing you didn’t? Have you been here the whole time?”
“I—”
I hold a hand up. “Never mind, none of my business.”
He closes his mouth and swirls the liquid in his glass. He doesn’t seem drunk...
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Starving, but I have a killer headache.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What, while I was working, and you were here... drinking?”
“I only switched to whiskey when the sun went down. The mocktails are interesting, though.”
“Oh,” I breathe.
“Pain relief first or food?”
Someone drops a glass a few feet away, and I wince.
Lawson slides from his stool and takes my hand. “Pain relief first.”
I all but fall from the stool and follow as he leads me from the noisy space.
He drops my hand as we reach the grass and walk together. “You get them often?”
“When I’m stressed or forget to drink my coffee.”
“But we only have coffee at breakfast.”
“Yep, and it sucks.”
I’m one hundred percent sure this is the cause of my headache. But I don’t let on.
Back at the bungalow, he sits me on the bed and disappears into the bathroom area. The tap turns on, then shuts off. Hereturns with a cool, wet washcloth, folding it before draping it over my forehead. He tilts my head up with his finger under my chin, and I resist the urge to meet his gaze.
This is too intimate.
Too friendly.
“Where’s your painkillers?” he asks, padding to the bag rack.
