OBSESSED

48

LEAH

The clap of a closing door broke me out of my sluggish cocoon of sleep. My brain felt foggy and I was hearing noises that weren't yet making sense.

I peeked one eye half open just enough to see that Jarrod wasn't in bed. There wasn't even a dent in his side.

A second after this realization, his tall figure staggered in through the bedroom door.

The haze over my sleepiness made it hard to determine anything, but his uneven stride made me think he was drunk.

He stripped out of his clothes, not looking in my direction, and then went into the bathroom. I stared after him for awhile.

I kept thinking he'd come out of the bathroom at any moment and slide under the covers with me.

Before he did, though, sleep dragged me back into its warm, delirious comfort.

Some time later I came to by a gentle squeeze on my hand. My eyelids felt sealed shut as I stirred.

Blinking until the grime cleared, I opened my eyes with a sleepy sigh. Jarrod sat on the bed beside me, hair messy and bags under his eyes.

"Hey," I croaked.

"Good morning," he said. His mouth curled up with a smile but something capped the ends of it. "I didn't want to wake you so early but I wanted to see how you're feeling."

Nodding, I pulled myself upright against the headboard. My body ached in strange places—unfortunately, none of which would have suggested I had successfully seduced Jarrod last night.

"I'm alive," I grumbled. "My head hurts like a bitch."

"I figured it would. Here's some ibuprofen." He extended his hand towards me with a glass of water in the other.

I accepted the glass and three gel pills from his palm. Once they were down, I faced him again.

Memories of last night at the club were leaking back into my mind.

Images of us dancing, slinging drinks back, having an amazing time. More images, but these were of a face from my past. Then us, Jarrod and I, in his clinic as he dressed my wounds.

"Thanks for cleaning me up," I told him. Wetting my lips, I pulled the sheets around my shoulders and shuddered. "I don't know what got into me. I just . . . I should've walked away."

He reached over to pull me into his side. "Everything is okay now." Kissing the top of my head, he brushed the hair from my face and said, "I'm making breakfast so why don't you take a shower and then come join me?"

That sounded like a damn good offer. Nodding again, I kissed his shoulder—to avoid him smelling my stank morning breath—and then stumbled out of bed and into the shower.

After soaking up the hot water and scrubbing a handful of Jarrod's man-smelling two-in-one shampoo into my hair, I stepped out. One of his red towels fit snugly around my thick body.

I waddled to the sink, eyed his toothbrush enviously, and then gargled the mouth rinse stationed by the sink knobs. My mouth still felt like someone laid a shit in it but at least it smelled nicer.

"Leah!" Jarrod called from the kitchen.

"Coming!"

I shuffled into the bedroom and dropped the towel. Although the idea of prancing out into the kitchen naked did cross my mind, I decided to at least throw on one of his soft cotton shirts.

Then I went to grab my phone from the nightstand . . . only to realize it wasn't where I left it. Or where I thought I left it.

Before my suspicions got the best of me, I saw it on the corner of Jarrod's dresser. I snapped it up and then paused.

The laundry basket, situated next to the dresser, was brimming with clothes. A spot of bright red caught my eye and my first horrifying thought was that my period panties had somehow ended up here.

Without thinking twice, I grabbed the piece of clothing and jerked it out of the hamper. It wasn't my panties but one of Jarrod's shirts.

I was pretty sure it was the one he wore last night. I looked it over as I realized there were speckles of blood all over it.

Holy shit! Is that all from my face?

I tried to remember whether or not I bled on him but I couldn't.

Did I really bleed that much? Then again, where else would the blood have come from?

"Breakfast is almost ready, babe!" yelled Jarrod from the kitchen.

"Coming!" I said automatically.

I shoved the offending, blood-riddled shirt back into the hamper and padded out to the kitchen. Delicious smells of bacon filled the entire condo.

Jarrod smiled as I sauntered into the room, his gaze wandering over my outfit.

"I like my shirt on you," he said.

"I like it on me too," I replied with a snarky smile. I reached up to kiss him and felt my belly flutter. "What all have you got here, handsome chef?"

"Bacon, biscuits and gravy and scrambled eggs."

Making a big show of moaning loudly, I hugged him around the waist and looked at all of the pots and pans. Jarrod chuckled. The last time he made me breakfast, I kicked him out of my house. Now we would get to enjoy this tasty meal together.

So," I said later, while we ate on his couch and watched Family Feud in the background, "I will totally buy you a new shirt."

"What're you talking about?" Jarrod asked as he licked gravy from the corner of his lips.

"Your shirt that I ruined with my blood—I'll replace it. I saw it in the hamper earlier. I had no idea I made such a mess. I really feel terrible about last night. I'm so sorry I put you through that."

His brows scrunched in confusion and then concern. "Oh. Hey, don't worry about it. It's just a shirt. I have a hundred of them."

"Are you sure?" I insisted. "I don't mind. It looks expensive."

"I'm sure," he promised. Then he placed his plate on the coffee table and turned to face me. "Your safety means more to me than anything else. I'm just glad you're here and you're safe."