Page 47 of Hate You Up Close

I take a few steps before bending over and placing everything on the coffee table. Once my hands are free, I kneel down beside him and absent-mindedly lift my hand to run my fingers through his silky hair.

A small smile forms at the corner of his lips, causing my heart to clench. I wonder how long it’s been since someone has taken care of him. I wonder how many nights he goes home alone, playing poker with his life. Placing bets on if he’ll wake up the next morning.

“Elliot,” I whisper, running my fingers through his thick hair.

One of his brows twitches, but he doesn't speak.

“Elliot,” I repeat. “Wake up, babe. You need to eat something, then you can sleep.”

Babe?You know when you say shit that doesn’t register in your brain until the words leave your mouth? Yeah. That’s what just happened to me.

What the fuck? Where did that come from?

It’s fine. He probably didn't hear me.

He groans. Great, so he definitely heard me.

“The food will help with your stomach,” I say. “Just take a few bites, and then I’ll leave you alone.”

“Mmmm,” he pinches his brows together and shakes his head like a little kid. My heart turns to mush when he nuzzleshis head against my hand, seeking out my touch like he’s desperate for more.

“Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll leave the sandwich here in case you need it. But at least take some medicine. It will help with the massive hangover you’re going to have in the morning.”

I grab the Ibuprofen bottle from the coffee table, twist off the cap, and shake two white pills into my hand.

“Here,” I mutter. I slide my hand to cup the nape of his neck and slowly lift his head.

When he finally peels his eyes open, he looks completely zoned out. Like when you’ve been in a deep sleep and suddenly wake up, wondering where the hell you are.

I’m trying like hell not to not to laugh right now, but he just looks so fucking ridiculous. I’m reminded of myself during my college days, which is sad because this man is thirty-five.

When I begin to stare at him for too long, getting lost in his pathetic but cute face, his eyes start to grow heavy again. It’s only been a few seconds, and I’m starting to lose him again.

God, he’s so drunk. I need to get him to take this medicine fast.

“Alright, just take these pills and a big gulp of water, and I’ll let you drift back off to dreamland,” I chuckle softly.

He nods, half aware of what is going on, which kind of scares me. I know that he’s safe and I’m only giving him Ibuprofen, but he doesn't know that. Either he really trusts me, or he’s really fucking careless.

“Open up,” I command, bringing the pills to his mouth.

He surprises the hell out of me with what he does next.

“Ahhhhhh,” he sounds, sticking his tongue out like he’s at the dentist.

“Okay then,” I laugh, dropping the pills to his tongue. Tingles dance down my spine as the pads of my fingertips faintly graze his wet, warmtongue.

My hand feels clammy as I reach for the glass of water. I furrow my brows, concentrating so the glass doesn't slip from my sweaty palm.

When I lift the cup to his lips, he’s still sticking his tongue out like an idiot.

I chuckle, shaking my head as I wrap my fingers around the back of his neck.

“Come on, Elliot,” I push. “The sooner you cooperate, the sooner you can go back to sleep.”

His tongue retreats back in his mouth, and thank God for that because I shouldn't be thinking about his tongue while he’s this drunk. I shouldn't be thinking about how hot and wet it would feel against my body.

I swallow thickly, pushing away my forbidden thoughts as I touch the glass to his pillowy lips. I tip the cup, his throat bobbing as he all but inhales every last drop.