Page 16 of Nothing To Lose

He shuffles on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position.

"I'm sorry I don't have a table yet."

"No, it's okay. I don't even use the table at my place. I’m just sore and having trouble getting comfortable."

I curse to myself, looking around for a solution. "Here, let's try this." I take his plate and set it on the coffee table, gathering everything off to the side so there's enough room. Then I take the back cushions off the couch and set them on the ground in front of the table and gesture for him to sit. I take his arm to ease him down on the cushion, then wait to see if he's more comfortable before sitting across from him. "Better?"

"Much. Thank you." He watches me inhale my meal while taking much smaller, slower bites. By the time I've made it through a second entire sandwich and am refilling my bowl with the second soup option, he's managed to finish his soup and fruit, but only half his portion of a sandwich. He watches me with an almost amused expression. It’s kind of hard to tell with the swelling and bruising.

"You know," he says, in what is definitely an amused tone, "you aren't as intimidating as you seem."

"I'm going to choose to take that as a compliment. So, thanks."

Every time I make him smile or laugh, even a little, feels like a huge win.

"Well, I certainly didn't mean it as an insult. I just meant that you're, uh…" he waves his hand, vaguely gesturing to all of me.

Lifting an eyebrow, I do my best not to crack a smile. "I’m what?"

His eyes widen comically, and he stammers. "Uh—yeah. That. Right there. When you're not actively smiling, you come across a little…"

"Stoic?"

"I was going to go with surly."

"Ooh, good one. I haven’t heard that one yet. My mom says I'm broody."

"Yes! That. You're definitely that."

"I am not," I mutter into my drink.

He. Fucking. Giggles.

Giggles.

He catches himself, slapping his hands over his mouth after the sound escapes. Then I can't help it, I'm rolling with laughter.

"That was cute."

"Was not!"

"Yeah, and I'm not broody."

He tightens his lips and tries not to do it again. But I desperately want him to. I have an insatiable need to lean over and see if he's ticklish. And what the fuck is that? I've never tickled another grown man in my life.

"Let's just blame whatever that was on the drugs."

"Yeah, okay." I laugh. "Feeling okay, though?" I didn't notice how glassy his eyes had gotten until just now.

"So much better," he admits with a sigh. I feel a pang of regret and sadness. That any of this happened in the first place, obviously, but also that I didn't notice just how much pain he was in.

"Probably should have taken it before the shower. Sorry, I didn't think of it."

"You're not my keeper. Besides, I didn't actually plan to take a shower, but I took one look at myself in your mirror and felt desperate. Thank you again. You didn't have to do any of this."

"It's no trouble," I say, hoping he hears the truth in my voice. For someone who likes his space, I don’t hate having him here. I like knowing he's safe.

"I'll get out of your hair now. I just need to borrow your phone to call for a ride."