Page 15 of Sunflower Persona (Classic City Romance #2)

Kori

C onsciousness arrives on the back of a galloping horse.

Or at least that’s what the steady pounding in my head feels like.

My mouth is so dry, my lips sting as I peel them open, and my tongue is about as useless as a sponge.

It’s a struggle to pry my eyes open; the bright light streaming in from somewhere feels like a knife stabbing into my brain with every crack. My dorm doesn’t get sunlight like this.

Where the hell am I?

Groaning, I force my eyes open and sit up, pushing down the wave of nausea that threatens to overtake me when I move.

As I take in the room, memories of the night before come back to me in flashes, starting crystal clear but becoming hazier and hazier until there’s nothing at all. Nothing except Gage.

Why he decided I was his problem is a mystery, but I’m grateful he didn’t let that asshole do whatever it is he planned for me.

Thinking about those possibilities has bile rising in my throat.

Last night could have been really, really bad.

I owe him so much for keeping me safe. He didn’t have to get involved.

The man in question is notably absent, even if his scent still lingers—clean and fresh with no frills, just like him. Save for the overflowing shelves of plants, his space is exactly what I would have expected. They are a stark contrast to the otherwise utilitarian array of mismatched furniture.

I didn’t know he collected plants—but why would I? We aren’t friends. Well, we weren’t. Yesterday’s events have shifted my perspective on the matter. I might not be his friend, but he is the closest thing I have to one in this city.

A neat stack of clothes sits folded on the bedside table next to a glass of water and a bottle of pain pills.

It’s another thing he didn’t have to do but did.

I snatch the cup and gulp back the lukewarm water like it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

As far as I’m concerned, this water is nectar from the gods.

I swallow a couple of pills with the remaining liquid and climb out of the bed. Damp fabric clings to my skin, constricting my limbs. What I wouldn’t give for a shower. Or a toothbrush. Hell, I’d take mouthwash at this point. Anything to stop feeling like death warmed over.

Fresh clothes will have to be enough. The buttery-soft T-shirt hangs on me like a dress.

Its design is worn beyond recognition, but the maize color brings a smile to my face.

Sure, it could be a coincidence, but I want to believe Gage specifically selected this shirt for me.

The sweatpants are also huge. The length isn’t awful, but I have to tie the drawstring tight and roll the waistband up to keep them secure.

I creep across his room and crack open the door.

The smell of something delicious wafts from down the hall, pulling a growl from my empty stomach.

All at once, my hunger hits me like the Kool-Aid Man bursting through a wall.

Saliva pools around my tongue, and I practically float down the hall like a cartoon character as I follow the sweet aroma.

His back is to me as he cooks something in a pan on an ancient stove. It has to be from, like, the ’90s or something. I’m surprised the thing still functions. He doesn’t notice me as I approach, so I take the moment to drink him in.

Somehow, he looks even bigger in less clothing.

The black tank top is tight against the muscles in his back, and his thick arms are on full display.

His mass hasn’t been sculpted for vanity.

It’s raw and powerful, just like him. The sweats he gave me match the pair he’s wearing, but they look a million times better on him.

Out of everything, his ass has to be my favorite feature, and it looks edible in the dark-gray fleece.

“Everything all right?” he asks in that low, even way of his without taking his attention off the pan.

Shit. How did he know I was here? He totally saw me checking him out.

“Fine,” I squeak, heat rising to my cheeks.

I grit my teeth through my embarrassment and join him by the stove.

“How are you feeling?” He glances in my direction before turning back to flip one of the pancakes frying in the skillet.

“Not great. My head is pounding, and it feels like I got hit by a truck. The water and meds you left have helped mitigate some of that already, though. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“It’s the least I could do.” His shoulders slump as he lets out a weary sigh.

He shuts off the burner and moves the pan off the heat. Silence hangs in the air between us for several seconds before he turns to face me. The tortured twist to his features is so unlike his normal unwavering calm that I nearly recoil.

“I’m really fucking sorry, Kor,” he rasps.

Sorry? For what?

“Why are you apologizing? Unless you’re the one who put something in my drink.”

“Fuck no,” he growls.

“Then why on earth are you acting like it?”

“Because I invited you out, and I didn’t stop this from happening.”

Sparks of annoyance flash, igniting into a smoldering flame. The whole self-flagellation thing really isn’t cute, and I’ll be damned if he gets to throw himself a pity party when I’m the one who actually got hurt.

“Yeah, no. We aren’t doing this,” I snap, waving my hand in front of him to make it perfectly clear what this is.

“I don’t want to hear apologies for things you had no control over.

Especially not when you saved me. I don’t remember much of what happened last night after we left Cutter’s, but I do remember you watching over me, caring for me, and holding my hand when I was scared.

So unless you want to apologize for that too, zip it. ”

His lips part, but he snaps them shut before he can spew the nonsense that was brewing. It’s a good thing, too, because if he keeps going on like this, that tiny spark will grow into a raging inferno, and no one wants that.

He blinks as the torment fades from his face, and after another moment, he says, “Okay.”

“Good,” I huff, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

Sheepishness replaces the annoyance as the embers turn to ash. After everything he’s done for me, I had to go and get snippy.

“I’m going to start a fresh batch.” His mere mention of food has my stomach growling again. “If you want to shower or use the restroom, it’s the room across from mine. Karis has some things here that you can use. I put them on the counter with a fresh towel.”

Breakfast sounds great, but a shower would be even better. I mumble out “Thanks” and head back in the direction I came.

Like everything else in this apartment, the bathroom is cramped and dated, yet clean.

The stack of toiletries is exactly where he said it would be, but it’s more than some simple soaps and lotions.

How often is she staying over to need all of this?

Jealousy swarms in my chest. Even though Evelyn said there was nothing going on between Gage and his friend, the evidence here points in the other direction.

There are more skincare products piled on the counter than I have back at my dorm, and it isn’t the cheap stuff, either.

Who keeps a collection like that at “just a friend’s” house?

I crack open one of the bottles and take a deep sniff.

The scent is nothing short of luxurious—rich and spicy in a way that’s meant to seduce.

This one bottle probably costs more than my entire self-care collection.

A few extra minutes won’t hurt. It’s not like breakfast is ready yet, and he did say to use whatever I want.

Thirty minutes and eight products later, I’m feeling much more like myself. My head still hurts, but the pain has dulled to an ache that’s easy to ignore. I slip his oversized clothes back on and head back to the kitchen, feeling like I’ve walked out of a spa.

Gage is leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, waiting for me to return.

Two plates stacked high with pancakes sit next to him on the chipped linoleum.

Maybe I could have done that a little faster, but his stoic face lacks condemnation.

His eyes meet mine as I cross over the threshold, and the stony mask breaks as the corner of his lips twitches into a smile.

The look falters when I reach him, morphing into a pinched grimace that he quickly schools. But not quick enough I don’t notice.

“What was that look?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Don’t ‘it’s nothing’ me.”

“You smell like Karis. I don’t like it,” he says with a grimace.

He doesn’t?

I’m not sure if I should be pleased or offended.

Before I can decide, he shakes away the expression and grabs his plate. “Come on. You need to eat.”

“Thank you.” I follow his lead and grab my plate.

My forehead pinches as I scan the space.

There’s no table, or even stools to eat at the counter.

It’s like no one ever eats in here at all.

He sees my expression and grimaces before sitting on the dingy plaid couch.

Springs fight to free themselves from the worn fabric, prodding my ass as I settle on the feeble cushion beside him.

“Normally, I just eat standing after I make something,” he says and takes a bite.

“You cook?”

He shrugs and shovels another forkful into his mouth.

“Not well, but some things are hard to fuck up. Like pancakes from a bottle.”

“And eggs,” I say as I push the scrambled fluff into the pooling syrup before taking a bite myself.

“Please tell me you did not just dip your eggs in syrup.”

“What? It’s good.”

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow before shaking his head with a huff.

“If you say so.”

“Try it,” I goad.

“I’m good.”

“Please, for me.” I flutter my lashes, giving him the most over-the-top pleading look I can muster.

“Fine,” he sighs, then dips his eggs into the sugar-filled liquid. He only chews once before his face twists in disgust, but he powers through and swallows.

“That’s awful,” he says.

“Maybe you just have bad taste,” I protest.

“Sure. If that’s what you need to tell yourself, Low,” he says with a hint of a teasing grin.

“Low?”

“Yeah, like Yellow.” His gaze drops to his plate as the tips of his ears grow red.

Butterflies erupt at the unexpected nickname. They twist my tongue into a knot, leaving me completely lost for words. At least it’s better than the alternative. I could get so nervous I ramble nonsense like I did during my first assignment in my public speaking class—

“Oh shit, what time is it?” I jerk upright in my seat as the reality of life beyond these walls crashes into me.

“Almost ten,” he says without urgency.

“I’m late for class.” I start to get up, but he stops me with a firm hand on my thigh.

“No, you’re skipping your classes.”

The sparks are back, and this time, the kindling is quick to catch fire. He’s got some nerve trying to dictate my life.

“What the fuck, Gage. I could miss something important.” I shove his hand away and hit him with a scorching glare.

He scoffs, ignoring my ire.

“Nothing is more important than your health. You were drugged last night. Classes can wait.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember putting you in charge.”

“You put me in charge the moment you begged me to stay. Now eat.”

My jaw twitches as I grind my teeth, but I don’t push back further, or I might snap.

Following instructions has never been my strong suit.

When I was growing up, my parents called it oppositional defiance.

They put me in therapy for it and everything.

Over the years, I’ve gotten a better handle on it, and my therapist gave me plenty of coping exercises, but his bossy attitude is hitting all the wrong buttons.

“Yes, sir,” I snip with saccharine cheer as I stab into my fluffy stack with the force of all my pent-up frustrations.

He stiffens beside me and breathes in deep through his nose. For several seconds, he sits there tense and unmoving except for his fingers digging into his leg.

“I’m teaching you self-defense,” he says, breaking the tension.

“What?” The words make sense individually, but I can’t process them together as one statement.

“You heard me. It wouldn’t have changed anything about last night, but I don’t want you going back out until you can protect yourself.”

The nerve of this man is unending.

“I bet you didn’t force Karis to do self-defense lessons so she could hang out with you.”

“You’re right, I didn’t. But she has a brown belt in jiu-jitsu, a black belt in judo, and teaches self-defense seminars at the gym once a quarter. She works with Evelyn and James a few times a month too.”

“So why isn’t she the one who’s going to teach me?” The question drips with my defiance.

“Is that what you want, Kori? Because if it is, I’ll call her right now and get it scheduled.”

His calm, ocean-gray eyes lock with my heated glare as he meets my challenge head-on. Our wills war against each other in a silent battle, but in the end, I’m the one who gives in first.

“No. I’d rather do it with you,” I admit. “I have a condition, though.”

“Hit me with it.”

“I don’t want to do it at the gym.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Well, for one, it smells like a locker room and bleach, but I’m also not good at that sort of thing. I don’t want people watching me.”

“What if we went when I could promise it was just us?”

That wouldn’t be too bad…

“Fine,” I concede.

“I’ll text you to iron out the details. Now finish eating so I can take you home.”

Yes, sir.