Page 5 of Apex of the Curve
Chapter Two
Fenris…
She calmed down eventually. My pops moved around the kitchen unconcerned, fixing up some breakfast for the three of us. I just sat still and waited on her. I was in no rush. She fit inside the circle of my arms kind of nice, actually.
“Come on up here,” I murmured when she’d settled down, and I stood, holding a hand down to her. She took it and I hoisted her up and onto her feet. She was an ugly crier, her face going all blotchy and red, all the way down her neck and across what I could see of her chest before she clutched the collar of the shirt, my shirt, she was wearing closed.
She looked damn good in it – the flannel hugging her breasts, the hem brushing just above her knees, the sleeves rolled back in this adorable way that made her look like a living doll. Like she was wearing her boyfriend’s shirt…
I led her to the upstairs’ bathroom and hit the light on the way in, then I turned and helped myself to a handful of her hips to either side, my hands sliding over her body covered as it was by the flannel of my shirt as I lifted her and sat her on the edge of the counter. She made a slight cry of surprised protest when I did it, her green eyes wide and her pale face draining of color even more, and I crooked a one-sided grin and apologized.
“Sorry.”
Even sitting this high up, her feet dangling over the floor, I still had to look down at her, and she wasn’t exactly a short or even a petite woman… just shorter than me.
I picked up a washcloth off the stack on the back of the john, within reach of the shower without looking.
“Take a deep breath,” I said eying her, and she stared up at me, her green eyes still startled and wide, framed in her wild blond curls, the tinge of red around them from her crying making them somehow more vivid. Bright.
She jumped slightly when I smacked the arm of the faucet up, the cold spray a slight shock against my fingers as it soaked the washcloth I held under it. I wrung the square of rough cloth out, folded it in into a padded quarter of its original size and raised it up. She leaned back, and I gave her a look. I admit, it was stern at first, but it wasn’t my goal to scare her into submitting – I was trying to help, in my own heavy-handed way and shit, I didn’t want to make things worse.
“It’s cool,” I said and tried to keep my tone in check.
She stilled, and I carefully washed her face with the cool cloth as though she were a child.
She broke the silence first, leaning back when she’d had enough, grasping my wrist gently to pull my hand away, putting the other with its perfect, long nails, against the cloth to push it down along with my hand.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, and her voice was distressed.
“It’s not a problem,” I said neutrally, then asked a little more gently, “You want to tell me what that was all about?”
She stared at me mutely for several seconds and I could tell that, yes, yes, she did want to tell me, that she needed to tell someone, but she finally bit her lips together and stayed quiet.
“It’s alright, you don’t need to. Just thought it might help to get it off your chest.”
At the word chest, she crossed her arms over hers, tucking her hands beneath her arms, and I smiled and chuckled.
“You’re a strange woman, Aspen,” I said.
“How did you know my name?” she asked.
“Driver’s license,” I answered, shaking out the washcloth, folding it in half once, and laying it over the faucet’s neck to drip into the sink - if it was going to drip.
“Oh,” she said softly, looking away.
“Couldn’t find your clothes?” I asked.
She looked back at me and blushed faintly.
“I don’t remember what happened,” she said.
“You were pretty drunk.”
“I only had one drink, maybe two, but I never drink more than that when I go out.”
I grunted and gave a nod.
“Your friend left with a couple of guys, think one of them maybe slipped you something?” I asked.
