"Yes, my bed. Is there something about me that you find so repulsive that you can't go lie down in my bed?" He blocked my path to the couch like a concrete wall.
I peered up at him, arms folded tightly over my middle and my insides screaming. "Is this where you make a joke about women usually loving your bed?"
He blinked. "Is this where you ask me how many women have been in it?"
"Egh," I pulled a face. "Never mind. I'll just… pretend it's a hotel bed."
"Those are so much dirtier," he pointed out.
"Shut up. Please. I'm begging you." I shuffled past the kitchen and dining room, through the living room, and into his spacious bedroom. All those windows let in so much light, it almost felt like being outside. But now that it wasn't "show worthy," I saw the evidence of Rook's slightly disheveled lifestyle. His sweaty shirt had been thrownnext tothe hamper, he had a basket of clean laundry unfolded on the black leather armchair by the window, and he kept pill bottles, books, water bottles, and haphazardly strewn chargers on his bedside tables. The man was a menace.
I tried to turn back around, but Rook was already in the doorway, stopping me with the sheer size of his body. It was only then I realized Rook had never touched me. Like… ever. When he had assumed I was an intruder, he had grabbed me, but that was the only time I could recall him intentionally making physical contact with me. Odd. Interesting. Was it on purpose or did he generally not touch people? If that was the case, how did he do his job?
My train of thought about Rook's behavior carried me to his bed and allowed me to overcome my discomfort at using his personal space. And then I was sliding under bleach-scented, white sheets, and my body was melting into a memory foam mattress, and… I sighed. Okay. This was nice. Part of my brain registered how intimate this was, to share his space and lie down in his bed that still smelled like him, even under the bleach and detergent. But the other part was so grateful to sleep on a bed instead of a couch that I silenced my reservations with a firm, internalsnap.
Rook—Knox,I reminded myself—went into his bathroom and opened the mirror cabinet. "Have you taken pain relievers yet?"
"See, this is why I said 'mansplain,'" I replied with sleepy irritation. My eyes were already fighting a losing battle. I'd been up all night with painful cramps. "Of course. I've been rotatingibuprofen and acetaminophen in the highest doses I would dare to take."
"By 'highest doses,' you mean thecorrectdoses, I hope." His voice had an echoey quality to it from inside his bathroom as he rummaged through his cabinet.
"Oh, totally," I murmured dryly. I definitely hadn't popped four pills instead of two. Considering the hell I went through every month, did it really matter if I rounded up?
When he returned to me, he had three pill bottles and a blue, electric heating pad in his hands. "Which did you take last?"
My ears and cheeks warmed. This couldn't be happening to me. It was bad enough to be on my period while sharing a house with a dude, but to have himhelp mewas downright humiliating. "You know what," I said suddenly, my voice a touch too chipper. "I just decided—I think I'll go play Thornwind." I sat up, fighting against the tangle of sheets that had somehow snared me in their depths.
Knox leaned forward, blocking out the sunlight as he tossed the pill bottles onto the bed beside me. His hands caught the blankets on either side of my body, and then he pressed his weight into the mattress. The blankets sucked me down into the mattress, trapping me. The warmth from his arms radiated through the charcoal gray comforter, and suddenly, there wasso muchof him—his scent, his strong frame, his cerulean stare that speared me with its intensity. He angled his head, inches from my shocked expression. "Maybe you didn't hear me the first time. Stay in bed."
My heart squeezed, forcing the air from my lungs. For one long moment, I found myself fully captured by his nearness, but then I remembered where I was and who had me trapped between his strong, corded arms. The comforter had partially covered my chin and mouth, and I wriggled, trying to escape it. "Are you doing this because of the doctor thing?"
"I'm doing this because of the human thing." His eyes traveled all over my flaming face. "Wait, are youembarrassedright now?"
"What?" I challenged. "Women never get embarrassed in your practice? Of course, I'm embarrassed."
"You're not my patient, Gemma." He smiled with mild amusement, and my insides turned into molten lava cake. He had such a great smile. It softened his high cheekbones and sharp eyes. "You're my roommate. I can help my roommate, right?"
My mouth went dry. "I guess." I glanced at his arm, and before I could stop the projectile word vomit, I asked, "Why don't you ever touch me?"
"Touch you?" He considered the question, still trapping me firmly beneath the blankets. His warm breath tickled my hairline as he huffed. "I guess I don't touch people often in general."
"How do you do your job?" I wiggled again, trying to get my arms free.
He pressed me down tighter, still looking away in thought. "When I'm with patients, that's work, and I don't have a problem with it. Also, I wear gloves. In my personal life, I don't touch anyone I don't know or who I—" he paused. His eyes flitted down to mine. "Well. I have boundaries. That's all."
"Weird," I said ruthlessly.
It only made him smile again. "Sure. I'm the weird one here."
"I never said Iwasn'tweird." I sniffed. "You can let go. I'm sufficiently mollified now."
"You sure?" he asked seriously. "Because I was absolutely certain you were about to go lock yourself in the powder room."
I totally had been about to do that. "I am absolutely sure this whole thing is not normal. Get off me."
"Well, I've definitely never helped women with their periods before," he said with the same perfectly straight face. "But sure, make it weird." But he eased away from the mattress, loosening the blanket.
My face flamed. "You're making this worse. Stop saying the word 'period.'"
