She flashes me a look. “You want to watchBridget Jones’ Diarywith me?”
I swallow my words of disdain and plaster on a cocky grin. “Yeah, of course. BJ’s my homegirl.”
She bursts out laughing, her head falling back as a sweet roar releases from her throat. “Oh my God,” she says between tears. “I should be recording this.”
“Recording what?” I furrow my brows.
“You.” She wipes under her eyes. “You’re as high as the Empire State Building.”
I snort. “Get your mind out of the gutter, princess. BJ is Bridget Jones, not—”
“Okay!” she interrupts before I can continue, a faint blush covering her cheeks.
I roll my eyes at her expense, getting another chuckle out of her.
I try to focus, but I can’t. “Are you going to catch me up on whatever the hell is happening?”
“I thought BJ was your homegirl?” she throws back, the corner of her lips turning up as she continues watching the movie. This is the Viola I adore—simple, funny, cute.God. I wish I weren’t in pain. I wish Thursday night would’ve never happened, and I could pull her into my lap.
“She is. I mean, she reminds me of a cornier, klutzier you.”
“Rude!” She playfully smacks me on the arm before realization hits that I’m already bruised. “Shit! I’m sorry!” She closes her eyes for a moment. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”
“Just a natural twitch?” I smirk, not wanting her to feel too bad.
She cocks her head.
“Lighten up, princess.”
“Are you hungry?” she asks sincerely, changing the subject.
“Yes.”
“What are you hungry for?”
My eyes widen as my lips tilt up in a cocky pout. “Well…”
“Food,” she clarifies. “I meant, what kind of food are you hungry for?”
“Why do you assume I was going to say something else?”
She rolls her eyes, shifting her body toward me. “Because I know you. You have a dirty mind.”
“And you’re going to deny a broken man his dying wish?” I arch a brow.
“You aren’t dying, but you are definitely being dramatic.” My eyes follow her as she stands up and walks toward the kitchen. “My mother always told me a man is the biggest baby when hurt or sick. Guess she was right.”
I laugh, knowing her mother well enough to know she would say something like that.
“Are you calling me baby?” I shout, hoping to get a reaction out of her.
“Ababy, yes.” She pokes her head around the wall with an arched eyebrow.
“Fine, I’ll make my own food.” I shift off the couch, trying to prop myself up.
She walks back in and points her finger at me. “Sit back down. Drew will have my head if he thinks I’m not helping.”
“Still afraid of your big brother, huh?” I ask in amusement.
