Nothing More (Landon Gibson 1) - Chapter 77

I shut off the water and ring the excess out of the washcloth. It’s a little too hot, but it will cool down by the time I get back into the living room. Grabbing a dry towel, I walk back to Dakota.

But when I find her, she’s fast asleep on the couch. Her mouth is slightly open and her eyes are tightly closed. She must really be exhausted.

I sit back down, careful not to wake her, and, as gently as I can, dab the cloth on the damaged skin of her feet. She doesn’t stir, just lies silently sleeping as I clean her cuts and wipe away the dried blood.

She’s working herself too hard. From the bloody feet to the pure exhaustion she’s wearing on her face right now. I want to spend time with her, but I want her to rest, so gathering up the bloodstained washcloth and the towel, I grab the blanket from the chair and cover her sleeping body with it.

What can I do to occupy myself while she sleeps?

Tessa is at work, Posey is at work . . . and thus ends my long list of pals.

Chapter Twenty-three

IN THE END, ASPIRIN AND Gatorade were the friends I decided to call upon, which meant a trip to the deli.

Ellen is working, and since her birthday is tomorrow, I killed some time seeing what she was up to (nothing much) and asking what she thought her parents might get her (again, nothing much).

Which sounds terrible. So I try to ferret out what she likes so maybe I can get her something fun.

On the way back, I gave my mom a call and talked to her and Ken for a few minutes.

When I get back in the apartment, I hang up and hear noise from the living room and figure Dakota’s woken back up. Going in, seeing her there looking at me with a sort of confused where-the-heck-have-you-been look, I set my cell phone down on the table as slowly as I can.

I do it somewhat comically, but I feel like I’m trapped in an interrogation room or something. Only in this room there’re Cheez-Its and bottles of Gatorade. So, maybe not so much like an interrogation room.

Though . . . Dakota would make a sexy-ass cop. I can imagine her body dressed in a tight uniform, just for me to peel off. The look on her face right now, though, says that if she were a cop, she would arrest me. And not in a sexy, playful, handcuff-me-to-the-bed-and-tease-me way.

“It was my mom and Ken on the phone. They had an appointment today for little Abby,” I say with a somewhat fake smile.

Not fake in that I’m not happy about the baby’s progress, or that Ken is still head over heels for my mom, but fake because I suddenly get paranoid that Dakota overheard me talking to my mom about Nora right at the end of the conversation.

But Nora is my friend, if barely. Still, Dakota hearing her name as I said it to my mom would only further fuel the fire of jealousy she’s creating over her roommate. The match in her hand is burning pretty bright now and I want her to understand that there’s nothing to be worried about. Nora wouldn’t give me a chance even if I pursued it. It would be messy because of her friendship with Tessa, and I barely know her anyway—so why is this a thing?

Dakota gets up and stretches out her back. “So, how is she?” she asks. “Abby. How is she doing in there?”

I let out a little tension-breath I didn’t realize I was holding and step into the kitchen with my haul. Dakota follows me in, wrapping her arms around my neck and leaning her head on my shoulder. Her hair smells like coconut and her curls are soft against my cheek.

“She’s good. They sounded a little worried for a second, but I think I’m just overthinking things.”

Dakota’s breath is warm against my skin. “Overthinking? You? You don’t say!” She chuckles and her laugh is beautiful, like she is.

I reach my hand up and gently squeeze her arm.

“I’m glad she’s doing okay. It’s still kind of weird to think of your mom being pregnant, at her age.” Seemingly aware of how her words sound, she quickly recovers, adding, “Not in a bad way. She’s the best mom I’ve ever seen, and both you and Abby are so lucky to have her, at any age. I don’t know Ken very well yet, but from what you tell me, he’s going to be a great dad.”

“He will be,” I say, and kiss her arm as I put the snacks away in the cabinets.

“Let’s just hope Abby is more like you and less like Hardin.” She laughs again and little needles prick my skin.

I don’t like the way she said that. Not one bit.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I lift her arms from mine and turn around to face her.

Dakota’s face gives away her surprise at my reaction.