Running into Love
Page 30

“Okay,” I agree, releasing him. Watching him stand, grab his sweats off the floor, and put them on, I sit up and move until I’m leaning back against the headboard. I pull the sheet up around me and tuck it under my arms. These last two weeks I’ve watched him get dressed just like I’m doing now, I’ve run with him in the mornings, lazed with him in bed, eaten breakfast and dinner with him, whispered in the dark about the future—but even with all of that, nothing could have prepared me for what I’m feeling right now. I knew it would happen eventually, but I didn’t expect to feel the way I do right now. This is way too fast, I know it is, but I also know there is no denying that I’m falling in love with him.
“You okay, baby?” he asks, and my eyes focus on his.
“Uh . . . yeah.” I nod, wondering if he can see what I’m feeling right now, and I bite my lip.
“You sure?” God, he’s so nice, so perfect.
“Yeah.” I nod again. “I’m sure. Just wondering if we will be able to find a turkey tomorrow,” I say to cover what I’m really thinking.
“We can go out early. This is Manhattan—somewhere will have a turkey.”
“Do you know how to cook one?” I ask, and he grins smugly. “Never mind, of course you would know how to cook a turkey.” I roll my eyes, watching his smile until it disappears behind a shirt he pulls down over his head. Hearing Muffin’s paw hit the door again and her huff of aggravation, I start to get up to let her in but lean back once more as he goes to the door and twists the knob.
As soon as the door is open, Muffin unexpectedly pushes past him to get to me and hops up onto the bed. “Hey, girl,” I greet her as she pushes her face into my chest. Rubbing her head, I scratch her behind her ears, then smile as she drops to the bed to lie down with her head in my lap. “Maybe she didn’t need to go out after all,” I say, looking up at Levi.
“She’s going, even if I have to carry her,” he mutters, putting a hoodie on over his shirt. Smiling at that, I debate getting up and putting something on just so I can watch if that really does happen. “Why are you smiling?”
“Just picturing you carrying Muffin down the block after she’s refuses to budge.” I laugh, and he shakes his head.
“She’s doing better since her classes have started.” He’s right—last week I took her to one obedience class by myself, and Levi came with me to another one. She did well, but I think it was more about the constant feeding of treats than anything else. “It may take some time, but she’ll get there,” he says, walking toward the bed. Leaning over Muffin, he wraps his hand around the side of my face, then leans in and kisses me before pulling back to look down at Muffin. He rubs the top of her head. “Come on, girl.” She lifts her head off my lap to look at him, and I expect her to lie right back down, but she surprises me by standing and jumping down off the bed and trotting out of the room.
“Be right back.” He leans over, kissing me again, then stands and walks out of the room. I hear the front door open and close. Rolling over, I get up and head for the bathroom, picking up my panties off the floor as I go. Turning on the light near the door, I walk to the sink and look at myself in the mirror. My blonde hair is out of control, the curls that I thought I tamed this morning are now wild. My eyes are sparkling and my lips swollen. Turning on the warm water, I clean up quickly, then put on my panties and head for the bedroom. Not wanting to wear the clothes I came home in, I grab one of Levi’s shirts from a drawer and slip it on over my head before pulling my hair out of the neck, feeling the fabric brush against my thighs as I drop my arms.
Padding to the kitchen to get a glass of water, I stop in the living room on the way back to the bed when something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. Moving across the room without thinking, I feel my stomach melt. Sitting on the coffee table is Levi’s open laptop, with the sleep screen sliding through picture after picture—some with him and his family, others with him and me. I didn’t even know he had taken so many pictures of us together. Taking a seat on the couch, I turn the computer to face me and watch the pictures slide by until I hear the doorknob turning. Jumping off the couch, feeling like I’m going to be caught doing something I shouldn’t be, I run for the bedroom, stubbing my toe on the edge of the bed right before I fall into it. Turning over quickly, I sit back and pull the blanket over my lap.
“Back, babe,” he calls from the living room, and I take a breath, trying to fight back the pain in my toe.
“That didn’t take long,” I squeak through the pain.
“No,” he says, walking into the bedroom, ripping off his sweatshirt, and tossing it into his closet. “She handled her business as soon as we made it across the street to the park,” he says, then turns to look at me, frowning. “Are you okay?”
“Fine . . . Why?” I say casually, like my toe isn’t throbbing so badly that I wonder if it isn’t broken.
“You look a little flushed.”
“Hmm, weird. I don’t know, maybe it’s hot in here,” I say, trying to shrug off his concern.
“What’s wrong?” he asks again, and tears from the pain start to fill my eyes.
“Nothing.”
“You’re getting ready to cry,” he points out, and I pull in a breath through my nose to fight the tears back.
“I think I broke my toe.” I squeeze my eyes closed.
“What?” He frowns, studying me.
“I think I broke my toe,” I repeat, and he takes a step closer to the bed.
“I was gone maybe fifteen minutes. How did you break your toe in that time?”
“I stubbed it when I was jumping into bed,” I admit, opening my eyes as he pulls the blanket off me. I yank my foot away from him when it looks like he’s going to prod at it, and his eyes meet mine.
“Let me look at it, baby.”
“Don’t touch it,” I say through a panted breath. The idea of him touching it is enough to make me scream out in pain.
“I won’t touch it,” he agrees, and I slowly slide my foot back toward him. Picking it up he lifts my leg off the bed and carefully twists it this way and that while looking at my second toe.
“It hurts bad.”
“You’ll be okay.”
“Do I need to go to the hospital?”
“No, just ice every twenty minutes and a couple of pain pills,” he says, carefully placing a kiss to the top of my foot before setting it down on the bed.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I’ll get some ice and aspirin,” he says, propping my foot up on a pillow. “Why were you jumping into bed?”
“It’s just something I do sometimes.” I shrug, and his eyes narrow. “Fine, I was looking at your computer . . . the pictures on your slide show,” I add quickly, not wanting him to think I was going through his computer. “I heard you coming in and I . . . I didn’t want you to think I was snooping through your stuff.”
“I’m not sure it’s snooping when I leave the thing out and open, but I am sure you’re accident-prone and should probably keep that in mind when doing crazy shit.”
“I wasn’t doing crazy shit,” I defend as Muffin wanders into the room and lays her head on the side of the bed near my hip.
“I’m not going to argue with you about it. I’ll be back.”
“I’m not arguing,” I mutter under my breath. He shakes his head and leaves the room, coming back a few minutes later with a glass of water, two red-and-blue pills, and a bag of ice. He hands me the pills and water; I take them quickly while he goes to the bathroom and comes back out with a towel that he wraps the ice in before placing it on my foot. “Thank you,” I whisper as he kisses my forehead before stands back up.
“Any time.” He smiles as I lean my head back against the headboard and watch him pull off his shirt and kick off his sneakers. “Go lie down, girl,” he tells Muffin, who has walked over and leaned into him. Dropping my gaze to her, I watch her walk across the wood floors and lie down on a dog bed in the corner of the room that I hadn’t noticed before. The thing looks expensive—it’s thick, maybe seven inches deep, and more than big enough for her, with black corduroy material along the outside edge and plush, soft-looking gray material on the top. “You got Muffin a bed,” I say, watching her turn in circles before plopping down with a groan.