Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 104802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Still, I don’t pull away. The softness in Ollie is…nice. I don’t have a lot of softness in my life.
I watch him. Just sit here like some fucking creeper and watch this man I don’t really know while he sleeps—how his blond hair isn’t curly, but not straight either; shorter on the sides and longer on top, with soft waves. He lost his mom too. A million people have, but for a reason I can’t understand, it makes me feel closer to Ollie.
When I can hardly hold my eyes open anymore, I scoot my chair closer, rest my head on the mattress next to our joined hands…and go to sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ollie
Why am I holding Cillian O’Shea’s hand?
Using my free one, I reach for my glasses, which now have one broken lens, and push them on.
I stare down at it, at him. He’s slumped forward in the chair, face tucked in his left arm, his right crossed over in my direction and beneath mine. Did he sleep like this all night? Well, what was left of the night after everything. I don’t know what time it is or how much we actually slept, but that absolutely can’t be comfortable.
Speaking of uncomfortable, my bladder is about to explode, my body feeling like I’ve been run over by a truck, and oh yes, I’m still holding the hand of a mini-mob member.
I try to pull away slowly, but Cillian sits up, jerking his hand back faster than I can. Well, clearly, he doesn’t like the idea of touching me either. All this is his fault, though. He’s the one who insisted on staying here with me and decided he also had to be so close.
“You’re still here,” I say, sounding more accusatory than intended.
“Good observation.”
“Are you always this grumpy in the morning?”
Cillian rubs a hand over his face. “I’m not grumpy, Kitten. I’m just saying.”
Kitten. What the hell is that? What is his fascination with giving me a nickname? Him and Rory both. “Stop calling me that. And I need to pee.”
It’s hard to hold back my wince or to ignore the pain as I attempt to get out of bed.
“I’ll call the nurse.”
“I can pee without medical intervention. If I want to go home today, I have to show them I can do things on my own.”
He sighs and mumbles something that sounds like, “So fucking stubborn.” Cillian stands and comes around to the other side of the bed, where I’ve managed to sit up. “Well, at least let me help you.”
“Are you going to hold my dick for me?” My cheeks heat the second the words are out of my mouth. Why did I say that? I’m not in the habit of mentioning my cock to other guys, especially if I’m unsure they’re queer.
“Only if you ask nicely.” He winks.
My stupid, traitor stomach flutters. He’s teasing me, making fun of me. That shouldn’t be turning me on. Nothing about him should be doing that. “You’re a jerk.”
I try to breathe through the pain that’s mostly in my chest right now, while pushing to my feet.
“You’re not wrong,” Cillian tells me, staying close. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but I don’t ask, pretending I have no say in the matter as he stays close to me while I slowly walk with the IV pole toward the bathroom.
“About what?”
“Me being a jerk. All of us are, really. But shit like this? What happened to you? We don’t do that.”
I stop moving, surprised he’s bringing this up. Isn’t his lifestyle supposed to be secret? I mean, it is and it isn’t. “Never? You don’t steal cars?”
He rolls his eyes. “Fuck no,” he says as if that’s beneath him.
“You’ve never hurt someone who’s innocent?” I ask next, then hate how I swallow down a lump in my throat. How I want him to be able to tell me no, though it would be nothing more than a lie. “See? That’s what I thought,” I answer when it’s clear he’s not going to reply. “What you do is wrong, Cillian. There’s no excuse for it. I’d like to go to the bathroom alone, please.”
He watches me, blue eyes studying, dissecting…and maybe a little sad. The sadness throws me for a moment, confuses me.
Cillian nods and steps back.
Shuffling into the bathroom takes some time, but eventually I get there, closing the door behind me and collapsing with my back against it. It takes me a moment before I can breathe, which is more uncomfortable than it should be.
Still, for a reason I can’t explain, the sadness in his ocean gaze lingers in my mind.
*
Cillian is waiting for me where I left him when I exit the bathroom. He stays close but doesn’t touch me, like he’s trying to be there in case I need him but not overstepping the lines I drew.