Seven (8 page)

Chapter 11

Savannah

I’m a sticky mess.

My stomach is growling.

The clock says 6 AM but I’m not sure I can go back to sleep right now. Clearly my fever broke overnight as I’m now lying in a puddle of sweat-soaked sheets. I’m still wearing the sweat pants, sweatshirt and heavy socks I fell asleep in and they’re all now clinging uncomfortably to my skin. I feel gross. I spot a bottle of Gatorade on my bed stand and immediately open it, drinking almost the entire thing. Parched doesn’t begin to describe my present condition. Undoubtedly I’m dehydrated; I’ll have to fix that today and force myself to drink more. Eating more shouldn’t be a problem, though, as hungry as I feel but first, I have to get a shower and scrub all this nasty off of me. Rolling out of bed slowly, I gather my robe and head down the hall to the bathroom.

Snoring.

I hear snoring.

My nerves send my body slamming back against the wall frozen in fear.

What the fuck? I thought I was alone.

I’m too scared to speak. If it’s an intruder, waking him could mean danger for me. I slip into the kitchen and grab a knife from the block by the stove. I’ve never in my life had the urge to stab someone, but at least it’s something just in case. Walking quietly down the hall, I turn my head to peer into the living room where the snoring is coming from and holy hell…I wasn’t prepared for that sight so early in the morning.

Shirtless.

Asleep on my couch.

Bryant Wood.

Though a feeling of relief washes over me, my eyebrows shoot up and I immediately find it difficult to swallow when I catch the sight of Bryant on the couch. Feeling guilty and a little afraid of getting caught staring, I look away. I can’t help myself though. I have to look again. His left arm is hanging off the couch but his right is resting peacefully across his stomach. He has one of the throw blankets draped over him so I’m not getting a full view but from what I can see, he has broad shoulders. So many thoughts run through my head. I don’t know whether to be pissed off or…sort of…grateful that he’s still here?

I didn’t ask him to stay, did I?

I don’t remember telling him to go home.

He didn’t try to sleep with me.

He stayed…for me…?

I bite my lip to hide the very quick smile that forced its way onto my lips, and turn back to head to the bathroom. I need to get a shower before Bryant wakes up and see me gawking at him looking like the nasty sick beast that I am. Actually he doesn’t need to see me gawking at him at all. Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror confirms my thoughts. I look like sick shit. I feel a lot better this morning though, so it’s time to wash the sick away. Stepping into the shower I let the scalding hot water burn away whatever it was that made the last day and a half feel like the end of the world. Immediately my thoughts turn to the man asleep on my couch. It dawns on me that I’m naked and less than fifty yards away from him right now. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

He stayed…

For me…

He carried me.

He could’ve woken me up and sent me to bed. Hell, he could’ve left me lying there and left…but…he carried me. He’s stronger than Shawn was. Shawn never carried me a day in his life, not that I hold that against him at all. He’s warmer than Shawn was. His warmth, he felt like the security blanket I’ve been missing for several…

No.

Stop thinking about Bryant.

He’s not Shawn.
I remind myself as I turn off the water and open the shower curtain. I grab the towel off the rack and hold it to my body, continuing the battle between my own damn thoughts in defense if Bryant.

But he was just trying to be nice.

He’s not Shawn.

He gave up his night for me.

He’s not Shawn.

“Of course he’s not Shawn, Shawn is dead, and I’m alone,” I say to myself as I step out of the shower, glaring at myself in the mirror. I throw my towel on the floor in a huff and give my reflection the evil eye.

Am I going crazy?

The problem is, as nice as Bryant has been to me, I can’t trust that he won’t turn back into the douche he was years ago. Anyway it doesn’t even matter. I’m alone and that’s the way it has to stay. Once a douche always a douche, right? I mean…right? Isn’t that how it goes? Bryant hasn’t changed that much, I’m sure. I’ll bring the douche out of him eventually and that will prove to myself that I’m right.

I clear my throat quickly and clean up the bathroom around me. Within minutes I’m wrapped in my robe, teeth brushed, and head wrapped in a smaller towel to dry my hair before heading out to the kitchen so I can find food and do something about my hunger pangs.

May the odds be ever in my favor
.

Oatmeal. I really want oatmeal. Trying my best not to wake the sleeping giant, I grab what I need to start a pot of oatmeal, fill the tea kettle with water and place it on the stove. Call me old fashioned, but I don’t need a machine that I have to plug in to make my hot tea for me. Plain old hot water from a kettle will do just fine. Once everything is mixed, I leave everything to heat up on the stove while I run back to my room to get dressed.

I slip on a pair of comfy black yoga pants and my favorite pink oversized sweatshirt that hangs off of one shoulder. I don’t plan on going anywhere today, so comfy clothes it is for the day. Releasing my hair from the towel round my head, I grab my comb but am interrupted by an unfamiliar whistling sound. It grows louder and louder until I finally remember that I had the tea kettle on to boil water.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I whisper loudly to myself as I run back to the kitchen. I’m too late though. There he stands, in his jeans and bare chest, pouring my hot water into the mug I had sitting on the counter. Holy cheese and rice…he has…

“Abs.”

Oh my God.

I said that out loud.

Bryant looks up from his pouring. “What?”

Shit!

“I…”

Holy shit Savannah, make words come out of your mouth, and for the good of all that is holy stop staring at his chest!

Bryant clearly notices my stare. He looks down at his own chest before smirking back at me. He chuckles lightly.

Is he chuckling at me?

He’s totally chuckling at me
.

“You okay, Seven?”

I shake my head out of the trance that is Bryant’s abs and look up at him wide eyed. “I’m good. Yeah. I’m fine, Bryant.”

Dear God, Savannah, you are so not fine.

I clear my throat and gather my wits before speaking again but when I do I practically spit all my thoughts out at once. “Um, you’re still here. Did you sleep well? Where is your shirt?”

Really Savannah. Just go back to bed.

Those questions earn me an outright laugh from Bryant. Seriously, my face must be seventy-seven shades of red.  “Well, let me think here for a second. Your fever was pretty high and I was worried about you and since you didn’t specifically ask me to leave I figured I would stay in case you got worse. I slept pretty well, thank you, considering I slept on a couch all night long and what was the last one?” He smirks. He’s teasing me. He’s going to make me say it again.

I release a larger than life sigh before saying “Your shirt, Bryant. You know, ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’?”

“I don’t think I asked for any service,” he says. His head tilts as he looks from the tea kettle he’s holding to me standing in the doorway of the kitchen. “In fact, I’m pretty sure it looks more like I’m
servicing
you.” His eyebrow raise tells me he very much meant the innuendo. I wince internally, trying very hard not to let him know what those words just did to my body.

How does he do that with just one word?

“Back the truck up there, flirt-face. Nobody is
servicing
me, thank you very much. I’m sorry the tea kettle woke you up. I tried to get to it before the whistle went off but I was…”

“Too late,” he interrupts. He shakes his head and says softly, “It’s okay, it’s just tea and I don’t mind pouring it. Now, show me where the wooden spoons are so I can stir your oatmeal before it burns in the pot.”

His response actually makes me feel slightly guilty for purposely being so harsh. I walk across the kitchen and reach for the drawer that’s practically in front of where Bryant is standing. “It’s…here.” I say quietly as I reach for the handle of the drawer. Bryant backs up slightly so that I can reach the drawer but the proximity of him makes my heart beat just a little faster.

“You smell good,” he says. Distracted by his compliment I drop the spoon from my hand and jump when it falls to the floor with a thud.

“What did you say?” I ask innocently, although I’m pretty sure I heard him loud and clear.

He clears his throat before he repeats himself. “I said you smell good, like vanilla.” His gaze is overwhelming to my senses, let alone the nearness of his half naked body. I just hopped out of the shower but the way he’s looking at me now makes me feel…I don’t know. Pretty, I think...or dirty…or pretty dirty. Damnit. How does he do this to me?  I’m sort of at a loss for words here. All I can do is thank him with a small shy smile. He bends down to pick up the spoon while I pull another from the drawer.

“I’m sorry, Seven. About my shirt I mean. I took it off to sleep last night. I didn’t think it would really bother you. I’ll go get…”

“It doesn’t!” I exclaim, maybe with a little too much emphasis. I shake my head but look away, embarrassed by my outburst. “Bother me, I mean. It doesn’t bother me. I was just…curious. That’s all. It’s fine. Whatever. Can I um, get you some tea, or I think I have orange juice or milk?”

Bryant gives me what I think is a sincere smile. “Yeah. Orange juice will be fine. Thanks.”

A few awkward moments go by where neither of us says anything. I wonder to myself what he’s thinking as he stirs the oatmeal and I pour his OJ. I steal a quick glance his way as he stirs and take in the specimen standing in my kitchen. Well defined is an understatement; he looks rock solid from head to…well…who knows. I try not to smile when I notice how his veins sort of pop out around his arms like vines on a tree. I’ve always had a thing for those type of arms, and speaking of vines…he has one. I’m full on staring now as I take notice of the tattoo on his left shoulder. It looks like a vine of some sort, though perhaps unfinished. I only see one little leaf hanging from it. A green leaf that looks like it should be amongst a patch of them, like a patch of ivy. I don’t quite understand the meaning behind such a bizarre tattoo but I’m pretty sure I don’t want to ask about it. Then again, curiosity killed the cat.

“What’s with the tattoo?”

Bryant looks up from the stove before glancing down at this shoulder. Continuing to stir our breakfast, he’s silent for a moment. I think that maybe he’s ignoring my question, but then he quietly answers, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s definitely something,” I argue.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

I narrow my eyes.

Is that a challenge?

“Try me. How hard can the understanding of a tattoo be?” I tease.

“It’s my existence, the symbol of my life.”

I study the design again.

Okay…he got me.

“I’m not sure I...It’s a vine, right?”

“Yes. It’s a vine.”

“So you’re saying your life is a vine.”

“All of our lives are like vines, Seven. We all grow when and wherever we’re given room to grow. We thrive on life, and no matter how many times our leaves are pulled or our stems are cut back we can regrow.”

“…Like an ivy vine.” I say, trying to comprehend the meaning behind such a strange tattoo. It’s not every day you see a well-built man with a string of ivy tattooed on his skin.

“Exactly.”

Interesting.

“That’s pretty deep for such an early hour of the morning,” I smirk.

Bryant laughs. “Well that there is your fault, Sev. You’re the one who asked.”

Ooh ‘Sev’…not sure if I like that or not.

“Yeah. Yeah I guess I did.”

What is it about him?

Why isn’t he being the douche I know he is…or was.

We’re standing in the kitchen staring at one another. It’s an extended silence between us for a minute before I hear him clear his throat to break the silence.

“How are you feeling? You look better.”

“Yeah, thanks. I actually do feel a good bit better. My fever broke at some point last night so I just needed to wash all that nastiness away. I really am sorry if I woke you. I didn’t know you were still here. I thought I was…um…” I clear my throat. “Alone.”

“It’s really not a problem at all. I was happy to be here for you. I
am
happy to be here for you. And you don’t ever have to be alone. Believe it or not there are people in your life who care about you, myself included.”

I don’t get it.

“Why?”

“Why what?” He frowns.

I watch as he hands me a bowl of oatmeal and makes a bowl for himself as well. “Why do you care?” He sits down at the breakfast bar with me and holds my eyes as he eats a spoonful of oatmeal.