Page 16 of Striker
She caught sight of the IV protruding from her arm and looked up at the bag. All the fluid had been drained from it—and had gone straight to her bladder. She shifted uncomfortably and rolled into a sitting position.
Her back screamed and her neck hollered in competition. She clenched the edge of the bed and waited for the room to stop spinning. Oh god, she needed food. If she ate, she might throw up, but if she didn’t, she’d surely pass out.
First things first. She reached for the IV, but her stomach lurched at the thought of disconnecting the tube. Her luck and she’d accidentally split open her vein.
Forget that.
She lifted the empty saline bag from where Atlas had secured it on the headboard and tucked it under her arm. Rising to her feet, she placed her fingertips on the nightstand for support. A glance at her babysitter assured her she hadn’t disturbed him.
His arms were crossed over his chest and his expression was menacing even though he was at rest. He looked scary, with his large form and bulging muscles, but he’d proven not to be a threat.
She made her way to the bathroom and closed the door softly. Having to juggle the IV bag made peeing more of a challenge. After washing her hands, she picked up the toothbrush she’d used the previous night and went to town on her mouth. Her stomach roiled and her movements were slow and jerky, but she managed not to throw up.
Her sunken face stared back at her in the mirror, making her flinch. Oh god. She looked like shit. Worse than shit. She looked like a corpse. Tears stung her eyes as she glanced away. She couldn’t worry about that right now. Once she got back to her apartment, she’d sleep and eat everything in sight. For now, looks didn’t matter.
Even if the too-hot-for-his-own-good soldier was outside the room. He’d already seen her at her worst. She was alive, and she had him to thank for that.
After rinsing her mouth, she straightened, avoiding the mirror, and turned for the door.
With one hand bunched around the waistband of his sweatpants and the other holding the bag, she awkwardly pulled on the handle.
A figure stood in the room. She gasped, dropping the saline bag.
Atlas moved forward, concern etched on his brow. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare ya.”
“I thought you were sleeping.”
He bent to pick up the bag then cupped her elbow. “I was. How do you feel?”
“Better than I look,” she quipped dryly. She did a mental eye-roll and clamped her lips shut. Great. Just what she needed—for him to feel more pity for her.
He chuckled. “You look better than you did yesterday.” His vague comment did nothing to make her feel better.
She offered a smile and sat on the edge of the bed, short of breath already. “I’m sure you didn’t sleep well in the chair. I’m sorry. I passed out and didn’t even think about where you’d lie down.”
He shrugged and crossed his arms. His muscles bulged, accentuating the breadth of his shoulders. “I’ve slept in worse places.” His mouth tipped up at the corner.
A thrill raced through her. Dear lord, what was wrong with her? She tucked her hair behind her ear and reached for the water bottle he’d opened for her last night. She took a long swig.
“Think you can hold down food?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but I need to try.”
“All right. I’ll go get us something quick.” As he spoke, he went to the first aid kit. He removed a cotton ball. Lifting her wrist, he sat next to her. He placed her hand on his stacked thigh and removed the IV.
Blood bubbled out of the tiny hole. He pressed the cotton there and held it tightly. “Wouldn’t be surprised if it bruises. You all right here for fifteen or twenty?”
Once again, she shrugged. He was probably going to think she had a tic. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t answer the door.” He stretched over her body toward the nightstand, where a pen and a pad of paper sat.
Her mouth lost its remaining moisture.
He jotted down a phone number. “If you think of anything you need, or something happens, call me. I’ll be fast.”
His gaze swung to her and slid over her body with indecision.
She forced a tight smile even though it hurt her face. “I won’t even move,” she said, holding up her hand as if to solemnly swear.
