Page 60 of Nicoletta
“No shit, asshole, she can barely walk, and you think I’m gonna try to give her my dick?” Bolt is still shaking his head as he eases me out of the chair, then cautiously lifts me into his strong arms.
I open my mouth to protest, and he cuts me off. “Save it. I’m carrying you up those stairs, and that’s final.”
“Yes, sir.” I give him a fake salute, and everyone laughs, along with the guys shouting, “Bolt’s pussy-whipped!”
Bolt eases me down at the apartment door, and I hate to admit it, but I’m glad he carried me. The lidocaine is wearing off, and the long night is hitting me hard.
He unlocks the door, we enter, and he asks, “You wanna change into your own sleep stuff?”
The thought of changing into my own clothes exhausts me. “These are fine. They’re soft and loose, and I have a feeling I’m going to need that.”
We enter the bedroom and stop short.
Bolt’s eyes widen, then narrow. “Are you sure this is my room?”
No clothes on the floor, bed made, flowers on the dresser, and a pitcher of ice water on the end table.
“Who did all this?” I barely get the words out, and there’s a knock on the door.
Bolt answers it, and two seconds later, Marisol joins us in the bedroom holding a basket. “We forgot to give you this downstairs.”
She hands me a basket of all kinds of goodies. A box of assorted teas, a candle, lip balms, hand cream, a pair of fuzzy socks, and a box of what I hope are Marisol’s amazing double chocolate cookies.
“Thank you, but I?—”
“Yes, you can accept it. You’re one of us now, and we help each other. If you don’t believe me, ask the other Harlots. We’ve all had hard times, and that’s how we know what’s needed.” Then she undoes me. “Besides, you’re family now.”
Finding out the truth about the man I thought was my father, getting shot, then undergoing surgery on a pool table allcollides together, and the tears fall. Silent at first, then actual sobs.
“Geez, fuck,” Bolt bellows. “Did you have to make her cry?”
I wave my hand in front of my face. “No, this is good. These are happy tears.”
Marisol turns on Bolt. “Don’t you know every woman needs a good cry sometimes?”
I wave my hand around the room. “And I guess you all did this too?” I choke out.
“Once Smoke called me about the tacos, I called the other Harlots, and we are a fierce group when together.” She waves her hand at the perfectly made bed. “Sheets changed, and I got rid of that ratty comforter and replaced it with an extra one I had.”
She turns to Bolt. “Then we picked up all your random clothes.” Marisol rolls her eyes. “You could’ve hidden a person under all that mess.”
“After we straightened up, there was plenty of room to clean off the end table and dresser,” Maxie adds. “From now on, no more motorcycle parts on the dresser.”
“And you did all this at four in the morning?”
“Hey,” Marisol laughs. “We’re outlaws; we live in the early morning hours.” She backs out of the bedroom. “But now it’s time for you to rest.”
She points her finger at Bolt. “Which means she rests.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Bolt half-smiles. “Geez, you’re a pain in the ass.”
After Marisol leaves, I use the bathroom, and when I get back to the bedroom, Bolt has the bed turned down neatly, and he’s changed into his sleep shorts with the items of the tuxedo neatly on the hanger.
“You all right? You need anything?” he asks the minute I enter the room.
“No, I’m good, but it is getting sore.”
He rummages through the paper bag Ezra gave him, comes up with an unmarked pill vial, and shakes one out. “Take this.” He offers it to me. “It’ll help you sleep.”
