Page 61 of Nicoletta
I swallow the pill down with the chilled water, then settle onto the crisp, clean sheets.
Bolt rolls to me, and strokes my hair away from my face. “You were amazing tonight, babe. Fierce and strong.”
I smile at him, but I can already feel the effects of the pill, or I’m so exhausted from the night I can’t keep my eyes open.
I lie back against the pillows, and sleep covers me like a soft, fuzzy blanket.
CHAPTER 22
NICOLETTA
The next morning, I wake up disoriented, a bit groggy, and alone. I have a throbbing ache in my right side, and an overpowering need to use the bathroom. I try to push myself up on my good side, but it pulls on the stitches on my bad side. I twist the other way, and when I lose my balance, I jostle the end table, sending the carafe of water clear to the floor with a crash.
“What the fuck?” a male voice bellows from the other room, followed by Bolt charging into the room.
“What the hell are you doin’?” He rushes to my side of the bed.
“I was trying to get up.”
“Then you call me.” He frowns down at me. “Anyway, whatever you need, I can do for you.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Try me?” He folds his massive arms over his chest in full macho mode.
“I have to pee,” I deadpan, then wait.
“All right, wiseass, you got me, but at least let me help you.”
After trying a few different positions, Bolt finally gets me on my feet, and I head for the bathroom.
When I’m done, I wash my hands, splash water on my face, and brush my teeth. I open the door, and Bolt is standing in the hallway like a soldier.
He points to the bedroom. “Back to bed.”
I don’t argue because I feel like I got run over by a bus.
“Get into bed. I’ve got breakfast ready.”
Two minutes later, he returns with that amazing coffee and sweet Mexican pastries on a plate. He sits on the edge of the bed, his gaze intense like he expects me to explode before his eyes.
“What time is it?” I have no idea how long I slept.
“It’s one o’clock.”
“In the afternoon? I don’t think I’ve slept that late since I was a teen.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think you’ve ever been shot before either.”
“True.” I sip at the coffee, and it’s delicious as always.
“I’m not gonna ask how you feel, cause the second day is like you got hit by a truck.”
“I was thinking run over by a bus, but, yeah, close enough.”
“The second day is a bitch, then you start to feel better by day four or five, and you get up and try to do normal shit. Then it hits you that you got shot, and your body ain’t ready for normal shit.”
“It’s frightening how much you know about this subject.” I pull one of the pastries in half.
