Seth (Damage Control 3)

He leans back, his face still too pale for my liking. He looks ready to pass out where he’s sitting. “The couch.”

“Yeah.” I shake myself a little. “I think that would be best.”

“If you’re sure.” His eyes grow heavy-lidded. “It’s warm here. Comforle. Comfort’le.”

I snicker, because he’s cute like that, half-asleep, hair in his eyes. “Comfo-what?”

“Christ, I’m so out…” He yawns and chuckles. “Out of it.”

The codeine is hitting him hard. A bit too hard and too fast. Then again, on an almost empty stomach it makes sense. “Sleep it off. How’s the leg?”

“Better.”

And his smile is so bright it makes my chest tight. Who is this guy, who can make me feel so much even if I barely know him?

Chapter Three

Seth

God, these pills make me loopy. I’m laughing when she returns with a blanket to cover me on the sofa. Or maybe it’s the absence of pain. Can’t remember the last time I felt so good.

“Come here.” I grab her hand and pull her to me. She squeaks and falls on my chest, then scrabbles to get off me.

It makes me laugh harder.

In fact, it makes me harder, period. Damn.

But she moves away, arranging the blanket around me. “Tomorrow we’ll get a good breakfast into you. Then the pills won’t affect you so much.”

“Yeah.” The sofa smells of her. The blanket smells of her. Smells so fucking good. “Your boyfriend don’t mind me staying?”

“No.” She hesitates. “He won’t.”

“You won’t tell?” It’s hard to find the words, for some reason. “Tell him?”

“We’re not yet…” She clears her throat and straightens. “I mean, I won’t, no.”

Weird. Maybe.

Or not. I want to laugh again. Need to do something to lift the pressure off my chest.

Have to stop. “What’s his name?”

“Frederic.”

“Frederic?” I snort.

“It’s a good name. Stop laughing.”

“Okay.” I’m really trying here.

“He’s a good guy.”

“I bet.” I sigh, fold my arms behind my head. My lids are getting too damn heavy. “Manon…”

“Yes?” She sends me a quick smile and goes back to gathering the dirty dishes and glasses, and I have a feeling I should be doing something—like helping her gather everything up—but my body is like a stone, heavy and dead.

“You’re nice,” I slur, and my eyes are closing. “Very nice.”