“Are we having sex?” she suddenly asked, startling the hell out of him enough to make him open his eyes and raise his head so that he could glare down at the woman that was going to drive him to drink.

“Does it feel like we’re having sex?” he demanded, even though he’d already learned a couple hours ago that Tinkerbelle on Benadryl was incapable of having a rational discussion.

She squished up her face in thought before she shrugged and admitted, “I’ve never been able to tell.”

He should just close his eyes, drop his head back on her stomach and use his weight to keep her pinned to the couch and out of trouble, but instead he found himself asking, “How could you not know if you’re having sex?”

“Jerry was really tiny,” she said with a shrug like it was no big deal. “I couldn’t feel anything.”

For a moment he was too stunned to say anything, but she didn’t seem to have that problem. Nope, not Tinkerbelle.

“I don’t think he knew what he was doing either,” she said, scrunching her face up in thought before she admitted, “Granted, he was the only one that I’d ever been with, but I don’t think sex is supposed to be boring. I’m also pretty sure that I should have felt something,” she said so matter-of-factly that he knew that she wasn’t being a vindictive ex-girlfriend, eager to trash her ex.

“I…..,” he started to say, but his words trailed off as his mind latched onto all the things that he would love to do to Tinkerbelle and she would damn well feel everything that he did to her.

“I don’t think he knew how to use his fingers or tongue either, because-“

“Goodnight, Tinkerbelle,” he said, dropping his head back on her stomach and squeezing his eyes shut as he prayed that she did just that, because he honestly didn’t think that his imagination could take anymore torture tonight, not with her lying beneath him wearing one of his tee shirts and his body more than willing to show her just how good sex could be.

*-*-*-*

2:30 A.M.

“No, I don’t want anymore,” his small, unwanted houseguest mumbled with a cute little whine as she tried to roll over on the couch and-

“Ow!” she muttered with a little whimper as she hit the floor, but she didn’t make any move to get up and climb back on the couch, he noted with a sigh.

“Let’s go,” he said to the drugged-out woman trying to curl up into a ball and go back to sleep on his floor even as he counted his blessings that she was sleeping.

“Comfy,” she mumbled with a little pout as he leaned over and scooped her up.

“The couch is more comfortable,” he gently explained as he placed her back on the couch and quickly tucked her in.

Once she was tucked in, he picked up the small cup of medicine that he’d placed on the coffee table and held it to her lips. “I need you to drink this,” he said softly, giving her a little shake when she started to drift off again.

“You drink it,” she mumbled irritably, blindly pushing the cup away. “I don’t want it.”

“I don’t need it,” he pointed out as he gently pushed a few strands of her beautiful blonde hair out of the way only to get his hand slapped away in the process.

“Neither do I,” she argued.

He sighed heavily as he crouched down next to the couch. “The hives are starting to come back.”

“No, they’re not,” she argued even as she reached up and scratched the hives spreading across her neck.

Too exhausted to argue, he pinched her nose. When she opened her mouth to gasp for air, he poured the medicine in her mouth. He released her nose and covered her mouth with his hand until he was sure that she’d swallowed every last drop.

“I hate you,” she muttered the second that he removed his hand as she tried to glare at him, but the medicine was already kicking in, adding to the drowsiness from the last dose.

Knowing that her level of hatred for him had probably been elevated to a blind murderous rage, he chuckled as he tucked her in. “Goodnight, Tinkerbelle,” he said, gently running his knuckles along her chin as he stood up.

“Rot in hell, you rotten bastard,” she mumbled around a loud yawn as she turned over and curled up on her side.

He couldn’t help but chuckle as he said, “I already am, Tink.”

*-*-*-*

5:55 AM

“How are you feeling?” came the abrupt demand a split second after she managed to open her eyes.

“Um, fine?” she answered, frowning in confusion as she looked around the dimly lit apartment that definitely wasn’t hers.

“Good,” Danny said, scooping her up in his arms and heading for the door before she could sputter an ounce of outrage at being manhandled by the jerk.

By the time she managed to open her mouth to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, he had her apartment door open. He stalked inside and dumped her ass on the couch before he turned around and stormed right back out. He slammed the door behind him, leaving her sitting on her couch, shaking her head and muttering, “Someone’s not a morning person.”

Chapter 7

“Fuck it,” he said, dropping his bag on the floor and pulling his cellphone out of his back pocket. For another minute he stood there, debating making the call that had the power to make his life a living hell.

In the end, exhaustion and the stabbing pain shooting through his shoulder and his hand, the part of his hand that he could still feel anyway, made the decision for him. Hoping that his uncle was too distracted by the coffee truck to answer his phone, he called his Uncle Jared and waited, praying that voicemail picked up.

Much like last night when he prayed that Tink would stop wiggling enticingly beneath him and put him out of his misery by falling asleep, his prayers went unanswered.

“Are you stopping to get donuts?” his Uncle demanded after the third ring, sounding hopeful.

“No, I-”

“Why not, you cheap bastard?” Uncle Jared demanded, cutting him off and making him shake his head in disgust.

“Because I’m not coming in today,” he snapped before his uncle could break out into a thirty-minute rant about how all his nephews were nothing more than insensitive cheap bastards.

There was a heavy pause before his uncle asked, “Are you sick?”

“No,” he said, biting back a curse as he closed his useless hand in a fist, determined to get through this phone conversation without losing his temper.

Another pause.

“If you’re not sick then why aren’t you coming into work?” his Uncle demanded, clearly suspicious and most likely pulling out his personal cell phone at that very moment to send a group text to everyone in the family, putting them on alert.

“Because I spent the night with a woman and I’m exhausted,” Danny said, playing with the truth in order to save himself from an army of Bradfords descending on him to make sure that he wasn’t at death’s door.

There was another heavy pause before his uncle cleared his throat, clearly surprised. “You spent the night with a woman?” he asked, trying to hide his relief, but he did a piss poor job that had Danny feeling guilty about lying to his uncle.

“Yeah,” he said, dropping his head back and sighing, wishing that he didn’t have to resort to doing this, but he was exhausted and needed some sleep and he wouldn’t get that if his uncle thought even for a second that he was sick or hurt.