When Gracie Met The Grump

by Mariana Zapata

I opened my mouth, and he poured the small amount of water into it. I licked my lips, my mouth so damn dry.

“What are you doing?” I croaked just as he slipped an arm under my knees and another across my shoulder blades, lifting me effortlessly. “Don’t hurt your back!” The Defender didn’t look at me as he said, “It’s fine now.” It was?

“Drink,” he ordered. “I’ve got you.” He… did?

I’d kill for some honey. For something warm and soothing. To be back home, in my bed.

A wet hand rubbed over my forehead and the back of my neck as I dragged a ragged, painful breath in. Tilting my head, I peered up at him. His features were smooth, and he was staring again, being so, so watchful, like he really was weighing some part of my soul in his invisible scales, seeing if I was worthy or not. I wasn’t sure I was, but I’d like to hope so.

And that’s when he picked me up, pressing me against him and his buzzing skin and the presence I was getting used to. So, so easily.

For some damn reason I didn’t understand, I said, “You can call me Gracie,”

His glance was so quick I almost missed it. “Gracie,” he actually said.

You… smell like you haven’t showered in days.” He made a noise in his throat. “You smell ill.”

He sighed and carried me back toward the wall. “I thought people stopped talking when they don’t feel well,” he said under his breath.

Someone wasn’t just trying to be nice; he was back to being sarcastic too.

“You’re sure I’m not dying?” “Unless you die from talking too much, no.”

And I just frowned at that beautiful face. “Really though. Why are you being so nice? Why are you doing this?” His eyebrows arched. “I’m not being nice.” The rest of his face caught up in an expression that fell somewhere between a frown and confusion. “You did the same for me.”

It made more sense that he didn’t want to have to deal with my smelly, dead body. I was sick, and my brain wasn’t running on all cylinders, but I was still going to accept anything he was willing to throw my way.

“Here,” he replied, sighing again, sounding only a little exasperated. “Come here.” He crisscrossed those long legs and tilted his head back, raising dark eyebrows at me. Then he opened his arms wide, stretching the material clinging to his shoulders and biceps for dear life. “Come on,” he demanded. Where? There? By him?

Then I scooched down right in there. On top of him. My butt cradled right in the nook The Defender’s knees created.

I stretched my legs out and draped them over his thigh, part of me expecting him to suddenly change his mind and tell me to fuck off. To tell me to get off his lap. It didn’t happen though, and I took my time leaning against him about a second after I settled on him, letting the side of my forehead slowly rest against his chest, right at the base of his throat.

And damn near instantly, at least ten of my muscles, muscles that had been strained so tight, relaxed. Because he wasn’t warm, but he wasn’t cold. And he was more comfortable than the floor. So much more comfortable than the floor. And let it be said, I knew I missed touch. Missed hugs. Affection in general. But the feel of his body brought a comfort that I was desperate enough to suck up with a straw.

While we were there… while he was being so willing… His inhale of surprise was the only noise he made after I reached behind me, picked up his arm, and wrapped it around my side. I even set his hand in my lap. Like we weren’t damn near strangers. Like he hadn’t spent weeks glaring at me for some reason, and he wasn’t one of the most special people in the world, and I was… not.

Like I had any right to demand anything of him. I didn’t. Nobody did. But he still felt pretty fucking amazing. If I had any body fluids left, I might have cried.

“I know this is probably hell for you, but you can count to three hundred and then push me off,” I whispered, feeling a violent shake go through me. I was freezing. He moved t...

If this was half as nice as snuggling with a loved one, I totally understood why people who were happy lived longer.

At least I would have gotten to experience something like this once in my life.

His body tightened, and I didn’t imagine how gruff his voice came out.

What I got was a chuff. Did that count as a laugh? Had I made him laugh again?

His muscles stayed hard. “You’re not going to die,” The Defender grunted.

I pressed my forehead a little more against the column of his neck. “My last name is Castro. You can tell them my real name if you want, or Gracie, I don’t care. I wouldn’t be able to.”

“You talk in Spanish in your sleep.”

I heard the zipper, then felt him shift a bit before he tugged the opened sides of the hoodie wide and wrapped them around me. Like a taco, and I was the filling.

I was T-shirt on skin with a beautiful man.

And not just any beautiful man, but The Defender. The fucking Defender. A gorgeous pain in the fucking ass. One who was taking care of me.

I dropped my head and even caught my breath… until my teeth chattered and I shivered again.

Turning my head a little, I lifted my hand—and I was going to blame the fever on messing around with the hormones controlling my brain—and with the tip of my index finger, I lifted his lip a little. It was firm and soft at the same time.

“You can call me Alexander.”

Those bright eyes went squinty. “Tell anybody and—” Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. “You’ll render my limbs, I know,” I whispered, stunned. I sounded his name out on my tongue. A-l-e-x-a-n-d-e-r. Huh. It was so… so… normal.

“It’s a nice name. Very solid, very fitting,” I whispered, wondering now if this was some kind of delusion or something. Maybe I was dead. Or I was dreaming. “Not Alex. Not Xander. Alexander,” he muttered, already sounding like he was regretting his decision to give me that much. Maybe it wasn’t a dream. “Alexander, got it,” I confirmed weakly, reeling and trying to play it cool.

He had a name. Like everybody. And it wasn’t Goliath or Stormkiller or something that sounded like a mathematical equation. It was Alexander. Not Xander. And even though he...

His thighs bunched under mine, and his breathing was slow as he said quietly, “I know what it is. I know your middle name too.”

The arm that had been resting beside his body shifted, and before I knew it, those long fingers were grazing my cheek. If I could have sucked in a surprised breath, I would have. “Your hand feels nice,” I told him honestly.

“No, I just miss human contact,” I admitted,

“I asked them to,” I told him, feeling bile rising in my throat. “I know you did. Two of them kicked me. That’s all,” he answered surprisingly fast, his breath a warm puff against my hair. I nodded, thinking about how I’d yelled out of desperation. I swallowed the memory and the hurt down. The shame too. Because anybody would have yelled for help, right? Except maybe not him. But he wasn’t here to save me. I wasn’t his responsibility.

“Eat it,” he growled. I tried to growl back, but it came out as a cough. “I’m not hungry.” “I don’t care if you’re hungry. Eat it,” he demanded.

Alexander sighed. “Fine. Be dehydrated.” I’d forgotten he’d given me a real name to call him. It almost made me feel better. Almost.

“Did they lower the temperature in here more or am I imagining it?” I pretty much whimpered. “They did.” They were trying to kill me. That shouldn’t have been a surprise. Fuck. I needed… to stay up a little bit.

There was a brief pause. “I’ve regained a significant amount of my energy and… everything else.” Everything else?

His sigh was long and clear. “Whatever energy you’re about to waste, save it.”

And I thought… I thought I imagined it… but I didn’t. The crazy bastard huffed. A little. But it was pretty damn close to a chuckle.

It was the warm touch on my face that was my silent alarm clock. But it was the sight of a big palm retreating that had me flinching.

Alexander’s face moved into my line of sight. The line was back between his eyebrows, his mouth flat. “Your fever is higher.” No surprise. My brain felt like it was going to explode. I shivered and tried to find the words, pushing them through lips that felt too dry.

I had no energy, but I needed water… and movement… and food, even if I didn’t want it.