I grinned. “Yes, I do know that,” I said, moving past him as we undertook our usual routine of gathering plates and napkins, pulling beers from the fridge. “I know it because you made me watch that stupid Mythbusters episode three times.”
Damon dished up slices then carried the boxes and plates into the family room. “It sounds like you’ll need to watch it another time if you think it’s so stupid.”
I shuddered, grabbed the beers and napkins. “God, no. It wasn’t stupid. I just objected to the volume of viewing.”
“Volume of viewing?” he asked. “You one of those fancy actors who warm up with those alliteration word games, are you now?”
I sat down on the couch with a sigh. God, I was tired. But it had been a long and trying week with Grant. Though, thankfully, the dailies looked good. Apparently, hate behind the scenes could translate well enough to mimic desire.
A desire to throttle one’s co-star, that was.
“Don’t get me started,” I said. “I’ve been spending my week trying to come up with a better alliteration than ego ejaculating.”
He froze, slice an inch from his mouth. “Um, what?”
I shook my head, took a bite of my own. God, that was good. After I’d chewed, I explained. “He’s like a cat pissing everywhere, marking everyone with his ego, but that’s not an e-word and so . . .”
“Ego ejaculating.”
A shrug. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Damon studied me for a long moment. “That’s not all of it.”
My cheeks went hot. I could feel them burning and knew they’d be bright red. Thanks, karma for making me a redhead. That blush would be flared crimson across my cheeks, staining my chest. Not cute.
Also, making it very obvious when I was lying.
Which Damon knew. So he just lifted an eyebrow, stared, and waited.
“Dammit,” I said on an exasperated huff. “Fine. It started with ejaculating ego and then I added to it.”
“Added what exactly?”
“Eagerly ejaculating ego elucidates earnestly excessive aches.” I stopped then shrugged when I saw his expression had frozen into one of shock. I was in it already, might as well tell him all of it. “I couldn’t think of an e-word for ache, but give me time.”
He was still silent, still frozen, but then his eyes warmed, his lips curled up into a smile and—
He burst into laughter. It was raucous and loud, and it wasn’t his soft voice or his sharp ordering tone or even his teasing intonation that never failed to make me feel lighter inside. This was . . .
I’d delighted him.
And I liked that, too, too much.
But before I could dwell on that for too long, he’d gotten himself under control. “I’ll work on finding a suitable e-word for ache.”
I smiled despite myself. “Shut up and eat your pizza.”
He obliged, taking another bite before talking around the food. “I am eating.” He shoved my plate at me. “Now, you.”
“You’re disgusting,” I said, batting his hand away. “Chew with your mouth closed.”
“Meh,” he said. “We don’t stand on ceremony. Not between us friends.”
Was it just me? Or had he emphasized the word friends? I paused, setting the plate back down, ignoring the way that made me feel. It was this movie. I was just tired from dealing with the Ego and—
“Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Fine. Just tired.”
See? If I said it aloud, it had to be true.
“Well, let’s fuel that very talented actor’s body”—he opened the lid on the box—“with garlic bread.”
My stomach did a funny dip when the smell of garlic hit my nose.
Then I was on my feet, my hand clamped over my mouth.
“Eden?” Damon jumped up, too, reaching for me. “What’s the matter—?”
I brushed him off and ran for the closest bathroom. My knees hit the rug by the toilet, and I . . .
Well, thankfully, I hadn’t eaten much, because it all came up and landed in that white porcelain bowl. Awful. It tasted awful, felt horrible, and the usual relief that came from the after-effects of puking didn’t come.
My stomach still churned.
A hand rested lightly on my back, a wet washcloth in front of my face. “Here,” Damon said.
I got his soft voice again.
And it calmed my stomach in a way the puking hadn’t.
“Thanks,” I murmured, taking it. Shit, I shouldn’t have had that catered lunch. I’d thought the salad had tasted off.
He sat on the edge of the tub. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Just a long week.”
Fingers brushed over my forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”
“I’m fine,” I said, sitting back and wiping my mouth with the washcloth. The nausea had disappeared. “I think that I’d better lay off the extra pepperoni tonight though.”
“Seems fair,” he murmured. “I’ll go put it in the fridge and get you a glass of water. Hang tight until I get back, okay?”
“I’m fine—” I began.
“You’re tired and you just lost what little you’ve eaten of dinner.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, lightly pressed me down. “Stay put. Clearly, your body has had enough.”
I debated arguing with that.
But then fatigue swept through me again, and I was reminded again of the long week and Grant and just felt really, really tired. Maybe we could have our weekly night with me prone on the couch.
I closed my eyes, leaning forward and rested my forehead against the cool porcelain.
Gross, but at least I’d just cleaned the bathroom.
Lie, my housecleaner had come in that day and cleaned . . . because I was that person. But I was also a person who traveled a lot and worked fourteen-hour days and was glad to have the means to be puking into a clean toilet.
“All right, ready to get up?”
I nodded but didn’t move. I was just going to close my eyes and go to sleep right . . . now—
Damon lifted me up into his arms.
“Here, baby,” he murmured. “I’ll take you to bed—”
“No!”
He froze, fingers brushing my cheek.
