Chloe’s brows knit together in confusion, but the movement causes her to wince and one hand to shoot up to her forehead.

“Oh God, Chloe!!” Frankie screams as she drops to Chloe’s side. “Are you okay? Fred, I can’t believe you hit her in the head.”

“I’m sorry, Chloe.” Fred looks sheepish. “Next time wait to celebrate when the ball is dead.”

I help Chloe up. Her white skirt is dirty and instinctively I dust it off, grazing her ass. Chloe doesn’t saw my hand off with a machete so she must be pretty out of it. Fred apologizes again, and Frankie pulls Chloe into a bear hug that makes her wince, then we’re taking the elevators down to the lobby.

“Let’s go get you checked out.”

* * *

As instructed by Dr. Patel, I’m keeping a close eye on Chloe, and escorting her home. She gives Marcus the address and I’m thankful that she’s still got her memory. I’d hate for her to forget that she despises me, and ruin all the fun.

“How does it look?” Chloe removes the ice pack from her forehead. Her fair complexion is no aid in disguising the red mark on her skin, though I do think the ice is helping with the swelling. I should be staring at her face, but my gaze drops to her chest. The spot where her quarter-zip tennis dress is displaying her cleavage.

She catches me looking.

“They didn’t have a sports bra in my size so I had to wear my regular bra. If Fred didn’t nail me in the head with the ball, I probably would have knocked myself out with one of these bouncing around.” She pats her chest. “Seriously, why are tennis clothes so snug? You know what I’m talking about. Those shorts aren’t hiding anything.”

Chloe finds my lap out of the corner of her eye.

“Did I say that out loud?” She clamps a hand over her mouth.

“Yes.” I hold back a chuckle, because the only thing more entertaining than angry Chloe is nervous, rambling Chloe.

“It looks fine.” I point to her head. “Your head, that is. I’m not going to comment on your breasts.”

“That’s fair. I won’t comment on your dick either.” She gasps. “Is having no filter a symptom of a concussion?”

“No,” I say, feeling my shorts grow tighter with Chloe’s innocent, yet effective dirty talk. At that moment, I’m grateful that Marcus pulls up to Chloe’s building.

Chloe moves to get out of the car.

“I’ll see you in,” I say.

“No, it’s fine. I’m good.”

“I want to make sure you get into your apartment okay.” Whether it’s because I don’t want her to pass out in her hallway or because I’m plain curious, I’m not sure.