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Derek is not treating me like I’m extra, though. His eyes and hands and voice are all gentle, which honestly surprises me.
He bends slightly to catch my gaze. “Focus on me. Forget you saw anything, okay?” His eyes look so soft right now—astark contrast to his size and tattoos. Gone is the scowl from earlier, and for this brief moment, I’m looking into the face of the man I once loved. Who once loved me. Who worried more about me when I fainted than me making an embarrassing scene for him.
I nod again and now my attention is away from the blood and slipping to the place where his big hand is woven in the back of my hair. His other is gripping my hip. Does he realize he’s holding me so affectionately? Possessively? It’s not the kind of touch a stranger would give. It’s the kind that saysYou were mine once.
He leans over me then, his chest brushing mine as he snatches a magazine from the opposite side of the counter and then plops it in my lap. “Here. Look at this to distract yourself while I remove the glass.”
I must look pale all of a sudden because his hold on me tightens again.
“Breathe, Nora,” he reminds me gently before deciding I’m not safe sitting up. He takes a dish towel and folds it over until it’s a nice cushion and sets it a little way behind me.
“Lie back,” he commands, and really, it’s fine the way those words erupt over my skin. It’s fine and dandy and not at all concerning that my brain is so overloaded with ideas now I can barely think straight. I’m blaming it on the drop in my blood pressure.
I try to focus on the images in this junk mail department store magazine and block out the sensation of this man gingerly holding my foot as if I’m Cinderella. I’m aware of a tiny tinge of pain, but it’s nothing compared to the waves of heat bursting up my leg from Derek’s calluses lightly scraping over my skin. It’s been so long since I’ve been tenderly touched like this.Held.I mean, other men have held me since Derek, but…not in the way Derek ever did. Part of me has always worried that no one ever will either.
“Do you need a new three-piece suit?” I ask him, trying to get my thoughts to surface from the sexual-tension-filled pit they’ve fallen into.
“Huh? No.” He’s not paying attention to me. All his focus is on theglass removal. I feel a slight tug on the top of my foot, and he hisses in through his teeth. “Did that hurt?”
I shake my head and furiously flip through pages, desperate to not think about the cuts. “How about a new blender?” My voice is a squeaky toy. “An ornate glass vase thingy?Oh—look at this deal: Buy three pillow shams and get the fourth a whopping ten percent off.Wow.How do department stores even stay in business just giving things away like that?”
His hand squeezes around my ankle.
“Just a little more. Doesn’t look like it’ll need stitches.” He’s all compassion when another tug makes me shut my eyes. “Don’t pass out on me, rookie. I’m done with the removal. You can breathe.”
His hand stays fixed on the outside of my thigh as he reaches down the island to open a drawer, and I wonder if he even realizes he’s still holding me. He pulls out a little red-and-white first-aid kit, and pauses, frowning at the drawer. “Nora. Did you organize my junk drawer?”
“I did, yes.”
He continues staring at it and I can’t tell for sure but it looks like he’s fighting a smile. “According to color, though?”
“Well…yes. It makes the most sense that way, don’t you think? Because we can easily spot the color of something we’re looking for but it takes more brainpower to think of what category it would belong to.” I pause. “In full transparency I also organized your dish towel drawer. You were folding them the wrong way.”
His gaze slides to me. “And?”
I scrunch my nose. “Aaaand…your container drawer.”
He looks up at the ceiling and now I could swear it’s because he doesn’t want me to see him smile. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking. He clears his throat and closes the junk drawer. “I would tell you notto organize anything in my house from now on, but it’s no use, is it? You’ll do it anyway.”
“That’s the most likely outcome, yes.” Another thing that really bothered my ex-boyfriend. My brain sits happier when things are in nice little rainbow rows.
He begins doctoring up my foot with antiseptic spray and bandages. “I guess that part of you hasn’t changed.”
Has he been assessing me for changes and similarities to my past self just like I’ve been doing with him? From the way he’s been treating me, I’d have suspected he never contemplated me beyond what task would be most annoying for me to complete.
“Okay, you’re all set,” he says, gently releasing my foot. It falls back down beside my other foot, all cold and bored now.
Derek extends his hand to help me sit up. But once I’m on his level again, he doesn’t step back. He’s standing closer than we’ve been since we broke up. In fact, he’s right between my legs. Legs that suddenly burn to wrap around his waist. His chilling blue eyes meet mine and flare as that old glimmer pulls taut between us. The air shifts entirely and it’s like we’re two different people. Or rather, two people we once were.
I don’t know who closes the distance, but somehow, we’re closer and his hands find my waist, shifting me more toward the edge of the counter. My inner thighs press against his hips, and our faces hover centimeters apart.
“Nora, are you…seeing anyone now?” Derek whispers so quiet it’s like he didn’t even want me to hear it. Like if the words are silent enough they don’t count.
“No.” My breath trembles out of me.
Derek’s gaze drops to my parted mouth, and without meaning to, I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. His expression shifts to one of agony now, and I remember the rule I just broke.
Reality suspends, the world narrows, and it’s just us. Me and Derek. His face angles lower and mine lifts, removing that small gap between us. Our lips brush softly—not quite a kiss but more of a refrain. There’s no pressure or commitment to it, only a gesture laced with torture. Maybe this is our next unspoken competition: Who can withstand the tension the longest?
