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Derek’s nose and my brain are just fine, but my pride is oh-so-bruised. I made a huge scene. One so big that an entire tour had to reschedule their day to accommodate my unexpected ripple in their timing. Everyone was kind for the most part but definitely displeased by the turn of events.
Of course the one moment I was trying to be vulnerable…I slam him in the nose, nearly make him bleed out on a boat, and then I pass out like a dramatic 1800s heroine whose corset is too tight. And it was all captured on camera. I want to cry.
Evidence that Nora Mackenzie (Pender) really is extra.
Derek is in the shower now (washing off my blood) and I’m lying in bed, nursing my deflated ego and wondering if this is a sign fromthe universe that I need to keep my mouth shut. That what Derek and I had was in the past, and it should stay back there. Buried. With no maps or X’s to mark the spot.
It’s probably a moot point anyway. Derek had a fresh taste of the realities of what dating me is like.
Except the bathroom door opens and steam billows out around a massive, tan male form clad only in a small white towel tucked around his waist, and I think that the universe can suck a lemon. That towel is barely hanging on and I have an internal cheer section rooting for it to fall.
“Sorry. Forgot my clothes,” he says, and I’m definitely staring at the dusting of hair that trails down his muscled abdomen and disappears behind the towel.
I shoot my gaze to the ceiling. “Mm-hm. No problem.”
It’s dead silent in here except for Derek’s naked feet walking over the carpet, reminding me that he’s here and we’re sharing this room and there’s water droplets crawling sensually down his spine. Oh damn, I can even hear the towel brushing against his thighs. Can hear his suitcase unzipping and then the sound of fabric sliding up his legs. His underwear? Did he drop the towel in plain sight? Should I look? No. That would be rude.
I peek and find him already mostly dressed with his back to me, but oh my god the man is still shirtless in black form-fitting sweatpants. His muscles literally ripple beneath his flesh as he raises a shirt over his head and pulls it on, quickly followed by a Sharks hoodie that looks so snuggly I want to climb inside with him.
He turns around and catches me watching before I can look away. I guiltily fall back onto my pillow and shut my eyes.
“Whatcha doing over there?” he asks, amusement running through his tone.
My eyelids remain closed. “Sleeping. I’m exhausted from draining you of all your blood today, so I think I’m going to nap.”
It’s quiet for a while, and then I jump when I feel Derek’s hand touch my forehead. My eyes fly open to find him standing just beside the bed.
“Are you sick?” He’s serious.
“I don’t think so.” But I do feel dangerously close to crying.
“I’ve never known you to nap.”
I raise a brow. “Well…to be fair there’s quite a few years in there you haven’t known me. Maybe I nap every single day now.”
“Do you?” he asks, and I refuse to acknowledge the way he doesn’t immediately pull his hand away but passes his fingers over my hair first, gently pushing it back from my face and tucking it behind my ear.
I shiver a little. Maybe I do have a fever. “No. I haven’t napped since I was twelve years old. But…I’m just tired. It’s been a doozy of a month and I feel like a goose for passing out on the boat and…I think…I think I just need a nap.” My voice wobbles.
No jokes. No playfulness this time. Just honesty because everything is catching up with me and I’m tired all the way to the center of my bones. I need a reset so I can wake up and stop feeling so embarrassed and flooded with feelings for Derek. I need to get ahold of myself before I start reading too much into him telling me he’s jealous. Into his little touches. Into the possibility that he’d ever consider having another shot at this with me, when really, that would be a terrible idea.
Derek eyes me for a few seconds, his square jaw flexing once before he moves around to his side of the bed. I go up on my elbows and watch his every move. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to nap with you.”
I laugh nervously. “What? Why?” That’s definitely not going to help me reset.
He lifts the comforter and slides in. “It sounds like a good idea. I never get to nap in my day-to-day back home. So let’s nap.”
“Okayyyy,” I say skeptically, lying back slowly onto my pillow. Again we fall into silence together and all I hear is the soft sounds of our side-by-side breathing and the shifting of sheets every so often. The curtains are open so the room is all sunny and warm. This is nice.
“I’m sorry about your nose,” I say quietly. “And the scene it caused.”
“Who cares about a scene? I’m just glad you didn’t hit your head.”
I’m choked up—emotions clogging my throat from how freeing it is to not be treated like a nuisance for something I can’t control. “Because you caught me. Even though your nose was bleeding and you were in pain.”
He raises an arm above his head. “Quit making me out to sound like a hero. My nose is perfectly fine.” A light scoff falls from his mouth. “God knows I’ve had worse injuries.”
