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He’s walking just fine today, which is good.
He’s been all over the place since we finished with PT only a half hour ago. Clanging around in the kitchen, in and out of his room.
I have half a mind to tell him to settle down, not to push himself too hard. The incident with his legs the other day isn’t anything to worry about in the scheme of things, but I know he’d rather not have it happen again.
I try to distract myself with the book I’ve been reading, a fantasy that’s probably about three hundred pages too long, but this is the eighth on in the series, and I’ve come this far, dammit.
I keep getting hung up on the same paragraph describing some sort of orc battle that’s far too violent for my taste.
The front door opens and shuts a few times. I’m tempted to ask him what the hell is going on, but he’s a grown man. He’s allowed to do what he wants.
When he returns, he calls out from the front door, “Alright!”
I don’t make a move or reply.
Nate appears in front of my spot on the couch. Hands on his hips. “Okay, get up.”
I look at him from under my lashes. “Huh?”
“Get up.”
I close my book, holding my place with my thumbs, which is a blessing in disguise, seeing as I’m not getting much reading done anyway. “What’s this about, Nate?”
“I’m taking you on a boat ride, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”
I blink at him. “I’m sorry, I could have sworn you just said you’re taking me on a boat ride.”
Nate grins. Aw, fuck, that grin. “Well, your hearing is in working order.”
We stare at each other. Long stare.
Confusion and smugness playing a strange game of tennis which is only interrupted when Nate holds out his hand.
Blood rushes to my core when I think of all the things those fingers could do to me.
I’m a lost cause, aren’t I?
“Please? Pretty please?”
“It’s always ‘pretty please’ with you,” I grumble, but take his hand and let him pull me off the couch. “What do I need to bring?”
He shakes his head. “Just yourself.”
The back of my tongue swells, and I’m unable to speak.
He smiles and guides me to the front door. “Now, put on your shoes and let’s get out of here.”
WatchingNate drive the pontoon is its own form of foreplay.
I sit with rapt attention as he handles the wheel. For all intents and purposes, it looks like driving a car, but there’s something sodifferentabout it.
I try to turn off my brain, reminding myself over and over,He doesn’t want me.
However, that’s hard to believe when he’s asked me on a boat ride, prepared a picnic for the occasion, and keeps looking at me. Occasional glances that I can’t quite read but seem full of excitement.
Anticipation, maybe.
The stunning three-sixty view of spring blooming around the lake has put me at peace for the first time in days.
