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So, yes, complicated. For now, I'll stick with mindless card games. Of course, that has to come to an end--along with the pie and a pot of coffee. Anders leaves, and when he's gone, Dalton heads out of the bedroom, saying, "I'll lock the front door."
"After you leave, right?"
He turns slowly, looking at me as if he's really hoping I'm joking. When I say, "I think you should go," he stands there, not moving, then he runs one hand through his hair as he says, "Fuck, I thought we were..."
He tries to straighten, to pull his usual don't-give-a-shit attitude back into place, but he doesn't quite manage it and finally shakes his head and says, "Took a few rounds of cards to sink in, huh? Okay. That's..."
He exhales sharply, his eyes finding their steel. "Goddamn it, Casey, don't fuck with me. I don't know those games, and I sure as hell don't care to learn them. If you don't want me--"
"Oh, but I do, which is the problem." I stretch out on the bed. "Three problems, actually." I point to my injuries. "I'm ordering you out because I don't want to explain to Beth how I ripped my wounds open without getting out of bed."
It takes a moment to sink in. Then he grins. "Okay, then. I'll behave myself."
"It's not you I'm worried about."
He turns then, and his grin is something new, a little bit wicked and a whole lot pleased.
"I suppose my stitches can be re-sewn," I say.
"And add a few more days onto your recuperation? No. I'll stay in my chair. You stay in your bed."
"All right, then."
I start to peel off my shirt. I get it halfway over my head and he's there, tugging it back down.
"None of that," he says.
"You don't think I sleep in my clothes, do you?"
"Tonight you will. I'll keep mine on, too."
"Mmm, you don't have to do that." I reach over and slide my hands under his shirt. I have it off before he realizes he should probably stop me. Then I chuck it across the room, tug him onto the bed, and straddle him, my hands on his face, tilting it up.
"No..." he says.
"What? I'm just getting a look at you." I run my fingers over his beard shadow. "You've stopped shaving."
"Yeah, got a little busy. I'll do it in the morning."
"That wasn't a complaint. I was really hoping clean-shaven wasn't a new look for you."
His brows crease and then he grunts and says, "Right."
"I'm guessing you did it for our trip."
There's this long, awkward pause, his gaze shifting from mine. "Yeah, I just ... I wanted to look more..."
"--presentable for going to town."
He exhales, and nods quickly. "Right." And I realize that wasn't the reason at all, and I think of that trip, of the drive up to the lookout, with the bonfire, and I realize he sure as hell wouldn't have taken Anders up there.
"Well," I say, "if I have any say in the matter, I like you this way."
I bend and kiss him, and he kisses me back, a kiss that gets deeper by the second, until I accidentally wince as my chest wound stretches.
"Goddamn it," he says, backing up.
I start to slide out of my shirt again. He hesitates and then yanks it down, growling under his breath.
