She snorted but then made a sound when I slipped her shoe away from the ankle that she twisted. It was red and slightly puffy, but it didn’t look too bad. I used a nearby towel to gingerly pat the water and mud off the sore part. “It doesn’t look that bad. Should be fine by morning. We’ll get some ice on it.”
She didn’t say anything and when I looked up, I caught her staring at me, watching me with this strained look on her face.
“Are you hurt somewhere else? Did you hit your head?” I reached up and fingered her scalp, searching for cuts.
“I’m fine.” She caught my wrists and pulled them away from her head. “Why is it whenever I try to get away from you, I end up in your arms instead?”
“Because you’re clumsy and pigheaded?” I offered.
She rolled her eyes.
“You went out there to get away from me?” I asked seriously. Something in my stomach churned and that feeling in my chest was back.
She pushed at her wet hair. “It’s easier that way, you know?” she said quietly. “Like you said, there is no future for us.”
That’s why she went outside. Why she didn’t want me to go with her. I hurt her. Telling her that I didn’t want her actually hurt her feelings.
Having power over another person’s emotions was always something I reveled in. But not now. Not this. It seemed like an awful lot to bear… I didn’t want the responsibility of knowing I could hurt her. Hell, I just ran out into a raging, angry storm after her to keep her from getting hurt. Now she tells me she was out there in the first place because of me.
I dealt with her feelings the best way I knew how. Not at all.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
If the change in topic surprised her, she didn’t show it. “Yeah.”
“Let’s get changed and I’ll make some spaghetti and you can ice that ankle.” I helped her up the stairs and into her room where she assured me she could manage, and so I left her, going to change into a dry pair of jeans and shirt.
The fire was almost out so I added some more wood to it and then went to boil the water for the noodles. Frankie appeared when I was pulling a jar of sauce out of the cupboard. She grabbed some ice out of the freezer and hobbled over to the table and sat down, propping up her foot.
“I don’t think it’s that bad. Barely hurts anymore.”
I made a sound and added the noodles to the boiling water.
We made small talk. Mostly she asked me about Scotland and I answered. The conversation stayed the same while we ate and the storm still raged outside. Underneath the light conversation, a tension was building. I didn’t know if she felt it too or if it was purely my own frustrations starting to come to a head, but it made me feel restless and moody.
There was so much between us that wasn’t said, and the hurt I was responsible for would flash in her eyes every so often, there only long enough for me to recognize it before it was gone again. It was a relief when she went to bed, saying the events of the day had made her tired.
I thought once she was gone and I was alone, the tension coiled inside me would lessen, that it would go away. It didn’t. It got worse. It was like being away from her made my body want to search for her.
Maybe I should just admit it.
I wanted her.
I had feelings for her.
Frankie made mefeel.
I growled in frustration. But even still, what I said earlier held true. There was no future for us; there couldn’t be.
The next thing I knew I was standing in her doorway, peering into her dark room at the bed, wondering if she was asleep yet. She wasn’t in the bed. She was standing at the window, looking out at the moon. She was wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a tank top, an outfit that left little to the imagination.
Lust slammed into me so quickly that I almost stumbled. The need to touch her, to claim her, almost had me across the room and pushing her onto the bed.
But I held back, needing to tell her.
“I’ve thought about it too.”
She jumped, my voice startling her, and she turned, glancing at me over her shoulder through the dark.
