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Behind me, Zach curses and I barely suppress a shriek when he lifts me in his arms, bridal-style, and strides over to the bathroom. I have very little choice but to fist his shirt and coil my hand around his neck.
The whole thing is over in less than five seconds and the next thing I know, he’s sitting me down on the marble countertop of his sink. I’m on the side, my legs dangling.
I think I should say something, show my stance that I’m against him picking me up like this. But my breaths are still shaken up and my feet are still throbbing, and I can’t form words.
A second later, Zach sits in front of me, on the closed toilet seat, and spreads out the first-aid box right next to me on the counter.
Then he circles his large fingers around my ankle once again and puts my foot on his thigh.
I suck in a breath at how hard it is, the muscles there. It’s like putting my foot up on a rock. A very warm rock.
The smell of antiseptic fills the space as Zach dabs some on a cotton ball with deft, expert movements.
“You didn’t have a meeting, did you?” I ask, instead of focusing on very weird feelings he’s invoking in me by his gentle ministrations.
With easy flicks of his hand, Zach cleans the cuts on my toes. My foot jerks with the sting but he holds it in place. “Nope.”
I curl my fingers at the edge of the counter. “You made it up.”
He finishes up with one foot and switches over to the next. He treats it the same way. Carefully cleans the area, dabs at the blood and puts the band-aid on.
Throwing away the soiled cotton balls, he shuts the first aid box and stands, making himself taller and intimidating. “I did.”
I want to stand too, so we can be on equal footing, but he doesn’t give me space. He’s crowding me and I crane my neck up to look at him.
“So you could ruin my date,” I conclude.
“Was this your first date with him?”
His eyes move over my features and I squirm in my seat. “Why?”
“Because he looked broken up about it.” He scans my rumpled blue curls and I tuck a strand behind my ear. “Like he wanted to be with you rather than driving me around for no reason.”
“Of course he wanted to be with me. What did you think? We had a date, you idiot. We’d been planning to go out for days.”
“Yeah, about that. Why didn’t you?” he asks, casually.
“There was no time. Jobs, remember? We both have one,” I snap.
His eyes drop to my mouth before coming back up to my eyes. I feel like I’m going to explode. I’m hot and sweaty and tired, and I’m breathing way too fast.
“Do you like him?” he asks, looking cool and relaxed.
“What difference does it make?”
“Do you?”
I dig my nails into the counter. “Yes. I like him. I’ve always liked him. I’ve liked him since I was a kid. Since before I met you, and I’ve been looking forward to this date for days now. I wanted to go out with him. I wanted to have a good time.” I know I’m saying these things but they sound weird to me, like I’m trying to convince myself as much as him.
Even so, I forge ahead. “I guess that’s why you ruined it, didn’t you? Because it would’ve killed your fun if I did one thing that made me happy.”
“He wouldn’t have made you happy.”
“I’m sorry?”
“And neither would Neal. Your taste in men sucks.”
“What?”
