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“Let’s go.” Absolutely no way am I taking any chances with this woman again. I scoop her up, hooking her over my shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Not the most romantic way, but I’d rather not die tripping over a tree root. Now that I think of that, I pause to dig my phone out of my pocket and hand it to her.
“Flashlight, please.”
“This is ridiculous,” she mutters, but does as she’s asked.
It wouldn’t be Meghan if she didn’t resist every little thing.
“Where are we going?”
“To my room.”
“How far is that? You cannot carry me that far.”
“Not far.”
“Herc, I’m not hurt.”
“We’ll see.”
THIRTEEN
Meghan
I’m sweaty from our romp in the woods. And filthy.
Judging by the piles of clothes everywhere in this apartment, I’m guessing Herc doesn’t care if I have a little dirt on me.
He orders me to remove my shirt and skirt, leaving me in only my bra. I don’t feel self-conscious, though, even though it’s been so long since he’s seen me like this. For all of his wonderful same-ness, there’s a new Herc that I’m experiencing right now. He’s authoritative and in charge as he examines my bruises.
“Is there a mark?” I ask, trying and failing to peek down the length of my back.
His rough fingers trace over my lower back, gingerly caressing.
“Mm. Don’t see anything.”
“See? I’m fine.”
He moves to the far corner of the room, past the saddest excuse I’ve ever seen for a kitchenette. It’s no more than a mini fridge, a hand-washing sink, a hotel-room microwave, a shelf with paper plates, and a ceramic jug of mismatched flatware. “Where do you do dishes?” I ask, following him, stepping around clothes and shoe boxes of personal belongings.
“Downstairs in the real kitchen,” he snorts. “Most of the time, Devin and Dia feed me leftovers. They don’t expect anything in return, but I wash up for them whenever there’s a rush. Dia especially likes to take care of me. One day she told me to stick out my tongue so she could see what I’d been eating. She was disgusted by something she saw, so now I just eat what she cooks. I don’t like sesame seeds that much, but I’m not turning down free food.”
I’m stuck on the image of a woman examining Herc’s tongue, feeling a weird pang of jealousy. But it seems to be a maternal relationship from what he’s describing, so I tell myself to calm down. He doesn’t need me to be his mother, and that’s a good thing.
“At least someone is taking care of you,” I sigh. Something in Dia’s food is working, evidently. When Herc tugs off his dirty tank top, I get a close-up view of a lean, muscled stomach, and a chest with ridges where I’m confident I’ve never seen ridges before. I never had a preference for men’s bodies. I loved snuggling Herc’s soft tummy in college. But seeing something different on him is exciting. Even the way he moves around the space is altered. Smoother, faster. He was a sexy bear of a man before, and now he’s a lion.
“You look…different.”
He shrugs and reaches around a wall, looking back at me. “Hauling kegs around will do that.”
That should not make my body excited all over again. It shouldn’t.
I hear a crank of metal against metal and then the sound of spraying water, and I realize what we’re doing over here in the corner. On the other side of the tile half-wall of the kitchenette is a shower stall.
“You really ought to have a shower door or hang a curtain at least,” I inform him.
“How’s the temperature?” He takes my hand and holds it under the spray.
“Perfect,” I say.
