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I need to examine this further. I need to think about what I’m actually doing. And I need to prove Will wrong. I don’t know why that last thing is important to me, but I don’t want her or anyone else thinking I can’t control myself.
Retreating to my bedroom, I feel a sudden sense of urgency to get back to looking for a place of my own to live. Maybe I’ll spend the next little bit browsing available places to set up some appointments this week.Yes. This is a good plan.
I hear Will’s door open and close, and then the bathroom door. I click for the browser and hear the water for the shower come on. Will is showering. This particular bit of knowledge never caught my attention before. But the skin on my thigh where her knuckles briefly brushed is still prickly. And I have a sudden vision of Will naked and wet beneath the water. I’ve never seen her naked in real life, so the image of her in the hot pink bikini and some of my own imagination fill in the blanks.
Her tattooed legs, the anchors on her chest, the flowers on her ribs. Those damn cherries. I can see it all, wet and slick in my mind, steam rolling off her skin.
I click the roller pad of my laptop a tad too hard, as I blink away these very disturbing thoughts.
I’ve got to get out of here.
I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE
WILL
I’m panicking. In the shower. My brain is going a thousand miles an hour, my heart feels like it has dropped into the pit of my stomach, and I’m panicking in the pseudo-safety of the steaming hot shower.Why is it steaming hot?I figure if my eyes burn in their sockets, I’ll be safe from Derek’s smoldering gaze. Or at least I’ll have bigger problems.
Because heissmoldering, isn’t he? It’s not like I have anything to compare it to. I’ve never been the object of his desire or attention, not in that way. Maybe that’s just his normal face? Then again, if he went around eye-fucking every woman like that, he’d probably have a dozen children by now.
This can’t be right. I lather in the conditioner then start shaving my legs. I’m barely paying attention. As I glide up over my kneecap, I cut myself. “Ouch, fuck!” The expletive slips out loudly as blood trickles down my leg and I lose balance, slamming into the shower wall and sliding down. The razor continues bounding down my skin, making little jagged cuts as I fall.
Damn. I really cut myself good.
A second later, the door to the bathroom crashes open.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Derek’s voice sounds frantic.
“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” I snap.
“I heard you yell and then a loud thud. Did you hurt yourself?” he asks.
“I cut my leg,” I admit from behind the shower curtain. “I’m bleeding a little but I don’t think it’s a big deal.”
“Do you want me to take a look at it?” he offers, with genuine concern in his voice.
I look down, examining the cuts myself.Wow. I really dug in there.Rinsing it off, I realize the bleeding isn’t stopping.
“Um, well,” I hesitate. “The blood doesn’t appear to be stopping.”
“Okay, wrap a towel around you and I’ll get my kit,” he says.Oh Jesus.
Turning off the water, I peek my head out of the curtain and reach for my towel. I wrap it around my body, pulling it tight and tucking it in. As I step out, I realize the blood is all the way down to my foot.Christ, if I didn’t know better, I would think I hit a vein.
“Are you covered?” Derek asks from outside the bathroom door, his hand up and shielding his eyes.
“Yeah,” I say, nervously.Barely, I should add.
He pulls his hand down, peeking over the edge of his finger before dropping it completely.
As I sit down on the toilet seat, doing my best to make sure my ass doesn’t slip out, he kneels down in front of me. I swear to Cracker Jacks, I’ve played out a fantasy about Derek Tanner kneeling down in front of me a hundred times over the years. And now it’s coming true. Sure, in my fantasy, we definitelyplayeddoctor, but never because Iactuallyneeded one.Close enough.
My mind plummets into a very dark, delicious place as he places my foot on top of his thigh. Using some type of large gauze-looking thing, he pats at the wound, then folds it, attempting to wipe away some of the blood that’s still dripping down my leg. His fingertips graze the skin of the delicate curves, sending ripples of pleasure through my reproductive organs.
For a full sixty seconds, I’m quite sure I stop breathing altogether. But when I’m close to choking as a result, I make every attempt to exhale without raising suspicion. If it were socially acceptable, I’d pant.
Derek pulls out a small spray bottle of something and some sort of cool liquid is spritzed onto my knee, causing me to jerk. Then, ever so gently, he presses his lips into an O shape, and blows his warm breath on my knee.
He. Blows. On. My. Knee.It takes everything I have to stop staring at his mouth as he makes eye contact with me.Holy smokes.
