I’m sweating like a pig. Lying completely starkers on my couch isn’t even helping with this oppressive heat. What I really need to do is buy a whole new air conditioner, but that requires more effort than I’m willing to put in right now.
After the events of yesterday, I just want to spend the day doing sweet F.A. But this heat is too much; I’m dying in here.
I jerk upright when I remember I told Reagan I would check on her this morning. Scanning the room, I search for my long-forgotten pants. Spotting them over the back of one of my dining chairs, I snatch them up on my way past.
A minute later, I’m knocking on Reagan’s front door.
First silence, then a faint “hello” reaches my ears, and I call back, “It’s me, Rhett. Checking on you, as promised.”
I can hear her shuffling around inside, a few muted curses, and then the door swings open. She’s in the same tank I gave her yesterday and those sexy little shorts. My eyes eat her up; she’s a hot mess.
“Hey,” she greets and hobbles out of the way on her crutches, allowing me entry.
Sliding in past her, I don’t miss the way her eyes track over my bare chest. It feels good—her eyes on my body, taking me in. Makes me feel like less of a creeper when I check her out—which is a lot.
I’m almost past her when my foot catches on one of her crutches, and I go down like a tonne of bricks.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry! Are you okay?” she asks from above me, her blue eyes wide and searching.
“I’m good,” I assure her, shuffling out from under her and bouncing back to my feet. I don’t even care that I face-planted; the temperature in here feels like heaven on my overheated flesh. Smirking at the miserable look on her gorgeous face, I ask, “What’s wrong? You in pain?”
She shakes her head. “No, but I tripped you up. Not only am I awkward, I’m a klutz too,” she says with a shrug. “I’m just a little over it all today.”
I lead the way into her lounge. “You need anything? Have you eaten this morning?”
“Nah, I only woke up not long ago. I’ve been dozing in and out on the couch. The pain meds make me sleepy.”
Well, that gives me something useful to do while I soak up the cool air coating my sweat-slicked skin. “Alright, you sit, and I’ll feed you,” I tell her while moving towards her kitchen. She doesn’t argue.
I open her fridge and pull out the eggs and bacon I saw in there yesterday, then check her drawers for a fry pan—bingo. It takes me ten minutes to whip up some fried eggs and bacon on toast for both of us since I haven’t eaten either. And we can’t forget the caffeine.
“Here you go, gorgeous,” I say with a flourish as I pass her a plate and a steaming mug of coffee, then duck back into the kitchen to grab my own.
When I take the seat across from her, she looks up at me, eyes wide. “Wow, this looks great and smells amazing. I didn’t even realise I was hungry.”
I settle back in my seat and grin at her. “Can’t go wrong with bacon.”
She smiles back, then pops an extra crispy piece in her mouth. “Amen to that.”
Just like yesterday, we eat in comfortable silence.
Until Reagan breaks it. “Did you know that coffee can be lethal in mass quantities?”
I quirk a brow and take a sip from my mug. This one says, Sexy, Sassy and a Little Badassy. I snort at it before answering her. “No, that’s news to me. And exactly how much coffee does one have to ingest for it to kill them?”
Her answering chuckle warms my insides as much as the coffee I’m drinking. “Planning a murder, are we?” she asks.
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” I tell her, my expression deadpan.
She shrugs. “Ten grams, or one hundred cups, in a four-hour period will do the trick, just for future reference. It might come in handy one day.”
“Good to know. Got any other stealthy murder techniques for me? Purely for curiosity’s sake, of course.”
Grinning, she tilts her chin then purses her lips. “Nutmeg is extremely poisonous if injected intravenously.”
“No shit?” I muse.
Her eyes light up. “Oh, and just one shot of the teeny tiny blue-ringed octopus’s venom can kill twenty-six adult humans within minutes.”
“Seriously? That’s unsettling.” I cringe at the thought of such a small creature being so deadly. My skin crawls, and I have to shake my arms out to be rid of the sensation.
Reagan’s throaty laugh fills my ears, and I fix my gaze on her. “What?”
“You,” she says between chuckles. “Your reaction—it makes me think you’d be afraid of spiders.”
My eyes narrow. “And so what if I am?”
She beams. “You are, aren’t you?”
Gritting my teeth, I mutter, “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” She laughs, her cheeks and eyes bright with mirth.
I roll my eyes. “Whatever, it’s not a big deal. I just don’t like the creepy little fuckers. I’m not afraid of them or anything. I just avoid them if I can.”
“Aha, I’m sure you’re not afraid. Not a big manly man like yourself.” She snickers.
Finishing my food, I take my empty plate and mug to the kitchen. “I’m glad I amuse you.” I huff on my way past her. Rinsing off my dirty dish, I slide it into the little single-drawer dishwasher, then rummage through Reagan’s coffee pods. “You want a refill?”
“What kind of question is that?” she calls back.
“A polite one. I could just make myself another, and you can watch me drink it?”
She laughs again. The sound is quickly becoming one of my new favourites.
“Okay, fine. Although, I don’t see you making such a dick move. Not when you’ve been so nice to me so far. I’ll have a French vanilla latte please.”
I poke my head around the corner to see her leaning over the back of the couch, facing the kitchen and me. “Don’t doubt my ability to be a dick. I have skills you’ve never seen before.”
Her grin is downright seductive. “I bet you do. I’ve seen enough to never doubt your particular skill set,” she says with a waggle of her brows.
I burst out laughing and shake my head at her. “I think I’ll keep you.”
She stretches out her arm to me, her empty mug hanging from her fingers.
Closing the space, I snatch it from her. “You are somethin’ else, Reagan.”
“A good something or a bad something?” she asks my back as I return to the kitchen.
I consider her question. I’ve never come across a woman like her. She’s a breath of fresh air. But I need to be careful; I can see myself becoming addicted to it. To her. Clearing my throat, I answer her as honestly as I can. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know.”
I slept in my bed last night and thought about Rhett on the other side of the wall that separates our apartments as I fell asleep. That’s not creepy, right?
He stayed for most of the day yesterday. It was nice to have his company. We sat around watching movies and eating junk food. He even changed the dressing on my foot for me.
He’d said he would pop in before he left for work this morning, too, but I’m not sure when that will be. I’m kinda stressing about it. I like having him around, and I’m amazed I haven’t scared him off yet.
I’ve been lying here, staring at the clock on my bedside table for the last twenty-three minutes, wondering what time he leaves for work. It’s now six-fifteen, and I’m busting to pee. Should I hold it and go after he leaves or risk him coming while I’m peeing?
Stuff it, I’m about to pee my pants if I hold it any longer. Rolling off the side of my bed, I reach for my crutches and hobble to my adjoining bathroom. Leaning one crutch against the wall, I use my now free hand to roll my shorts and underwear down my legs.
My head drops back in pleasure as I pee, and pee, and pee some more. I think this is the longest pee I’ve ever done. And it feels so good.
And, of course, that’s the moment Rhett arrives.
The sound of his knocking echoes through my apartment, and I try to hurry up the waterworks, but it’s not happening. It just keeps coming. “Give me a minute!” I call and hope he hears me.
Finally, I’m down to a trickle, and I snatch up the toilet paper to wipe, then grasp for my shorts, but they’ve fallen off my feet. I’m left with my undies sitting around my ankles. Grabbing them, I yank them up my legs as fast as I can one-handed. I can hear Rhett calling me—he sounds concerned.
“I’m coming!” I yell out as I quickly wash and dry my hands. Hygiene first, always.
I’m puffed by the time I reach my front door and swing it open. “Morning,” I murmur on a particularly harsh exhale.
Rhett is standing in front of me in a dirty, grease-stained pair of jeans and navy button-down that’s also covered in smudges. My eyes roam over him, and a little drool pools in my mouth. Wow. His biceps strain against the sleeves of his shirt, reminding me of what’s under it.
Holy sexy mechanic. A dreamy little sigh escapes as I stare at him while catching my breath.
He frowns. “Ah, Reagan, are you okay?”
My eyes snap up to meet his. “Yeah, why?”
One of his thick eyebrows arches at my question. “You’re wearing a pair of Batman panties, I can see your nipples through your tank, and you’re panting …”
I swallow hard at his description. “I wasn’t flicking my bean if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Both his brows lift, and his eyes widen. “Flicking your bean?”
“Yeah, you know: polishing the pearl, auditioning finger puppets, jilling off. I swear my hands were not in my pants. See?” I hold my right hand up to his nose to prove that there are no suspicious smells coming from me.
“Oh my God, woman.” He buckles over laughing.
His head is now level with my bits. He might be down there laughing, but the visual is giving me other ideas. And they are not friend-zone ideas.
Snap out of it, Reagan! You’re such a perv. Or just really hard up? Shaking my head at myself, I shuffle around him then hobble down the hallway to the lounge and plonk on the couch with a huff.
“Hey, where are you going?” Rhett calls after me.
I’m staring up at my ceiling one minute. The next, Rhett’s head is hovering above me. I cover my face with my hands.
“Hey,” he coos. His calloused palms wrap around my wrists and pry my hands away from my face. “I told you, you don’t need to hide your crazy from me.”
I frown. “I wasn’t— Wait, you think I was being crazy?” Was I? I was just trying to get my head straight. That was why I walked away. Well, hobbled away.
Rhett smiles. “Well, you just held your fingers up to my nose to prove you weren’t masturbating. That’s a little crazy, babe.”
Huh, okay. “I was just proving my point.” I shrug.
“So, if you weren’t embarrassed, why’d you do a runner?” he asks, still hovering over the back of the couch, staring down at me.
My jaw drops open, then snaps shut again. Nope. Not going there. I avert my gaze, avoiding his probing stare.
“Reagan,” he says smoothly, “look at me.”
I don’t, choosing to ignore his request, until his hands wrap around my cheeks and he moves his head to the side. Right into my line of sight. Sighing, I stop acting like a child, letting our eyes lock and hold. “You don’t want to know, so just let it go. Please?”
His eyes search my face for an uncomfortable moment, then he nods. “Okay, I’ll let it go this time. Coffee?”
Relief has my lips lifting into a smile. “Please and thank you.”
Rhett clatters around in my kitchen, already knowing where everything is. It feels good having him in my space. He fits in here. I think we were always supposed to be friends, just like Char and me. He seems to get me, and he can read me way too well for someone who only recently entered my life.
I’m lost in my thoughts when the couch dips beside me, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee fills my nostrils. I could get used to this.
A part of me is dying to know what she refuses to tell me. But another part knows she’s keeping it to herself for good reason. I know already that there’s not much she won’t say, so I can respect her wanting to keep this to herself.
Slinging my arm over the back of the couch behind her feels natural. Sitting here with her, drinking my morning coffee—which tastes better than the shitty coffee in my apartment—feels right. I’ve never felt so comfortable in a woman’s home before.
Before I’m ready, my phone alarm goes off, letting me know I need to leave for work. I’m fully booked at the garage, otherwise I would have considered taking the morning off to chill with Reagan.
“That’s me. I gotta roll,” I tell her.
The smile that has been gracing her face for the last half hour drops slightly. “Oh, okay. Thanks for checking in.”
I take her empty mug from her. “I’ll make you another before I go,” I say, taking our cups into the kitchen. After placing mine in her dishwasher, I snap a pod into her machine and make her a fresh cup.
“Here you go, beautiful.” With a grin, I hand her the mug that says Chaos Coordinator. “This cup was made for you.” I grin. “You need anything before I go?”
Looking up at me, she purses her lips. “Umm, my laptop? It’s on the kitchen bench.”
“You got it.” I retrieve her MacBook then, handing it to her, I press a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say over my shoulder as I head for the door.
Closing it behind me, I pause—why did I just kiss her head? That’s a boyfriend move, and I am not that kind of guy. I didn’t even think about it; I just did it.
It’s not a big deal though, right? I mean, it’s not like I kissed her on the mouth or anything.
Yeah, no big deal. I nod to myself. Right, no big deal.
Maybe if I tell myself that enough, I’ll start to believe it.