Frayed (Connections #4)

I put the car in reverse and catch her gaze. “Are you ready?”

“More than ready.” Her voice is hoarse but definitely not weak.

I put my foot on the brake and place my hand on her thigh. She jumps a little when I circle my thumb over her bare skin and after a few minutes she grabs my hand.

“Everything okay?” I ask, shooting a glance her way as I hop on the freeway.

“Yes,” she says with forced exaggeration.

“Really? Because it doesn’t sound that way.”

“I’m fine,” she says, moving our hands over to my leg.

I exit the freeway and stop at the light. “Come here,” I tell her, and grab her shoulder, pulling her over to me. Again she jumps. I let go of her and take her chin in my hand. “Okay, what’s the matter, Red? Do you not want to do this?”

“No, that’s not it at all. It’s just . . .” She pauses.

The light turns and I drop my hand. “Just what?” I ask, twisting to see her.

Her eyes widen like saucers. “You have to promise not to laugh.”

I want to promise, I really do, but the face she made makes a memory flash through my mind. The first time we talked in the library at college and she dropped the Kama Sutra book on the floor.

Her lips purse and her eyes narrow on me. “I just asked you not to laugh.”

“You haven’t even told me anything,” I say, holding my stomach to control my own laughter. It’s so strange how she can lift my mood so quickly.

“I know, so why are you already laughing?” she scoffs.

“You made a face that reminded me of the first time I saw you in the library when you were randomly shuffling through books and you dropped that book on the floor.”

Her gaze softens. “You remember that?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Pulling up in front of her nicely kept Spanish-style apartment complex, I turn the engine off. Twisting toward her, I run my fingers down the bare skin of her arm and again she jumps. All remnants of laughter dissolve as I turn toward her in the dark of the night. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing really. I just feel a little sunburned.”

I flick the dome light on in the car. Fuck me, she’s the color of a lobster. “A little! Have you put anything on it?”

“No, not yet. Honestly, I didn’t start to feel it until I got to the party.”

“What kind of sunblock was that you put on?”

“Actually I didn’t have much sunblock left, so I poured a little moisturizer in the bottle. It said it had SPF in it.”

I shake my head at her in disbelief. “Come on, let’s go put something cool on it.”

I’m careful to only touch where her clothing is, but even then I see her body tighten in discomfort. She leads me up the stairs and to the door of her apartment that from the outside I know so well. When she opens it and walks through, I catch sight for the first time of where she lives. Candles are scattered all around, a bottle of sparkling water with two glasses sits on her coffee table, and her bikini is thrown on the back of her sofa. I try to ignore the intimate setting that she has set and swivel my gaze over the rest of the room. There isn’t much furniture—the sofa, the coffee table, a television, and a small stereo unit on the floor. I look over toward the kitchen—a few barstools, but no table under the light in the corner. I know she’s lived here for a while, but it looks as if she just moved in.

“This is really nice,” I say, closing the door behind me.

“Thanks, I’m not done with it yet, but it’s getting there.”

I walk up behind her. “It looks like you were expecting company.”

She tosses her keys and twists her head back to rest on my shoulder. “Well, someone who wasn’t invited was making a nuisance of himself.”

“Is this the way you greet all nuisances who invite themselves over?” I bend down to kiss her lips and rest my hands on her shoulders.

“Ouch,” she exclaims loudly.

I glance around, looking for a light switch, and flick it on. “Turn around, let me see you.”

“I’m fine,” she says, kicking her heels off.

I circle over to her and take a look. “You have blisters on your lips.”

She slaps her hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, did you give me herpes?”

I should be insulted, but instead I’m laughing so hard a few tears drip from my eyes.

“It’s not funny,” she says, running down the hall. “Oh God, they’re huge.”

I walk down the hallway and see her looking in the bathroom mirror. “Let me see.”

She turns toward me.

“You don’t just have a little sunburn, you might have sun poisoning.”

“Do you think so?”

“Do I think I didn’t give you herpes? Yes.”

“I know you didn’t,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’m talking about sun poisoning.”

I mimic her and roll my eyes. “Yes, I’m pretty sure. I’ve taken care of sun poisoning a few times before. You need to take some aspirin, put some cold compresses over those blisters, and drink a lot of water. So let’s start with where I’ll find the aspirin.”

“I have Midol. Will that work?”

I laugh. “No, but I’ll run out to the store and pick some up along with some aloe because I’m going to guess you don’t have that either.”

She shakes her head no and turns back toward the mirror.

“Don’t keep touching them,” I yell as I walk into the kitchen and open the refrigerator, looking for a bottle of spring water. It’s completely empty except for a large bag of lemons. I close it and open a few cupboards until I find a glass. I fill it with water and when I turn she’s standing behind me. “Drink this. Get changed and put some cold washcloths over the blisters. I’ll be right back. Okay?”

She runs her hand down my chest. “Thank you.”

Our eyes lock and I grab her hand and kiss it. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I’m so sorry. I was really looking forward to tonight.”

I kiss the top of her head, the only place I know won’t hurt her. “There will be other nights.”

She drinks the water, sets the glass down, and opens the refrigerator, removing a few lemons from the bag. She sniffs them and I pause to watch her. She sets them on the counter, cuts one in half, and squeezes the juice up her arm. I watch her curiously as she repeats this process on the other arm and winces.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

She turns toward me. “Cleansing my skin. I usually rub them up my arm, but I think that might sting more than it already does.”

I bunch my eyebrows.

“What?” she asks. “It’s common knowledge lemon juice is good for your skin, so it should help with sunburn too.”

“Yeah, but don’t most people squeeze them into their water?”

She shrugs. “I’m not like most people.”

“No. No, you’re not.” I laugh.

As I walk out the door now knowing why she always smells of lemon, I’m surprisingly not thinking about how our night has been ruined but rather about how I’m glad I’m here to take care of her.

The grocery store is quiet at this time of night as I push my cart through the aisles. I’ve decided to pick up a few things since I’m not sure she’ll be going out this weekend. My phone beeps and I slide it out of my pocket. It’s S’belle.

Did I say thank you?

You did and I told you you didn’t have to say that, but I think I’ve changed my mind.

Did I tell you I was really looking forward to tonight?

You did. Don’t you want to know why I changed my mind?

Did I tell you I really wanted to have sex with you tonight?

I nearly drop my phone. Fuck, she must be trying to kill me. I hurry up and pay for my cartload of shit and throw the bags in the car. By the time I get in my phone has beeped again.

Did you get my last text?

I did. And I think you’re trying to kill me.

No, I’m not. And I really do want to know what changed your mind.

Because whenever you get over this sunburn, I have a few ILLUSTRATED ways in mind that you can say thank you. Do you get my drift?

I capitalized illustrated so she might pick up my hint. When she doesn’t respond right away, I put the car in DRIVE and head back to her place, assuming she didn’t get it.

When I get back to her apartment, I pull the chain lock across the door and yell out, “Red.”

“I’m in my bedroom.”

“Can I come in?”

“Yes!” I can hear her laughing from here.

Setting the bags on the counter, I glance around again. I see a few personal things but not much, not even pictures.

“Are you coming?” she calls.

“I’ll be right there.” I throw the cold things into the fridge and freezer, grab a few water bottles from the pack I bought, the bottle of aspirin, the aloe, and walk down the hall. I know which room is hers immediately because there’s a candle glow from the doorway. Her bedroom is much like the living room—plain with very little in terms of décor. She’s lying on the bed with practically nothing on—as I said, she’s trying to kill me. She’s in a loose-fitting pair of lightweight sleep shorts and a thin-strapped tank top. Both are white. Both see-through.

“Hey, I got some stuff that should make you feel better.”

She glances up at me and I can tell there’s something bothering her. I take her phone from her clutched hand and when I do it chirps—a text from Tate Wyatt. I set it on the night table. “Wyatt? At this time of night?”

She shrugs. “He must have a question.”

“Well, it’s after hours, so you can contact him tomorrow, right?”

She stares at me as if contemplating what I just said but doesn’t move to grab her phone.

“Everything all right?” I ask as I set the things in my hands down on the nightstand.

“Yes.”

When I sit beside her, my stomach jolts. I want to hold her, to kiss her, to f**k her. But when I pull her chin toward me and stare into her eyes, I see tears.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m being stupid.”

“About?”

“I’m just surprised you ever gave me a second thought.”

I gently kiss her lips and whisper to her, “You’re the f**king sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Yes, I gave you a second thought.” Then I add, “Many second thoughts.”

Silence overtakes us as we both seem to get lost in our memories. When my lips graze hers again, she flinches. I pull back and take the aspirin bottle, pop the cap off, and pour out two. Then I twist the top of the water bottle off and hand her both. She swallows the pills. After I kick my sneakers off, I crawl up next to her so we’re face-to-face. I run my fingers through her strands of red hair and notice the blotchiness on the skin of her shoulders.

“Bell,” I say, caressing her cheek. “I remember the first time I saw you in the library. I remember every single detail about the night we spent together. And if you want to talk about it, I will. But there are some things that I think are better left in the past. I have this need to have you in my life. I don’t understand what it is, but I know I haven’t felt more whole or more alive in a very long time than I have with you these last six weeks.”

A few stray tears trickle down her face. “You called me Bell.”

“That’s your name.”

“I know but you’ve never called me that.”

I shrug and carefully wipe her tears away. I pull myself up on the bed and lean against the headboard. Patting my stomach, I say, “Come here.”