Page 55 of How You See Me
“Shit.”
Charging at the door, I'm relieved to see she’s breathing comfortably. But she’s too pale and slumped in the corner like someone bowled her there.
“Can I get you anything?” Gretchen offers behind me.
“No. Thank you. I’ve got her.”
“You might want to clean her up before putting her into bed. No woman wants those kind of reminders in the morningif you know what I mean.”
I nod, taking in the hair clinging to Josie's damp cheek down to the dark smudges on her knees.
She moans when I scoop her up and again when we enter the hallway, Gretchen following close behind. I try not to think about how Josie will feel when she comes to. Shame. Regret. Discomfort. Pain.
God help me. I want to protect her from all of it.
Her arm raises to wrap around my neck, her face burrowing into neck, and it’s the only communication I need to keep my head on straight. She’s not hurt or upset. She just needs time to recover.
“It’s sweet how much you care for her,” Gretchen says on our hasty retreat through the bar. “Boyfriend goals.”
She rushes ahead to open the exit door and waves goodbye before I can thank her or process the comment.
Boyfriend goal. Me? Now, that is the strangest thing I’ve heard in a long time.
???
Josie has no idea what she was doing to me at the bar. How I was one breath away from kissing her and forgetting every reason why she's off limits.
And that cannot happen again.
Which is another reason why I’m now struggling to figure out how to clean her as Gretchen suggested without destroying something—my good intentions, Jordan’s trust, Josie’s belief in me. Touching her in any way already feels like betrayal. It means something to me, even when it’s wrong.
She’s still out of it, mumbling with her head against the headrest, as I pull into the closest RV park I could find. I need amenities and privacy for this task that a parking lot in downtown Nashville couldn’t provide.
“Josie, you awake?”
“Mmm mmm.” She reaches a hand toward me, but it flops to her side, dangling off the old vinyl seat.
“Can you walk to the bathrooms?”
Her head rolls side-to-side, and she giggles. “Carry me.”
“Not happening.” But my body needs a lot less convincing. It remembers all too well how she felt in my arms.
The van creaks and groans as I climb out and open the passenger side door. Standing there, I will her to miraculously sober and save me.
No such luck. She’s sprawled in the seat with one leg falling out the opening toward me, her head tipped back and breathing steady. A thin gold chain lays crooked on her neck, bringing my attention to the smear of dirt across her collarbone.
Her cheeks are flushed from too much alcohol and the repercussions that got us here. I shouldn’t be looking at her like she’s mine to take care of. Mine to touch.
But she left me no choice.
My hand spans her right calf while the other trails down to the ankle of her boot. I tug it off—slow and careful, hoping the tension will break if I concentrate only on the task.
She stirs, mumbling something incoherent, and her foot goes limp in my hand.
“You’re going to owe me big for this,” I mutter, a few choice words following.
Her head lolls toward me, eyes opening a sliver. “You talkin’ dirty to my boots, Cowboy?”
