Page 74 of How You See Me
“Are you okay?”
He doesn’t stop to examine his wounds. Just keeps going, like he wants this moment to end as much as I don’t want to let go.
“You’re probably bleeding.”
“I’m fine.”
“Ignore it all you want, but the physical cuts are still there and need to be addressed.”
I lean forward to see him better. If he were to turn his head, his nose and lips would bump into mine. Given how he’s clearly upset, his gaze trained on the terrain ahead, I might be the only one who wouldn’t mind.
“I’m cleaning you up when we get to the van. No complaints.”
“Josie,” he grinds out through clenched teeth.
“Have you ever said my name without a frustrated tone?”
“I doubt it.”
???
At the van, he sets me down, and I search the back for the first aid kit. I’d bet all my art supplies that he brought one, and I find it in the small cabinet by the door.
“Sit,” I demand, and his arms cross in defiance.
“Josie, I’m—”
“Don’t you dare say you’refine. Blood is dripping down your leg.”
With a grunt, he lowers to sit inside the open door, filling me with a little more smugness than appropriate. He’s injured from carrying me half a mile, uphill, and through the woods. He saved us from being fined or worse. The man deserves a medal, not my surly side.
“I’m sorry. I just want to help.”
“Josie.” My name comes out breathy this time, wrecked and raw. Finally, something other than exasperation.
“Hayes.” I rest my hands on his thighs. “Let me take care of you.”
Chapter 16
Hayes
Avariety of four-letter words come to mind and collide into one silentfuck me. How do I keep getting myself into these situations?
Josie is on her knees before me . . . again. Touching me . . . again. And wearing my shirt with barely anything underneath. Yeah, I saw the thin lace masquerading as underwear. It covered only a fraction of her flawless ass. The wet bra left nothing to the imagination, and I couldn’t get that shirt on her fast enough. For my sanity.
Is there anything sexier than a naked woman wearing a man’s shirt? No, there absolutely isn’t. Not when it’s Josie inmyshirt.
She cleans and wraps my cut, taking her time like she’s torturing me for my cop-out answer about our non-kiss last fall. She wanted me to be vulnerable. To show her more of me as I did before the swim, but I couldn’t. Once wasenough, and I’m still reeling from the few out-of-character confessions I managed to assemble. Not to mention the mind-numbing vision of her nearly bare. I’ll never get that picture out of my mind. Add it to my collection.
“All better.” She admires her work, then raises her eyes to mine, holding there like she has more to say. She must decide against it and the potential repercussions. With a hard swallow, she backs away without a word.
It takes everything in me not to pull her back. She’s respecting my boundaries, and I need to let her.
“Thank you. Ready to head out?”
“Sure, but can you give me a moment to change?” Her tone is guarded, her light dimmed, and it's all my fault.
I lift off the van to let her pass, but something has me reaching for her instead. Maybe because I sense she could use a hug, or maybe I do. Whatever’s fueling it, maintaining our boundaries is the farthest thing from my mind. I pull her against me and sink into the warmth. It’s probably wrong. But how can it be when it feels so right?
