Page 23 of Wild Heart
Spoil sport.
In bed, lying alone, I mull over last night's super steamy kiss. The kiss he said shouldn't have happened. What an insult, or blatant lie. He’s so into me, I can tell by the level of seduction poured all over that kiss. He’s in denial. I know it, or else I’m screwed because I fancy him… more than I should.
The small washbasin in my closet sized bathroom is ridiculous. I need a shower, especially when my head and mouth are so yucky with the aftermath of tequila and rejection. Last night, I slept in his big tee again because it smells so fresh and zesty, just like him. It suits me, I would wear him well too, if he'd let me.
The sun heats wooden beams overhead, causing them to creak. It will be warm again outdoors, so I step into a pair of denim shorts, reluctantly peeling off his tee and tossing it on the bed for later. I haven’t bothered to unpack or hang up my clothes, probably because I've been hoping Mother would call to announce my return flight was ready.
A day ago the idea of jetting home was my only dream, but now… well, now I feel uncertain about flying home, and my dream has morphed into a crush.
I’ve neglected my usual routine of cleanse, serum, moisturize, nor have I been able to use my creamy coconut shell body scrub. All I want to do is find Sawyer’s shower room so I can pamper myself instead of wallowing. He’d better let me use it. Last night, we shared a jug of syrupy coffee, his with milk, mine black. I told him to swap out the dairy to see if it would help his chronic cough, but he ignored my comment. I guess that’s what happens when you live alone; you become self-dependent and stubborn as a mule.
The baking heat here blisters my bare arms. It’s such a contrast to the cold days and rain that ruins my outfit choices. The sunny sky boosts my mood, and the fresh country air fills my lungs with a sense of freedom. All I can see are green trees framed by a blue sky as I prance onto the decking at Sawyer’s house.
“Knock, knock!” I call inside and tap the door lightly. There are moans and swear words bouncing off the walls when I let myself in. “Hey, what are you doing?”
“Don’t come in here, girl. There’s glass all over the floor.” I hear him wheeze and grumble.
I peer around the doorframe, and there he is, on all fours with a rag in hand and white creamy goo splattered over the floor. Sparkly shards of glass sprinkle the mess with random disarray.
In that position, he seems so frail and elderly, not pushy and mouthy like he normally is. “You’re making it worse. Get up and I’ll clean it. I’ve learnt how to clean a floor at Wild Hearts Ranch.” I laugh inwardly.
Sawyer pants as he continues to mop and sweep in small circles. “You think I can’t do it?” he rasps, stopping to inhale.
His mulish persistence reminds me of someone else in the room. “We’re very alike, you and I. I didn’t listen to my mother and look where that got me. Get up and make us both coffee… and wait outside while I clean up, I can’t have you breathing down my neck while I work.” I navigate the mayonnaise bomb site and throw out my hand to help him up.
His slitted eyes lift to my hand, waiting with a contemplative gaze. “You ain’t gonna shut up if I don’t?”
“You got it.” I pretend to be stern, just like he’s pretending he doesn’t need help. Sawyer captures my hand and heaves himself up, righting his body with a creak and a crack.
“I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee when you’ve cleaned up, and we can have it out front.”
“And by the way, I need a shower.”
“I ain’t got one of those.”
“You’re joking?” I suck in quickly.
“Do I look like I’m joking. You wanna shower, use the hose or take a bath.”
I let out the air I’d held captive. “You have a bath!”
“Sure I do.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Sawyer shakes his head and steps over glass. “You never asked if I had a bath. You seemed so hell bent on takin’ a shower.”
I refrain from squealing at him, dragging my hands over my face instead. “After my coffee, I’ll be taking a long bath.”
He doesn’t say a word, just grunts and trudges out of the room. I look around to the task ahead of me, thinking never in a million years I’d be cleaning floors. Yet, helping him doesn't bother me because, whether he wants to admit it or not, the man needs a hand.
It doesn’t take long to return the kitchen back to normal, or to make coffee, even though he said he’d do it. I’m already in the kitchen, so I may as well.
The door opens with a push of my shoulder, and I step out in the beautiful heat haze and carry out a tray with a plate of his favorite cookies. “Here you go, just how you like it, strong, two honey lumps and a dash of milk.” I set the tray on the low table fronting a wooden bench and sink down beside him. “It’s so peaceful here.” I look out to the barn where I’m shacked up and stare out at the vast open space beyond.
Sawyer reaches for his coffee. “It is when you don’t talk.”
I glance over him and notice his smirk. “I have the whole weekend off. What is there to do?”
