Page 90 of The Mating Game
“Ouch, ouch, ouch.”
I give her a stern look from the floor. “I told you to be still.”
“Ithurts,” she whines.
I shake my head as I continue to wrap her ankle with some gauze from the first aid kit. “I think it’s just twisted. It’s not even swollen. You’ll probably be fine by tomorrow. Better keep off of it tonight though.”
“Well, there go all my pressing appointments,” she remarks dryly.
I grin as I work, the warm light of the fire I built flickering across her face and my hands as I continue to gently wind the cotton gauze.
“There,” I say finally. “That should be good. Not too tight, is it?”
She curls her toes to test before shaking her head. “Feels good.”
I’m all too aware that my hand is still cupping her heel, her skin somehow warmer than the nearby fire. Her natural scent is intoxicating—and something deep inside me feels immense satisfaction at being able to take care of her like this. Even if the thought of her hurting makes me feel the opposite.
“Want some ibuprofen?”
“Please.”
I disappear from the room with my flashlight, quickly finding what I need and returning to her so I can hand her two pills and a glass of water. She downs them quickly, and I watch her wince as she tries to put a little bit of weight on her foot.
“Be careful,” I tell her. “You don’t want to hurt yourself more.”
I know that if she does, it will be hell getting her any sort of help with the storm beginning to rage outside, which only makes it more obvious how alone we are up here. How I’m trapped in the lodge with no one but her and her delectable scent and the memory of her leaning into me only last night.
I think…you kind of want to kiss me.
I’ve been trying to reconcile why I didn’t—why the thought of doing so sent a shock of terror through me—and all I can come up with is the fear of being so intimate with someone again. And yes, I’m aware that she and I have beenintimate, but there’s somethingabout kissing that brings everything to a new level. It’s a connection, a promise almost. One I’m not sure I can give her.
“Did your friend text you back?” she asks, breaking me from my reverie.
I nod. “A couple of downed trees on the line. He says they won’t be able to get up the trail to fix it until the snow stops. We might be out for a day or so.”
“Awesome.”
“We’re really roughing it now,” I joke.
“I bet this is your regular Saturday night,” she teases back, tucking a blanket all around herself. I notice sweat beading at her temples despite the way she’s bundling herself up and worry that she might be getting sick somehow.
I touch my fingers to her water glass, urging her to drink more. “All that’s missing is my whittling knife.”
“And an oil lamp.” She takes another gulp. “Can’t forget the oil lamp.”
I shake my head as I turn away from her to rummage in a pile of things I brought back with the first aid kit after I built the fire. I grab two cans from the pile before I turn back to her with one cocked brow, holding them out for her to see.
“Would you rather have chicken noodle or…” I squint to read the other can. “Creamy wild rice?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Cold soup?”
“I’m going to heat them up over the fire,” I tell her. “Which one?”
She gives me a look that says she doesn’t find this possible, but points to a can all the same. “Chicken noodle.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“Sure you were.”
