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“You saved my life. Take all the showers you like.”
His boyish smile kills me. “Hardly call it saving your life, but I don’t mind the gratitude.” He struts toward the bathroom, like he knows I’m staring at his butt through his jeans.
Of course, I am. But that’s not the point. What is it like to walk around with his level of confidence all day long? I’ll never know.
Doesn’t matter. Gotta call Callie. She had texted me a couple of times, and I’d ignored them until now, because I didn’t know what to say. But a call will put her at ease.
She answers fast. “June, are you okay?”
“Uh, food poisoning. Atomic food poisoning. Somehow I got food poisoning, and then the flu or a cold or something. Can you let everyone know?”
“Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“If it gets worse, I will. For now, it’s Gatorade and crackers.”
She sighs. “Girl, you sound like hell.”
“I feel worse.” At least that part is true.
“Okay. Want me to stop by? Bring you something?”
“No, but thanks. I got everything delivered, and I’m sure I’m contagious?—
“I’ll stay far, far away. No problem, hon. Get some rest.”
“Thanks. Talk later.”
Okay. I don’t like lying to Callie. But this is for her own good. Anderson is right—getting anyone else involved is only going to put a target on them, and I won’t do that to her or anyone I care about. I hate that Anderson is involved in this at all. He doesn’t deserve this, just because he’s his father’s son. It’s ridiculous that he’s gotten sucked into it. Or that I am sucked in because of my connection with him.
So, no more people added to the equation. The math is already bad.
The odd thing about being tied up in a basement for an unknown number of hours is how it clicks into your head afterward. Like, if I blink too long, I’m back there. If Anderson hadn’t slept over last night, I never would have fallen asleep. Closing my eyes is dangerous to my psyche, and that’s already feeling fragile right now.
At one moment, I’m fine. I feel normal. And then the next, I’m ready to rip the cabinet door off their hinges. I’m angry, but it bubbles up in weird moments, instead of being a constant. The irrational part of my brain wants to blame Anderson. To make him leave. That is what Andre said, isn’t it? To un-involve myself with him? But this isn’t his fault. He has nothing to do with any of this.
Besides, I don’t want him to go.
He’s been so kind and supportive and so sweet that it makes my teeth hurt. I love how he’s been taking care of me. Giving me space, letting me breathe. He got waffles delivered, then brought them to me in bed. And he slept on top of the blanket, like a gentleman. Not to mention the fact that he came for me in the first place.
It makes me want to rip his clothes off.
That’s what a hero should get, right? All the naked, sweaty good stuff? But he’s being so good to me, and it worries me. Does he see me as a responsibility instead of a woman? Is that why he’s being so perfect? Am I a project to him now?
I don’t think I am, but I don’t know. I’ll give him the chance to make a move. If he doesn’t, then maybe he thinks of me as … what exactly? The woman he bought at auction, owes a lot of money to, pretended to be engaged to, then inadvertently got kidnapped? Huh. There really is no simple one-word title for all of that. I don’t think friend really covers it.
When Anderson comes out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing else, my mouth waters. Can’t be helped. It’s just biological, right? No one should have that many abs. It’s not fair, it’s?—"
“June, are you okay?”
“Um, what?”
“I said I needed some coffee before I got dressed, and you just stared into space. Do you need to sit down? Are you dizzy?”
Great. “Not dizzy, just lost in my thoughts. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
But he puts his big, hulking hand on my upper arm and looks deep into my eyes. “I will always worry about you.”
Can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing right now, but he’s almost naked and standing right in front of me, so that’s a good thing. “Thanks.”
