Page 44 of Property of Rattler

I throw the towel onto the heap of washing I’ve compiled, take my time finding dry panties and bra, then extract the only other clean pair of jeans that I’d brought with me. Sitting on the bed, I pull on my socks. Then, I sit with my head in my hands, wondering how I can go downstairs and face him.

Nice ass.Mentally, I raise my middle finger toward him.

Nice dick,I should have replied.

Then I blush red. I was right not to say anything. I shouldn’t even have noticed.

In absolutely no hurry to face him. I put the wet clothing into a pile ready to take down, then straighten the bed that doesn’t need straightening. I tidy the drawers where my clothes are already neatly laid out and idly notice that the sun is once again streaming in through the windows.

The summer monsoons have come at inconvenient times before, but surely none worse than this.

My stomach rumbles, reminding me that breakfast was a long time ago, and I could do with something to eat.Metaphorically pulling up my big girl pants, I tackle the steep, almost vertical steps leading downward again.

He’s fully dressed now and is back lying on the couch. My face once again flushes as I refuse to look at him, but my eyes seem drawn to take a quick sideways glance at his now jean-covered groin.

Embarrassment makes my voice sound utterly unlike my own as I ask, “What do you want for lunch?”

In a low, gruff tone, he responds with something that sounds suspiciously like, “What I want is off the menu.” Then he clears his throat. “Anything you want to scrounge up is fine with me.”

I quickly find my brain is screwed. I open cupboards and close them without noticing what’s in them, so I go back and repeat my actions. Then I decide it’s not worth further thought. Tomato soup and grilled cheese worked yesterday. There’s no rule that says it won’t be good enough for today.

The familiar actions of preparing food start to steady me. My mind settles enough that I remember to go out to the freezer and extract the frozen peas. Then, finding a tray on top of a cupboard, I place his lunch, the peas and a bottle of beer on it. Taking a deep breath, I force a smile and return to the main room, then set it down on the end table next to him.

He sits up lengthwise, takes the makeshift poultice with a relieved sigh, and places it on his swollen ankle. Then he regards his food and narrows his eyes. “You not eating?”

I give myself a mental shake, telling myself nothing’s really changed. He’s seen me naked, so what? He hadn’t tried to jump my bones. All he’d done was give me a compliment. Now it’s time to return to normality, or else we’re never going to survive the next few hours, let alone the days or weeks ahead.

“I’ll just go get mine.”

It’s only midday, but I help myself to a glass of wine. When I place it on the table next to the chair I’ve come to think of as mine, I notice his raised brow, and that his lips are curved.

We eat in silence. Then I clear the plates and wash them up.

“Ames?” he calls out. “Could you grab me some ibuprofen, please?”

I take the medication to him along with a glass of water. “Your ankle hurting?”

“Like a fuckin’ bitch,” he agrees. “Think I did a little too much walking on it today.”

I give him a sympathetic glance, then retake my chair. After a while, I start to fidget. I’d rather be outside than stuck in this cabin, but I know he won’t agree to my leaving alone. I should have brought a book or something with me, but Satin had borrowed my e-reader, so I’d had to leave it behind.

“Do you want to watch TV?” he asks.

I shrug. I’m not really one for daytime television. And even finding a film or continuing the series we were watching yesterday doesn’t excite me. I’d rather be active. Back home, in my free time, if I wasn’t running, I’d do some Pilates or yoga. But there’s no fucking way I’ll be doing the downward dog or baby pose in front of him.

He shifts his ankle into a more comfortable position, then suggests, “I think I saw some games in the cupboard by the side of the fire. Why not see what’s there?”

My brow furrows.Games?But anything’s better than twiddling my fingers. I get up and go over to see what I can find.

What I’m after is on the lower shelf, so I sink to the floor, kneeling back on my heels. “There’s a chess set, but I don’t know how to play.”

“Me neither,” he answers.

“Scrabble? Monopoly?”

He groans. “Let’s wait until we’re desperate.”

I pull the board games I’ve already found out, then peer in to see what else is there. I grin as I extract the next box. “Twister?” I risk a glance at him, hiding my smile.