Page 60 of Elf-ish

“You know the old adage, don’t go out in the cold with wet hair. Mine might have been damp this past weekend.” When I’d taken a shower and then we went for a walk. Then, we stayed outside in the cold, ice skating. However, that isn’t exactly how one catches the common cold or the flu.

Jude is quiet a second before his cool hand comes to my head again. “We need to cool you down.”

Suddenly, I’m up in the air, pressed into Jude’s chest. He sniffs. “And you kind of stink.”

“You stink, too,” I argue. “Like something expensive. And sexy.” I smile to myself, digging my nose into his shirt.

Wait. Jude isn’t wearing a suit. Maybe he’s not feeling well. Maybe I’m delirious. Maybe this is all a dream. With my eyes closed, I hum again, hoping the dream doesn’t end. I’m in Jude’s arms. He’s taking care of me. He cares about me.

The next thing I know, Jude is helping me sit up on the edge of my bed and he’s removing the blanket around me.

“If you wanted to get me naked, you lost your chance,” I grumble.

“I wanted to see you naked, but I didn’t want to lose a chance at something more with you.”

Something more? Like what? If I ask this out loud, Jude doesn’t answer.

“I’m gonna help you get undressed, but I promise not to look.”

“Yep. Don’t look. I wouldn’t want to tempt you.” I laugh. No, I think I cackle. “Don’t want you to fall in love with me.”

Jude snorts. “I don’t know what love is.”

That’s so sad. Jude is so sad.

He grunts.

Oops. Did that slip out of my mouth?

Jude removes the sweatshirt I’m wearing and then reaches for the waistband of my pajama pants. I fall back on the bed, instantly closing my eyes as he tugs the flannel pants down my legs. Braless and in day-old panties, I can’t look at him, and he doesn’t appear to look at me.

He exits my room for the adjoining bathroom, where I hear water fill the tub.

When Jude returns, he takes my hands, pulling me upright, and then I’m in his arms again, floating through the air while tethered to him before he sets me on my feet beside the tub. He turns me to face the tiled enclosure.

“Slip off your panties.”

As I do so, I sense Jude stepping backward but keeping his hand at my waist, so I don’t faceplant into the porcelain edge. When I stand upright, I fling my underwear over my shoulder at him. He chuckles and holds out a hand, guiding me to lower into the tub with my back to him, but eventually, I twist and dissolve into the warm water and mounds of bubbles.

I close my eyes and sense Jude kneeling beside the tub. He reaches for the pile of hair on top of my head and finger-combs the greasy tangles.

“You don’t need to—”

“Slip lower,” Jude orders, his voice low, tight even, like he’s holding something back. But I’m too tired to read him. “Get your hair wet.”

I do as he asks, dipping deeper into the warm water and dousing my hair. When I scoot back upright, I keep my eyes closed and hear the pop of my shampoo bottle being opened.

“What are you doing?” I mumble, flipping open only one eye to spy on him.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he simply lathers up his hands and starts massaging my head.

Holy Santa. He’s washing my hair.

I could argue that my hair is too gross to touch, but the tender pressure of his fingertips against my scalp keeps my mouth shut and my eyes closed. Jude really takes his time, scrubbing gently near my temples and stroking up and down near my nape. When he’s finished, I dunk again to rinse the suds.

When I glance at Jude, he’s watching my face, his eyes roving over my cheeks. He inhales. Exhales. Then his gaze drops to my lips.

Kissing him is the last thing on my mind, so I close my eyes once more and sink into the warm water.