Page 54 of Yours Truly, Fall

AUTUMN

“You picked the wrong girl if you thought I would take it easy on you.” I lay a yellow three-card on top of his. “I have three sisters who are cutthroat when it comes to the game of UNO. There is no slacking when card games are involved. You’re about to lose your shirt, Lieutenant.”

He slaps down the same number but blue, flipping the color scheme. “The Season Sisters don’t scare me,” he challenges, smirking in that way that makes me want to tackle him, to claim that smirk and take the victory. “I’ve never shied away from competition. My mom always told us to bring our best game, or it’s not worth playing.”

“Wise woman.”

Sliding to the edge of the couch, he leans closer to where I’m sitting on the floor. “Speaking of shirts,” he says, in a tone meant for secrets and seduction, “let’s talk about that reward you promised.”

“I thought playing UNO was the reward?” I toss a blue five-card down and bat my eyelashes. He doesn’t even know what’s coming, like an unsuspecting victim floating in an innertube in the middle of the sea, too relaxed to understand the danger moving in.

“No, this is just a game. The reward is how we play.” Oh lordy.

I drag my palm over the side of my skirt and brace myself for what’s about to come out of his mouth next.

When he waggles his eyebrows, I know I’m in trouble. Brandon loves to push me out of my comfort zone, so I can only imagine what he’s got up his short sleeve. “Every time you have to draw a card, another item of clothing comes off.”

“Strip UNO?” The pitch of my voice could be interpreted by dolphins. I’m still staring at him when I tilt my chin to my chest, trying to reason through the repercussions of this twist.

What am I wearing? I take a tally. Shirt. Skirt. Bra. Panties. Not much then.

How many times have we stated we’ve seen it all though? Many.

Still staring, I try to close my gob smacker and figure out how many items of clothes he’s wearing.

“Three.”

My eyes shoot from his shirt to his face. “What?”

“I’m only wearing three things, so you’re at an advantage, Nurse.”

I look down at my outfit. It’s not exactly hard to figure out what I’m wearing under this, but still, how confident am I about winning this game? Pretty confident. As for playing strip anything with a patient, not wise. But have Brandon and I moved beyond those roles as of today?

I’ve already zigzagged across the line between professionalism and personal so many times I’m not even sure which side I’m supposed to be on anymore. It’s not work when I’m with him. It’s fun— and honestly, good for my soul. It wasn’t a lie when I told him this was a great decision on my part. Not to give me credit, but it’s snapped me out of a rut I hadn’t realized I’d fallen into. But I know it’s not just the job that did it. It’s Brandon.

That marble statues should be carved in commemoration of this man’s attractiveness isn’t lost on me either. He’s like a two-for-one, serving up both personality and hotness.

So what’s a few articles of clothing at this stage? I have a good body, and if it gets him shirtless and pantless when I come out the winner, that will be the cherry on top. “But the regular game play rules still apply, right?” I only ask so as to not come off so eager. I’m happy to get naked with him. And that would be another line crossed again.

“Same old rules apply otherwise.”

I match his smirk and ante it up a notch. “Oh, you’re definitely going to lose your shirt.”

He laughs, but it’s lackluster at best. He rolls his shoulder, reflexively reaching to rub it before catching my eyes on him. We haven’t been home long, but I wonder how long he’s going to fight through the pain on his own. He plasters a grin that doesn’t even fill out his mouth, much less reach his eyes. I know it’s for me, but it fails to cover his discomfort.

“You’re not fooling me. I can see you’re in pain.” He shifts on the couch to get more comfortable, but it’s clear he didn’t achieve the desired result. A streak of pain he can’t hide in his eyes rivers through the lines of his forehead. I set my cards face down because I trust no one when it comes to competition, and angle toward him. “I was hoping you’d tell me, but you’ve not said a word about it.”

“I was trying to fool myself.”

Glancing over at his pills on the counter, I say, “Gritting your teeth might get you through the pain temporarily, but it’s not helping anything.”

“If it gets me back to work sooner, then it’s working.”

I push to my feet, using his knee for one hand, and plant the other on the coffee table for leverage. Standing in front of him, I swipe the tips of my fingers under his chin, holding them for just a few seconds as he looks up at me. “I can only help you if you help me.” A boyish charm shapes his eyes, the pain gone as he looks into mine. He holds me by the back of the legs—our relationship already feeling different, evolved in a good way. It’s almost hard to remember I disliked him for so long. I whisper, “Don’t hide the pain from me.”

His touch shouldn’t feel so intimate, but standing so close that I can see his pupils widening to take me in awakens the butterflies in my tummy. Swallowing becomes thicker, and when he rubs me gently, a wave of goose bumps follows in the wake.

If he weren’t in pain, I’d kiss him. But my needs can’t come before his. “Okay?” I ask, barely audible to my own ears.