Riptide Affair, page 13
“I'll be right back.”
After a quick race down the stairs, sliding my hand along the railing so I don't fall to my death, I bolt out to my car and dig into my purse, rifling through feminine hygiene products, cosmetics, straws, tape, bungee cords, and more paperclips than any one person should own, before finally wrapping my fingers around a bottle of Tylenol.
“Jackpot!”
I dart right back up to the man whose brain cells are dying a slow, fiery death, only this time when I find him, he's sitting up against his headboard, bowl of soup in hand.
“You don't have to eat that right now.” I make my way to his side, reaching for the bowl. “Get some sleep. I can take it down to the fridge.”
He bats my hand away. “No. Soup. Now.”
I snort out a laugh. At least he's partially coherent. Slurping soup right out of the bowl, drizzling a little down his chin, he doesn't look like a grown man. He looks like a child in need of care.
“Damn. Good soup.” He takes another loud slurp, then another.
“You know, I did bring you a spoon.” I point to said utensil next to the soup lid, but Jared shakes his head.
“Don't need it.”
“Your soiled bed sheets say otherwise.”
He shrugs, and I know he truly couldn't care less about his sheets.
Sitting in the armchair across from his bed, I watch him down the entire bowl without a single word. When he's done, he licks his full lips, sets the bowl aside, and leans back into his pillows with a heavy sigh. Some of his color is back and he looks a little less dead, but I can still see he's operating at about five percent.
“I'll probably regret that in ten minutes.” He cracks one eyelid open. “So if I try to get out of bed, don't stop me.”
“Noted.” I scoot the chair closer and hand him two Tylenol and the glass of water perched on his bedside table. “Here. This'll help.”
He takes the pills without protest and hands me the cup when he's done, trying for a smile. “What would men do without women?”
“Perish,” I deadpan. “Or, at the very least, suffer needlessly.”
“Perish,” he repeats, head already lolling to the side. His dark brown hair is plastered to his forehead and even though I know he's burning up with fever I tuck him back in when he settles down into his blanket cave. At least now I know he won't starve and I can leave him be to finish sleeping off whatever this is.
“I'll text you in the morning,” I whisper, moving for the door, but a hand reaches out and gently encircles my wrist, tugging me to a stop. I glance down at Jared's long, pale fingers before looking up.
“You didn't have to do that,” he mumbles, “but thank you.”
Even depleted of energy, he still manages to summon the strength to caress the skin at my pulse point, where my heart is rapping out a happy beat.
Obviously, no one else in this house is going to help him, so I know coming here was the right call. He deserves to be taken care of. “Need anything else? I can run to the store if you need me to.”
“No,” he mouths, already giving up the fight against the Sandman. “Got soup. Got drugs. Got you. I'm good.”
A warmth unlike anything I've ever experienced before hits me square in the chest and I move back until my knees hit something and I fall into a chair.
What the hell is a woman supposed to do after hearing something like that?
I can't afford to get sick because, unlike Jared, I don't have roommates to help shoulder the load, but I disregard logic for once and do the one thing I promised myself on the ride over that I would not do.
I stay...
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jared
“Please tell me your clothes are already in the car.”
Merrin continues wiping down tables, giving me a great view of her heart-shaped ass as I bounce on the balls of my feet, the least patient man on the planet as I wait for her to finish.
A month has passed since the night she showed up at my house with a bowl of soup that healed me from the inside out, but it's been a while since our schedules have synced up. I managed not to infect Merrin with the plague, but somehow Kate and Laura weren't so lucky. They fell ill at the same time, forcing Merrin and Harper to operate with only half a crew. She's been completely drained, so our nights have been spent in our own beds, with only the occasional phone call and sleep-deprived text message sent back and forth.
Until now.
“Yes, my clothes are already in my SUV,” she says, making a point to draw out every letter.
Yesterday, Merrin finally bid farewell to the piece of shit lemon that died every time it encountered a hill, and this morning, before her shift, she emptied her savings and drove off the used car lot in a Ford that was so road-worthy it brought tears to her eyes.
“Good.” I rub my hands together, a devious grin spreading across my lips. “Because I have plans for you tonight, lady. So, so, so many plans.”
She casts a look over her shoulder. “Plans, huh? Do tell.”
“Ha! Nice try.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”
Once her last table is spotless, she gathers up her tray of dirty dishes and pushes past me, but not before pausing to stretch up on her toes and lay a kiss to my neck. She knows damn good and well that's a surefire way to rev my engine, and she's playing dirty. Which is unfortunate, given the thin state of my uniform pants and the fact that all her friends are waiting to ambush us the second we push through the kitchen doors.
“Hey, Casanova!” Laura calls from her perch on the counter. “Big plans tonight?”
I hide the bulge in my pants by stepping behind a stack of milk crates. “The biggest.”
“Well, color me jealous.” She hops off the counter and slings an arm over Merrin's shoulders. “Mer here was just telling me how you two are working your way through the Kama Sutra. She's super eager to finish those last ten positions.”
Merrin's entire face flushes crimson, but before she can open her mouth to object, Kate swoops in, squeezing my shoulders hard with that mama bear stare of hers that has unnerved me from day one.
“Stretch before. Ice after.”
Laughter fills the room, but mine is by far the loudest. It may be a lie to get Merrin's goat, but the idea of practicing the ancient art of tantra with the woman of my dreams has me beaming like a kid about to enter Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. “I'll remember that. Thanks.”
“You're all going to hell,” Merrin warns, gathering up her things as she usher me toward the back door. “Every single one of you!”
Their cackling follows us out to the parking lot where I pull Merrin to a stop, twirl her to face me, and back her up against the brick exterior.
“You know,” I say softly, “it's not a bad idea.”
In this light, her eyes are the most intoxicating shade of black as they mist over with lust. “What's not a bad idea?” Her fingers hook through my belt loops, holding me to her.
“The Kama Sutra. I'm not a flexible guy but, for you, I'd endure.”
“You wanna visit the ladies at the emergency room tonight?” she asks. “Because I'm pretty sure that's how that would end.”
“Depends. You think a penis sprain as a result of rigorous intercourse is something my insurance would cover?”
“Doubtful,” she giggles.
Cradling Merrin's cheeks, my laughter fades as I kiss her, making all kinds of dirty promises with my tongue. Pinning her to the wall with my hips, I'm so desperate to be inside her I can barely breathe with the need she plants in me every time she's near. But tonight, I'm going to be the world's most patient man. Because she comes first. Always.
I break away, dragging in a much-needed breath before extracting my keys and jingling them next to her lust-dazed face.
“Winner gets first orgasm of the night.”
We shove off the wall at the same time, sprinting to our respective vehicles. I jump, grip the top of the closed door, and swing in through the open window with ease, while she fumbles with her key fob.
“Loser has to do dishes!” I call, already putting the Jeep into gear. “Naked!”
She cranks her precious Escape and burns rubber to catch up as I lead the way through abandoned back roads leading to my house, laughing like a maniac the entire way.
I knew Merrin and Brian would hit it off right away. I sensed it that first day we stopped at Woody's. They're kindred spirits, both misfits in their own right, and they just click. Not only is Brian just as sweet and funny as Merrin, but he's so obscure you can't help but adore him. The dude loves football, weightlifting, Van Damme action flicks, and can belch his ABCs...all while being openly, unapologetically gay as a hatbox full of speedos. It's a charming combination.
Rhett, however, is still just as big of a stoic crab ass as he was the day he met Merrin. They've reached a point where they can be in the same room without eye rolling, snide comments, or the urge to bring up his scorched testicles, but he has yet to fully warm up to my girl. Which is why it pains me to leave her with them, but I still have some last minute dinner prep to finish.
“Wait here,” I whisper, kissing her temple as I lead her to the empty couch next to Rhett's recliner. “He won't bite.”
“Says you,” my brother grumbles, hiding a smirk. Guess he's in the mood to play nice tonight.
I leave it at that and venture to the kitchen where the lasagna I prepared last night is waiting for me in the fridge. I discard the tin foil on top, preheat the oven, and pop that baby right inside.
Knowing I shouldn't leave Merrin in the company of my crotchety brother for too long, lest I ruin the mood for the evening, I jog back to the living room, only to pull to a stop at what I hear before entering.
“I just thought you should know I appreciate everything you did for him. And...are doing for him.”
Carefully, I peer around the door frame and see Merrin's eyes bulging. “Uhh...you're welcome?”
“Don't make this a thing,” Rhett says with a roll of his eyes. There's a beat of silence when he takes a pull from the beer bottle in his hands. “It's just good to see him happy. That's all.”
I smile. Maybe now Merrin won't see him as the ice king she thinks he is. Deep down, my brother cares about people, especially me, although he does a shit job of showing it. Now, he doesn't care to the point that he'll jeopardize a promotion when the flu is running rampant through the house, but he does care, in his own stodgy way.
“And how do you know?” Merrin asks, fidgeting in her seat. “That I make him happy? What makes you think this isn't just a fling?”
A rare smile graces Rhett's lips when he taps his temple with the mouth of his beer bottle. “Twin telepathy.”
“Right. I forgot that was a thing.” She nods, smiling along. “Well, if it matters at all to you, he makes me really happy too. It's been a long time since I've had someone...” She trails off, swallowing nervously. “Someone who cared.”
“It's a good thing to have,” he says simply, taking a drink before settling back against the couch. I make a mental note to thank him for that later. See? Demon Spawn has his moments.
The two of them fall into silence, apparently done with the conversation, and I slink back into the shadows when Brian comes bounding down the stairs.
“Dude...is that what you're wearing?” I watch as Brian eyes Rhett's black slacks and white dress shirt with disdain.
“I'm not changing,” Rhett grumbles. “If this isn't good enough for you then you can go alone.”
Our little brother lifts his hands in surrender. “Whatever. Let's go. Merrin, always a pleasure.” He tips his invisible hat and both my brothers exit through the front door, leaving Merrin and I alone for the first time in ages.
Leaving my hiding place behind, I walk straight to Merrin and stop, offering her both my hands. “Ready to taste the best damn lasagna you'll ever eat?”
“Ooh, lasagna,” she croons. “Fancy.”
I shrug. “It may block your arteries while you sleep tonight, but it'll be a painless death. I promise.”
Walking hand in hand to the kitchen, I stop to pull out her chair so she can sit, like I always do, and then get busy setting everything out on the table. When both our plates are full, I take the seat opposite to her but don't reach for my fork just yet.
“Take a bite,” I say, steepling my hands in front of my lips. “I need to see the look on your face when you realize what a culinary genius I am.”
Her fork slides effortlessly through the cheesy deliciousness, cutting away a bite to reveal magazine-worthy layering showcasing every ingredient. She inspects the pasta, meat, ricotta, tomatoes, and sauce all siting in neat little rows and nods. “I'm seriously impressed.”
The anticipation is killing me. I have to see the fluttering of her eyes, the moan that will fall from her lips upon tasting perfection. Yeah, I'm a dude that usually survives on pizza and beer, but my mother did teach me how to make one badass lasagna, and for some reason, this matters. I feel like I'm proving something. Making a point. Like the fact that I can cook one singular dish means I'm worthy of her in some way.
Gripping the edge of the table in exaggerated frustration, I manage to ground out three words. “Take a bite.”
The silver fork tines disappear between Merrin's lips and...she moans. My dick stirs. And suddenly, I'm not hungry. Not for lasagna, anyway.
“Good, huh?” I manage to rasp.
“Good?” she repeats, going in for another bite. “How the hell aren't you five-hundred pounds? This is amazing! Why the hell are you living off pizza when you can cook like this?”
Relaxed now that I've charmed her with my limited cooking skills, I take a swig of beer and a deep breath. “I don't cook for the guys. Mostly because they don't appreciate it and always end up making French maid jokes.”
She covers her full mouth as she laughs, and right here, right now, is the most relaxed I've felt in weeks. It's the happiest I've been in a long damn time, and it's all because of her. She's so uncomplicated. What you see is what you get. No baggage. No lies. No surprises. No drama. Just a kind, beautiful woman who for some unfathomable reason has chosen me.
“This is amazing,” Merrin murmurs around another bite, and I can't help but let my eyes venture down the curve of her throat, the freckles dotting her chest, the swell of her breasts encased in a simple black cotton dress.
“No, this is lasagna. Amazing comes later tonight,” I promise, adding a heated wink for good measure.
But she doesn't blush. Doesn't bite her lip. Doesn't squirm in her seat. No. She laughs. “Jared, sweetie, I'll be the first to admit you're great in bed, but this? This is heavenly.”
My fork freezes on its way to my mouth, and I can't help it. I lower the utensil and decide I'm playing dirty tonight.
“You'll be thinking heavenly thoughts later when I have you on your hands and knees.”
Merrin's face finally blooms red and she has to stop and take a drink as she coughs. For a split second, I think I might need to perform the Heimlich maneuver, but she drains the rest of the wine in her glass and clears her throat.
“Well...we'll see how close you can get me after this foodgasm.”
I shake my head. “It's not a matter of how close, babe. More like how many times.”
At that thought, my dick tries to Hulk Smash its way through my zipper and I put my fork down, my perfect, heavenly lasagna forgotten. Not that it matters. There's some unwritten law of physics stating that lasagna is always better the next day. You know, after all the mind-blowing sex the chef is required to have on every surface of the kitchen it was cooked in.
“Are you going to keep count?” she asks, pushing her own unfinished plate away, reading me correctly.
“Why? You got a quota you need me to meet, sweetheart?”
“Maybe.” She crosses and uncrosses her legs, shifting in her seat.
“Good. I enjoy a challenge. But first...” I reach under the table, retrieving the box that's been burning a hole in my pocket, and slide it across the table.
She'll either love this gift I made especially for her, or she'll hate it. To say what I did today was obscure is putting it lightly, but it just felt right. When I delivered a box of who-knows-what to the scrap yard, I saw it. Sitting crumpled and unloved in the back of the lot, and I had to take a closer look. I had to crawl inside to get a better understanding of what Merrin went through that day, and my heart has never felt so heavy. But before I left, I took something with me.
She opens the box, and instead of excitement, all I see in her pinched brow is confusion. “Um...thank you?”
It dawns on me that Merrin has no idea what she's looking at, so I take the box from her and pluck out the bracelet. The guy at the scrap yard thought I had a few screws loose when I told him what I wanted, but then he just shrugged, looked at me again like I was a psychopath, and left.
I take Merrin's hand in mine and pull her closer before wrapping the braided pieces of silk strings around her wrist and tying it above the place where her pulse thrums healthily. It's an interesting piece of jewelry—not beautiful, per se, or even stylish—but it has character. The blue has faded to gray, and it's more knots and broken threads than anything, but it's a part of her. A part of her history.
When I turn her wrist over, letting the tarnished '83 charm catch the light, she stiffens. Her eyes flash to mine and fill with tears. Finally, she remembers.
“Is...is this?”
“I saw your dad's Tahoe at the scrap yard today. It hasn't moved. This was tangled in the gear shift, so...I took it. I don't know whose it is, but if it was important enough to hang on—”
I can't finish my sentence because suddenly Merrin is straddling my lap, grabbing hold of my head with both hands, and pressing her lips to mine, effectively silencing me and derailing every thought train in the station.
When she finally pulls away, her hands are shaking and tears stream down her flushed cheeks. “I never thought I'd see this again.” Kiss. “I love it.” Kiss. “Thank you.” Kiss. “Thank you.” Kiss. “It's perfect.” Kiss.
