Page 105 of The Fix-Up
I took a slow breath. What a stupid idea this was. Let’s get closer to the fire. Just put myself right here next to it. Let the flames make you feel all warm and soft and pliable. Playing with fire was always the smart move.
“Hold your hands out,” I said, my voice lower.
Again, he did as asked, stretching out his hands, palms down.
I slowly slid my hands under his, like I was waiting for him to be the voice of reason and tell me to stop. He didn’t. Warm, dry skin coasted over mine, rough, calloused hands. Hands that knew what a toolbelt was and how to use it.
Stop thinking about his toolbelt.
I wondered what he’d do if my hands kept going. What would the skin on his wrists feel like? Would his arms be just as warm? Suddenly, I wanted to know more than I wanted my next breath.
With a frown, I snatched my hands back. Get your act together. He’s in pain. Focus.
“Is everything okay?” Gil asked, his voice sleepy and low.
I cleared my throat. “Uh, yeah. C-can you turn your hands over?” When he did, I rubbed my hands together quickly. “Grandy said this was important. To gather all the energy.”
He scoffed. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.” I did not bring up the fact that Grandy was also convinced a little bourbon in a baby’s bottle was good for them. “Now be quiet. You don’t want the energy I’m gathering to be angry and annoyed, do you?”
“Am I really supposed to answer that?”
“Quiet. I’m working here.” After rubbing my hands together for another twenty seconds, I found the spot at the base of his thumb and forefinger on each hand and squeezed. Not painfully, but firmly. I counted to twenty under my breath and then loosened my hold enough to make small circles with my fingers.
His eyes were on my face, I could feel them. I repeated the process two times. The quiet of the room surrounded us. The slide of his breath tickled the shell of my ear. My heartbeat fluttered when he exhaled.
I released his hands. “All done.”
His hands hovered before falling to his lap. He moved his head back and forth slowly. “That might have helped a little.”
“Good.” I smiled.
“Thanks.”
Something brushed the tips of my fingers. When I looked down, Gil’s hands had inched closer to mine. Probably not on purpose. I should move away, get up, and leave.
Except I didn’t.
He didn’t either. His fingers traced the backs of my hands with a featherlight touch that sent a shiver through me.
With a shaky breath, I looked up. Our eyes met and held. We were so close now. My heart pounded. I couldn’t move. I could barely think.
“Kiss me,” I whispered.
“I want to,” he said just as quietly. “But I won’t. It’s not a good idea.”
I snatched my hands back and shot to my feet, mortified. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Of course it’s not a good idea. You and me, we need to keep our eye on the prize. Except my prize is different from your prize and that’s the problem, isn’t it?” I shook my head, words spilling out of my mouth at lightning speed. “I lost my mind there for a minute. Lack of sleep. I triedcounting mini sheep and it didn’t help so…Well, anyway, did you know there are competitive chicken shows?”
He stood up slowly. “You should go back to bed.”
“Good idea. Yes, that would be good.” I could crawl under my covers and pray a sinkhole opened under my bed in the next two hours. I tried to squeeze between him and the couch, but he stopped me with a hand on my arm, sending a shot of pure heat through me.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
Without looking at him, I scurried by and scrambled to my room.
FORTY-FOUR
