I slip my hand away from his warm skin and put some necessary distance between us. “Next time you’d like a woman’s attention, I’d suggest something less dramatic.”
He smiles, but there’s a cautiousness in his eyes.
“Want to explain our current circumstances?” I motion to the toilet in the corner that has seen better days.
“After you passed out, I carried you back here. The owners said this was the only seat in the building so I put you down here while I got a new shirt since mine was covered in blood and I didn’t want to lose you again.”
Oh. Yeah. The blood. “It’s uh,” I swallow the bile rising up my throat, “it’s coming back to me now.”
“We can’t keep doing this, Sunny.”
“Huh?” I blink up at him. Does he mean this date? He’s already done with me? I was supposed to turn him down first.
“Someday a bleeding man carrying an unconscious woman is going to get suspicious.”
“Oh,” I exhale. “Well, uh, don’t scare me again then.”
He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Believe me, lesson learned.”
“I’m sorry by the way.” I look down at his chest, but it’s more distracting than his tempting grin. My eyes are glued to the deep V below his abs and breathing becomes impossible.
He must sense my struggle and thankfully resumes dressing. He slips his arm through the sleeve of a flannel shirt and I catch a glimpse of the tattoo again. My whole body goes still. Except for the wild pounding of my heart echoing in my ears.
It’s a sun. He has a sun on his arm.
Suddenly the bathroom is too warm. I need to get out of here. “I’ll uh, let you change,” I say, turning around.
“Wait,” he gently stops me. “I didn’t want to scare you before but I need to tell you something.”
No. I don’t want to know why he tattooed a sun on his arm. Because once I know I won’t be able to pretend these feelings away. I won’t hate him anymore and I’ll fall for him instead. “Do you also faint at the sight of dried blood?” he asks.
“What?”
“Will the sight of dried blood make you faint again?” he repeats.
“Most likely.” That or puke.
“Then I’m going to need you to promise you’ll do what I say.”
What is he talking about right now?
He gently spins me around. “Close your eyes.”
“What? Why?”
“Please.” His eyes beg me to do what he says. This is the most serious I’ve ever seen him. What’s wrong? Is there more blood? I thought he just had a bloody nose, but what was the aftermath like? Is it a massacre out there?
“Okay.” I close my eyes and he puts a piece of fabric in my hand.
“This is a shirt for you.”
The pieces finally fit together. There must be blood on my shirt. His blood. My stomach drops and I sway, but he holds me still.
“Wh—huh—Sean? I’m not changing with you in here.”
“I’ll turn around, you take off your shirt and toss it to me, then I’ll take it out while you change.”
My hand trembles around his arm.
