She hooks a hand under my forearm and places the other on my bicep to guide me to my feet beside her.
“There we go,MonsieurHastings. Just like that.”
I search for something—anything—to focus on besides the warmth of her fingers twined around my bare arm. That’s when I notice she’s got a pair of headphones tangled around her, one side still nestled in her ear while the other hangs loose, all caught up in her hair.
“Uh, DeeDee, I think your headphones are trying to strangle you.”
“What? Oh.” She reaches for the cord and then laughs. “I guess I pulled them right out of my phone when I got up. I was listening to music before you decided to come out and put on a show.”
“You had headphones on?” I clarify as she starts to lead us to the bathroom. “All morning?”
“Ouais. Why?”
I let out a small sigh of relief. “Uh, no reason. What were you listening to?”
We make it to the bathroom, and before I know what’s happening, DeeDee’s sitting me down on the closed lid of the toilet and turning me around so she has access to my back. I couldn’t resist her hands if I tried, and I need the distraction of obeying orders if I’m going to continue ignoring the fact that I’m shirtless and she’s touching me, so I let her carry on.
“I’m not going to tell you,” she says from behind me. “You will laugh.”
“DeeDee, I just ripped my back open and probably bruised my tailbone for life by tripping over my own feet. I’m not going to laugh at you.”
She makes ahurumphsound and asks where we keep the Polysporin.
“I’m not going to put any stinging stuff on it, okay? I’ll just use this cloth with warm water and then put the Polysporin on.”
I grunt out my agreement and focus very hard on the baseboard I have my eyes glued to as she starts to dab my back with the cloth.
“You’re kind of tense, Zachy Zach. Does it hurt too much?”
You can hurt me any day of the week.
Yeah, this situation has gone from bad to worse.
“It’s fine,” I assure her as her strokes start to get lighter. “It’s really not that bad. Also, you’re avoiding my question.”
“Why do you want to know what I was listening to?”
“I just want to know...you.”
Her hand goes still.
“As in, like, you know, your taste in music...and stuff,” I blurt before I can throw myself any farther under the bus. “I don’t really know what you like—in music! I’m, uh, curious.”
A moment of silence passes, and I’m sure the bus has run me over and backed up to do it again. I’m sure she’s about to walk out the door.
Then her hand starts moving, tracing tentative strokes down my spine. The scratch feels like it must stretch all the way from my shoulder blades to my waist, and my muscles start to relax from the warmth of the cloth even as the cut twinges with the contact.
“Ben, okay. I will tell you. I like all music. It doesn’t really matter to me as long as I can dance to it, you know? But this morning I was listening to...Do you know the song ‘Wolves’ by Selena Gomez? I think that Marshmello guy made it too, but she does the singing.”
“Yeah, I know it. At least, I think I do. It’s the one that goes like...” I hum a few bars before cutting myself off when DeeDee snorts.
“Hey!” I accuse. “I told you I wouldn’t laugh at you. You don’t get to laugh at me.”
“But you are just so adorable.”
Adorable.
They don’t say it to my face, but I know that’s what they call me at the bar: the ‘adorable one.’ The wholesome farmer boy.
