I grin. “To a degree, yes. But it makes it harder to say for sure that it’s really, actually me, instead of someone who maybe just looks like me. Plus, I’ve got this scruff going on, which works in my favor.”
I haven’t shaved in almost a week, which translates to near-beard scruff, whereas I’m usually clean-shaven for public appearances.
She reaches out and touches my jawline. “I like it.” She examines me, searching my face. “You haven’t eaten almost at all, have you?”
I see no point in lying to her. “The pizza, day before yesterday. Some beef sticks. But I’m good, I swear I am.”
She doesn’t look happy. “Wes, we talked about this. I need you to take care of yourself. Starving yourself just because I can’t eat makes no sense, and doesn’t help me or you.”
I cup her cheeks in my hands, as gently as I can. “I know my body and my limitations, Jo. I promise you, I won’t put myself at risk. I’m not starving myself. The last thing you need to worry about is me. Okay?”
She shakes her head, but it’s with a small smile. “But what if I want to worry about you?”
“Well, as long as you understand that I really do mean it when I say I know what I can tolerate—and that you don’tneedto worry.”
She nods. “Okay. I believe you.” She ponders something a moment, then claps her hands on her thighs, over the blanket. “Okay, so. Here’s my plan—I need a shower, and then we pack up and check out, go eat, and then hit the road. I dunno about you, but I’m sick to death of this freaking room.”
“Sounds good to me,” I say. “You, um…are you good to shower on your own?”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Why—are you volunteering your assistance, Mr. Britton?” It comes across equal parts silly yet suggestive.
“I am indeed, Ms. Park.” I touch my hand to the back of hers. “I mean that in a just-help-you sense, too, Jolene.”
She tangles her fingers with mine. “I know.” She kicks the blankets aside, wrinkling her nose at the smell released—stale, musty human, and sickness; sickness has its own particular scent. “Sorry about the smell—that’s why I need a shower.”
“No worries.”
“There goes the mystique, right?” She shifts to the edge of the bed and plants her feet on the floor, testing her body as she works slowly and carefully to her feet. “Not too bad. A little achy, but not bad.”
She walks normally, if a bit slowly. She’s noticeably thinner, having gone most of three days without eating on an already thin frame.
She stops at the doorway of the bathroom, hand on the frame, looking at me over her shoulder. “Something you should understand about me, Wes: the transitions from bad day to good day and back can be pretty abrupt. It hits me like that, just…all at once, like a freight train. But when it starts to fade, like right now, I like to try to just…go right back to acting normal. Even if I may not feel a hundred percent, once I can get up and move on my own, I’m not gonna sit around and wallow in my own stink. So, I guess I’m saying it might be kind of jarring. And I just hope you can keep up. Because now that I’m feeling better, Cancer Girl is gone, and I’m just Jolene again.” Her eyes rake me, search me. “And by that I mean, the Jolene who was in that bed with you before I started feeling crappy. If you know what I mean.”
Don’t walk on eggshells, she means. Once she indicates she’s back with the program, forget the bad day ever happened. She wants the fun back. The sensuality, the exploration. Put the bad day behind us and get back to the good.
I cross the room, stand facing her, gazing down at her. “So what you’re saying is, you don’t need help in the shower, but I should still help out. You know. Just in case.”
Her grin is heated. “Exactly. It’s been a rough few days for you, too, I know. And also, we really should conserve water, right? Shower together?”
I touch her cheekbone, trace down to her jaw. “You know, I’ve only ever showered alone.”
“Me too. But that’s a duh. I’ve never done anything.”
I bend, touch my lips to hers. “The real question here is how hot do you like your showers?”
She smirks. “Somewhere between scalding and ‘I might be on fire.’”
“No cold showers for you?”
She shudders. “God, no.” A dark expression crosses her face. “Bad experience with cold showers. I, um—part of this whole leukemia thing is being prone to infection. So, I’ve had some pretty bad fevers, of the variety that means I have to get dunked into a cold shower before my brain fries like an egg. So yeah. No cold showers for me.” A sigh. “Aaaaaaaand…mood killed.”
I press against her, walking her backward into the bathroom. Kick the door closed. Her vivid, expressive green eyes seek mine, looking for something—I’m not sure what. Falseness? Pity? Hesitation?
She won’t find it.
I have to trust that she knows what she wants and what she’s capable of and ready for. If she wants to put the sickness behind us, then I’m on board. Compartmentalize—like it seems she does. Cancer Girl and Jolene are different people, in a sense. I can separate them. Trust her, follow her lead.
The heat and the eagerness in her expression make it easy to fall into the right mentality, the right mood. Her desire for me—visible in her eyes, her expression, in every line of her body—ignites my own.
