Page 38 of Don't Fall For Your Best Friend

She nods her head. “Fine, just hurry, please.”

I rub the cream on her arms and she takes the tube from me and applies it to the rest of her body. Together we make sure to cover every bit of her rash.

When she’s all creamed up, I carry her into the living room and set her onto the couch, after lying a towel down.

“Do you want me to get you anything?” I ask her.

“My robe in the bathroom, please.”

I grab her robe, help her into it, and then I head into the kitchen to make her a cup of tea. Hartford loves her chamomile tea at night time. As the water warms, I look through her cabinets for some Benadryl. Once I spot some, I open the bottle and pull out two tablets.

“Do you like one sugar or two in your tea, Hart?” I call out to the living room.

“Honey.”

I prepare her tea, and head into the living room with the tea and Benadryl in my hands. “Here,” I say, handing her the things as I nestle down next to her.

She takes the pills, and holds her mug of tea close. “Every time we do something, it ends in disaster.”

“It’s not a disaster, Hart. It just didn’t go as planned.”

“It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to finish this assignment.”

I wrap an arm around her shoulder. “The universe has bigger things to worry about than just you and me. I don’t know what it is, but we’ll figure it out. We’ll get this article done. Don’t worry.”

Is the universe really working against us?

Chapter Thirteen

Hartford

It’s nice having Paxton taking care of me. Even if the offending feather is at fault. I want my money back.

“We need to think of something we can do together that won’t cause any allergic reactions or emergency room visits,” I say, sipping my tea.

“Yeah.”

I want to know if he was as turned on as I was, but I’m too afraid to ask. I continue to sip my tea until there’s nothing left. I set the mug on the coffee table. “Um,” the question is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t ask it.

“What?” Paxton asks me.

“You were doing a really good job,” I tell him, beating around the bush. I glance over at him, and he repositions himself to where his arm is no longer around my shoulders.

He actually blushes, and it makes him even more attractive.

“I was getting turned on,” he admits, sheepishly.

“Really?” I ask, my skin finally settling down from the itch.

“Your body is banging,” he whispers.

I blink. “Banging, huh? Is that how you’d describe it?”

He squeezes the back of his neck, staring at me. “Definitely banging. Like if your body were a beer, it’d be top of the barrel.”

Now it’s my turn to blush. “Thank you.” I want to tell him that he’s top of the barrel too, but I can’t bring myself to say it. What if he laughs at me and tells me he meant it in the most platonic of ways?

Rules. I need to remember the rules.

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