Page 45 of Make Me Want it Too

I can’t help but notice his athletic shorts are…short. And snug.

“I’ll go get us some breakfast. What do you want?”

“Oh, um, I’m fine. I’ll just get something from the fruit basket, and I think I still have a granola bar?—”

Wood puts his hands on his hips. Very snug. “Mace. I’m going to go get us some food. What do you want?”

I look up, realizing that I’ve been staring at his crotch and now my cheeks are heating. “Some yogurt, if they have any. And maybe some eggs? Scrambled?”

“You got it.” He gives me a little wink and heads for the door.

“Oh, and maybe some cantaloupe? And cottage cheese? And bacon? If they have it.”

He stops with his hand on the doorknob, and I shrink back under the blanket. I’m being too much. But he just smiles wider and says, “Perfect,” before he leaves.

I rip the tags off these silly yoga pants and the matching tank top and shimmy them up my body. Are they supposed to be this tight? This seems wrong. I redo the bun I slept in. No point in putting on makeup to go exercise, just some sunscreen and I’m ready.

Wood returns with the food. “Sorry it took so long.”

“Perfect timing, actually. Thank you.”

He sets the plates down, one for me and one for him, and I glance over it, mentally taking note of the portion sizes.

“Does it not look good? Do you want something else? A different flavor of yogurt? I’ll run down and get you something else?—”

“No, this is great. I’m just doing some math.”

“Oh, right.” Wood takes a breath and rubs his neck.

I go to the bathroom and get out my stuff.

“Can I…” Wood pauses, leaning against the doorframe and glancing down at my medical supplies spread across the counter. “Can I watch? Or, I mean, will you show me what you do and explain how you do it?”

“You want me to show you?”

He takes a step in. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve been reading up on it a little bit but I feel like I should have a better idea of how it all works. Just in case something happens and I need to know, you know?”

“You won’t need to know,” I say.

“But I want to.”

Oh. “Okay.”

He comes in closer, and I show him the supplies I have laid out—alcohol wipes, my meter and strips, the insulin and new syringe.

“First thing I have to do is test my glucose levels, or the amount of sugar in my blood.” I wash my hands then open the lancing device and a new lancet. I put the little needle in the device and close it.

“That’s for pricking your finger?” He grimaces.

“Yeah. It’s the worst part of this whole thing, but it’s not that bad. I’m used to it. See, just like this.” I prick my finger.

Wood jumps at the loud click the device makes.

“Then I have to squeeze my finger to get a little drop of blood out to test.” I squeeze my finger from the knuckle up to the tip to draw some blood out. A tiny dot of red oozes out.

Wood wipes his forehead.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

---