Page 61 of The Man I Love

“It’s a neck fan,” he explained.

He took it back, opened the box, and unfolded what appeared to be a headband from a sci-fi movie.

He fiddled with the arms, then adjusted the two fans on either side. He then brushed her hair aside and looped the fan around her neck.

She didn’t move.

He flicked the fan on, and awareness pummeled her stomach. The fan started spinning. Lights of red, white, and blue began flashing like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

He covered his mouth with a finger to hide a smile. “I didn’t realize it did that,” he said, unsuccessfully hiding his amusement. “Let me see…” He reached over again, his hand brushing against her neck as he played with the controls.

Finally satisfied, he sat back, but the lights kept flashing—only now, the fan spun faster, sucking a strand of loose hair into the blade. “Ouch!” she yelled, craning her head to the side.

“Shit!” Tristan cringed, then leaned forward, trying to turn the machine off. It only made things worse, and a screeching noise sounded in her ears.

“Oh God!” he muttered.

More hair sucked into the machine, and soon his whole body came into her seat. “Fuck!” His eyes bulged.

The fan continued to struggle, making a high-pitched whistling sound, as Tristan continued to work at the controls. His face was above hers, his abdomen pressed against her belly.

Like every other time he was this close, her body reacted to him. It didn’t matter that her hair was being ripped out of her skullor that she was eight months pregnant with his child. Every cell in her body ignited.

Tristan finally yanked the batteries from the back, and the device went silent, but still, he didn’t move. His one leg pressed against the passenger side door, the other between her thighs. “Shit, Sam,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Then his fingers were in her hair again. “Let me,” he said softly, as he began untangling her hair from the fan blades.

She tried to ignore his touch, but his closeness was too much. His scent filled her nose, reminding her of sunshine, clean soap, and something that was unmistakably Tristan.

Her skin prickled, and she felt their bodies synchronize into familiar rhythms. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her breath quickened.

She remembered all the days and nights they sat this close, especially the first night in the woods when they’d kissed. There were a thousand memories attached to this man. The self-assured way he touched her was too familiar. He was never meek or timid. He knew exactly what he was doing. Even now, his fingers didn’t question, they just did.

The air in the cab became thick, and her mind found it impossible to think. His fingers brushed down her neck, almost like a caress, and she wondered if it had been intentional. It would be so easy to give in. So easy…

Awareness flared in her throat. What was he doing? Why was it taking so long? Was he intentionally trying to drive her crazy?

Her whole body lit up like a Christmas tree, and she wondered if she’d ever be able to be around him again without remembering what he could do between her thighs.

She pushed his chest. “Move,” she said, trying to get out from under him.

He didn’t listen. “I almost got it?—”

“Get off,” she said again.

“Just a sec?—”

“Get off of me!” She pushed firmly at his chest, and he sprang backward.

He was so taken aback by her sudden urgency that he almost looked scared. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

She yanked the fan from her hair, taking a few strands along with it. “I’m fine,” she said again, though this time her voice vibrated.

“You don’t sound fine,” he whispered.

Maybe it was his concern, or the way his blue eyes penetrated hers, but her body shook.

“God, Sam, are you okay? I was only trying?—”

She turned toward the door, grabbed hold of the handle, and opened it. She was out of the truck before she even realized what she was doing.

---