Page 73 of The Future Play

It might’ve felt more sensual if I wasn’t so exhausted. Between the ER visit and the shower, it’s almost ten at night. I’m surprisingly hungry and utterly exhausted.

Jamie pulls the stool from the shower as I wrap a towel around myself.

“Sit.”

Then he grabs another towel and carefully wraps it around my hair, gently drying the strands. When my hair is damp instead of dripping wet, he pulls the towel away, then grabs my hairbrush.

I almost protest, but he whispers, “Trust me.”

He slowly moves the brush through my hair, stopping and working out each knot before continuing on. This… this is the sensual moment. One I might beg him to repeat one day when we get to shower together.

With tenderness and care, he runs the brush through over and over until it glides smoothly, making sure not to pull on a single strand.

“There’s a leave-in on the sink that helps with frizziness. If you want to put some in.”

“Sure. Just tell me how much.”

“Just a penny sized amount and rub it between your hands, then work it in.”

He looks up and his eyes meet mine in the mirror. He squints a little, then smiles and turns around. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Maybe.”

“Good.”

He works his hands through my hair methodically, getting every single strand, and when he’s finished, he runs the brush through a few more times.

I’m not sure I’ve ever let someone take care of me like this. Let my guard down so completely. I asked Jamie to prove it. But I gave myself an assignment too. To work on opening up to him and being vulnerable in a way I haven’t allowed myself to be with another person—not romantically, at least—in a long time.

I’ve never been more vulnerable than I have been over the last few hours, but this is different. I’m openly choosing that vulnerability, and to my surprise, it feels good. It feels right. And I’m really happy Jamie is the one I’m doing it with.

I’m a mess.Not a hot mess express.

Like a train wreck. Everything’s a mess and a couple of things are on fire.

I sniff back tears as I pull the blankets up farther. After my shower, I sat in my desk chair and got dressed while Jamie put fresh sheets on my bed. Then I ate a couple of bowls of mashed potatoes, some saltines, a bowl of vanilla coconut ice cream, and drank a bottle of Gatorade. My stomach feels better, but I’m still tired, achy, and emotional. I always feel this way when I’m sick.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jamie asks the second he walks back into the room.

I wave my hand in front of me. “Nothing. It’s stupid. I always get weepy when I’m sick.”

He sits down next to me, resting his hand on the back of my neck, then running it down my back.

“What’s making you cry right now?”

“You’re… here.”

He nods exaggeratedly. “I know. I’m pretty terrible company.”

At least that gets a laugh out of me. Then I clutch my stomach. The muscles are sore from all the puking.

“No. I mean… you’re here. You came to take care of me. You made me a priority.”

“And someday, you’re going to stop being surprised by that.”

I rest my head on his shoulder, savoring the comfort he gives as tears roll down my cheeks.

“Sometimes I wonder if I push people away too much and they assume I don’t want them around, so they don’t go out of their way for me. Other times, I think I’m too clingy. I didn’t want to get anyone else sick?—”

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