Page 52 of Faker
“I guess I should cancel the surprise party I have planned for your next birthday,” I say.
Another chuckle. I wish I weren’t stuck behind the shower curtain so I could witness his expression and the way his body moves when he laughs.
The mood in my sauna bathroom is light, easy. This closeness is new, but when we chat, we’re like old chums sharing stories.
After I finish scrubbing and rinsing, I stand. The sloshing noise of the bathwater streaming off my body causes Tate to sit up.
“Mask is still on, right?”
“Of course.”
I step out of the tub and onto the bath mat, carefully toweling off. When I look down, I see my shin is inches from his knee. With the soft cotton wrapped around me, I stand and stare. He sits perfectly still, hands on the tops of his thighs, his back straight as an arrow. For a moment, I wonder what he would do if I sat on his lap, if I leaned into his ear and whispered, “Thank you.” Would he run his hands over my cold, wet skin? Or better, his mouth?
My foot slides toward him, but I stop when my toes are less than an inch from his shoe.
“Everything good?” he asks.
In an instant, my back finds the wall. “Yep.”
When I open the door, steam flows into the living room. I slip on a loose-fitting tank dress from the laundry basket still in my living room.
“Decent,” I call out to him.
“Cool. Give me a sec.”
I collapse onto the couch. It’s a minute before he steps out of the bathroom. He walks to the end of the sofa, his face red.
“You okay?” I ask.
He nods, sporting a flustered expression. His chest heaves, and he coughs a few times, his watchful gaze on me. It makes me feel as naked as I was in the bathtub minutes ago.
“Feel better?” he asks.
“Much.”
He hands me my sleeping mask. “Would it be okay if I came over again tomorrow?”
“I’d like that.”
Leaning over me, he plants a kiss on my forehead. His hand grazes my cheek. “Best if we keep things PG, don’t you think? For the sake of your recovery.”
I nod, despite my hope for something mouth to mouth. He’s right though. If our first kiss was any indication, our mouths are dangerous weapons when left unchecked.
I nod.
“Get some rest, okay?”
Quiet footsteps lead him back out the front door. When the door shuts behind him, I sink into the couch. The throb between my legs is back with a vengeance. This feeling is more than arousal, though. It’s a spark, a connection, the beginning of something new.
fourteen
Every single day since our bathtub session last week, Tate and I have connected. Days are spent texting each other sweet comments, jokes, or silly videos. Most evenings we cuddle on my couch. He always leaves me with a forehead kiss and a caress on the cheek, just like that first day he visited me. We both remark, usually with huffy breaths, that we prefer kissing with tongue, but I’ve got a body to heal.
The one time he couldn’t make it, he texted to let me know, then I received a grocery store delivery of pineapple and young coconut. I didn’t even have to hack away at the impossibly hard coconut shell. It was peeled and sliced, ready for me to chow down.
Seeing this whole new side of him is the reason for the ever-present swarm of butterflies in my stomach and why I wake up with a smile on my face each morning. Who knew Tate Rasmussen, the no-nonsense hard-ass, could be devastatingly sweet?
This morning is sweeter though. My first day back at work. Ten days postsurgery and I’m aching to return, not because I miss Nuts & Bolts, but because I’m itching to see Tate at work. We canfinally spend all our working hours in this new bliss bubble we’ve created.
