Page 41 of Reading Between the Lines
I snagged his arm, drawing him away from the door. “You don’t need to buy a hammer. Stop being dramatic.”
Diem eyed me, then the mound of wrapped clocks. “You’re right. A boot will work fine.”
Before he could move to put them on, I dragged him into the bathroom.
“Tallus—”
“We’re having a tubbie. Get over it.”
“I don’t bathe,” he said through clenched teeth.
“I’ll teach you. It’s fun and super relaxing.” With a warning glare, I let go of his arm and fit the plug in the drain beforeturning on the water. Temperature adjusted, I sized Diem up and down, deciding where and how to begin.
“I don’t need to relax.” His jaw was so tense the words came out garbled. Every muscle in his body screamed with tension.
“Guns, you’re ten seconds away from needing dental surgery. Now, arms up.” I pushed them above his head, knowing he wouldn’t do it without help. Also knowing he wouldn’t resist, and he didn’t.
I shed his T-shirt and tossed it aside, humming approval at his broad, hairy chest. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
I raked my fingernails over his pecs and down the ridges of his abdomen. Goose bumps rose the hairs on his arms.
“Are you cold?”
“No.” He couldn’t look at me, his stormy gray eyes full of uncertainty.
Diem remained motionless. Although he didn’t help, he allowed me to strip him bare. Not once did he try to stop me. He was a fine specimen under the clothes. Years of lifting weights for his mental health showed, but Diem’s firm and defined exterior did not adequately represent what was inside. Under layers of muscle, Diem harbored mistrust for a world that had treated him poorly. He’d built a shield to protect himself. Few people saw the man behind the steel barricade, so I treasured the moments when Diem offered glimpses into his troubled soul.
Naked meant vulnerable to Diem. It exposed his scars, physical and psychological. In the six weeks we’d been dating, his comfort level when naked had improved, but he still showed signs of distress.
I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my naked body to his, resting my chin in the center of his chest and peering up into his stormy gray eyes. “Are you doing okay?”
“I’m uncomfortable.”
“I know.” Taking pity, I asked, “Do you want to get dressed and order pizza instead?”
Diem glanced at the bathtub, the wheels inside his brain spinning and spinning. Twice, he tried to speak, but no words escaped. If I pushed limits, I always gave him a chance to back out. He needed a shove sometimes, but I also wasn’t an asshole looking to perpetuate an anxiety attack. Diem had learned to communicate when he wasn’t okay with something. He may not like vulnerability, but he trusted me not to take him anywhere he didn’t want to go.
“This will make sleeping beside me feel like a walk in the park. Come on.”
I took his hand and guided him to the tub. He didn’t resist, and when I stepped in, I encouraged him to follow.
“I won’t fit.”
“You will. If you lie down first, I’ll squeeze between your thighs.”
He hesitated for a long time. Processing, processing, processing. I let him. Then he followed me into the tub.
The water level had gotten out of control, and the minute Diem lowered himself, it climbed and spilled over the edge.
“Shit.” He scrambled to stand but slipped and landed on his ass, sending waves cascading everywhere.
I laughed, snagging a towel from a nearby rack and throwing it over the small lake he’d created. I shut the water off and unplugged the drain for a minute to let some water out so we wouldn’t get sued for flooding the B&B.
Problem rectified, I faced Diem, who couldn’t have looked more awkward and out of place if he tried. Arms braced on either side of the tub, panic written in creases on his forehead, he lay—rigidly—against the sloped back of the porcelain tub, hanging on for dear life like he was in a sinking ship.
“Stop acting like this is torture.”
He scowled.
