Page 46 of Hate You, Maybe
“It’s not too late,” I say. But sitting here on the bed, not moving for the past several minutes, has got my feet throbbing. So I bend over to shuck off my boots. Peeling off my socks, I can’t avoid pulling air in through my teeth. The skin on the backs of both my heels is raw and angry.
Dex peers down and winces. “Ouch.”
“I really should’ve dealt with these earlier.” I drop my socks on the bed and fish a few Band-Aids from my bag.
He pushes up from the bed. “Hold on.”
He moves into the bathroom to wash and dry his hands. Then he digs around in his duffel bag and produces a small first aid kit. Inside, he’s got a small tube of something. “Neosporin,” he says.
“I don’t?—”
“You do, though,” he insists. “Broken blisters get infected pretty easily. Please. Let me.” He crouches in front of my bed, gathering one of my feet in his hands. His touch is incredibly tender. I’m not used to being taken care of like this. Especially not so gently. A wave of heat travels up my leg, and I let out a small gasp.
His eyes cut to mine. “Am I hurting you?” The question comes out gruff.
“No, no, not at all,” I assure him. “My skin’s just extra sensitive after being stuck in boots all day.”
“Then I’ll be extra careful.” He gets to work, squeezing antibiotic ointment on the pad of the bandage and smoothing the bandage across my blister. Then he repeats the whole process with my other foot.
“So I guess you’re not grossed out by feet,” I say, pressing out a laugh.
“Hardly.” He lifts his gaze, laughter building in his throat. “Not that I have a fetish or anything.”
“Of course not.” I fight a laugh of my own. “Because that would make you a total weird?—”
“Knock, knock!” someone chirps in the doorway.
Tori.
Dexter drops both my feet, leaping up and away from me like I suddenly became radioactive. Tori’s on the porch with only the screen between us. She’s dressed in pink silk pajamas and pink boots. Her face is scrubbed clean, hair in a messy bun. Note to self: Remember to keep the main door to the cabin shut too, from now on.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she says.
“Nah,” Dexter grunts, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Need something?”
She aims a sweet smile at me. “I just wanted to pop in and check on you, Sayla. In case you changed your mind about trading rooms.”
“Thanks, but—” I nod to indicate my bed, where my bag is spilled open. Dexter’s first aid kit, my Band-Aid wrappers, and a tube of Neosporin are scattered there, too. Not to mention my collection of clipboards. “I’m pretty much moved in by now.”
“That’s fantastic.” She beams at me again, then swings hergaze over to Dexter. “As long as I’m here, I was planning to go for a trail run in the morning. Want to join me?”
He grits his teeth, ever so slightly. “I’m more of a street runner. Hills are the worst for my knees.”
“We could stick to the roads, then,” she offers with a flirty little tip of her chin. “I don’t care about going onto the trails.”
Dex blows out a long breath, shaking his head. “The thing is, I was kinda looking at this retreat as a break from workouts, you know?” The man is clearly trying to avoid being alone with her, but she’s not taking the hint.
“I just don’t think it’s safe for me to run alone,” she says, her lower lip poking out. I guess appealing to the protective side of Dexter was her next logical move. “And Caroline isn’t a runner. So …”
Something bubbles up in my chest. The desire to step in and help Dexter out. I know he’s not interested in dating Tori or anyone, and we’re supposed to be collaborating as a team after this retreat.
“I’ll run with you,” I say.
Dexter’s brows practically hit the ceiling. “You?”
He’s right to be surprised. I absolutely do not run. In fact, I can barely jog. My cardiovascular capacity is more suited to speed-eating ice cream. Still, I level my gaze at him and arch a brow. A silent signal that I’m offering an assist here.
“Sure. Why not?”
