Page 31 of If All Else Sails
Josie
Getting Wyatt’s big injured body down the sagging front steps and to his car isn’t quite as hard as it was getting him in bed earlier. That’s not to say it’seasy.
“You’ve got to keep moving,” I grunt as Wyatt’s nose finds my hair.
“You smell like pie. Coconut cream—no! Buttermilk.”
I would laugh. Iwantto. Because this is ridiculous.
Also, buttermilk and coconut pie both sound delicious right now. My stomach rumbles and I tell it to settle in—I have a feeling it’s going to be a while.
Wyatt tossed one of his crutches in a bush outside the house, muttering something about liking me better. Now I’m his human crutch as we hobble awkwardly to his Bronco— which he insisted in his sloppy, feverish state that I drive.
I am limping along, all sweat and screaming muscles, as Wyatt nuzzles my hair. Apparently, feverish Wyatt sheds theGrouch for a full-on snuggler. It would be endearing if I weren’t about to collapse.
We finally reach the old Bronco, and I lean against it, breathing heavily as he slumps his full weight onto me. I need a moment to recover. Even my bones hurt.
But then his nose moves from my hair to my neck, and I freeze.
“Mmm,” he says, inhaling audibly. “Pie.”
I don’t know how I smell like anything but sweat and possibly dish soap at this point, but I’m not going to argue with the man. Especially not as his nose traces along my throat, sending waves of goose bumps over my skin. My nerve endings electrify and the temperature goes up at least ten degrees instantaneously.
This is...weird. And kind of delightful. Which makes it very, very dangerous.
“Wyatt.” I shake him a little with my hands on his lower back, like he’s falling asleep and I’m trying to wake him. He might as well be.
Underneath his sweaty shirt, he’s a solid mass of muscle. I can feel him flexing as he shifts, mumbling something.
I need to get him in the Bronco and off me. But now that we’re leaning against it, I still don’t know if I can get him in there unless he can actively help.
“I think we should take my car,” I say again. It’s low. I can open the door and pretty much shove him inside. This would involve less touching, which is a very good idea right now.
“Too small,” Wyatt slurs. “Like you—tiny.”
“You’re just a Sasquatch. I’m an average height,” I say, not sure why I’m defensive.
He lifts his head slightly, and his scruff brushes my cheek. We are way too close. I try to lean away, but that only makes him lean harder into me. He drops the other crutch.
“Nothing about you is average,” he murmurs, his breath on my jaw.
I have no response to this. There’s no reason to respond. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. And it’s probably not meant as a compliment anyway, even if that’s how it sounds. Then again—he did call me pretty. And say I smell like pie.
It’s irrelevant, I tell myself.He won’t remember this. He doesn’t mean this.
But every touch, every kind word, every little moment with this foreign version of Wyatt is setting itself up as a core memory. I can almost feel the tectonic shift happening as my brain adjusts to thinking of him in a new way. A softer and kinder way.
Maybe also a semi-romantic way.
That realization is enough to get me moving again. Because under no circumstances am I allowed to have any kind of feelings for Wyatt.
Wiggling out from under him, I manage to maneuver him off the passenger-side door. He’s as floppy and unruly as an overcooked noodle. And still much warmer than I want him to be, especially after the ibuprofen.
I press him against the car as I open the door, and his head lolls forward. Even with his eyes closed, he’s smiling. It makes me feel a bit better. But only the tiniest bit. Instead of putting him in bed with ibuprofen, I should have gotten him to the hospital.
Still, I refuse to devolve into panic about infection. Or sepsis. He’s going to be fine. I’m both sad and relieved thinking about him returning to the grump I know. The grump is safer than this version of him.
Holding him in place with a hand on his chest, I give his cheek a little slap. When he doesn’t react, I take a breath and slap him a little harder.
