Page 54 of If All Else Sails
“Of course not. You’re doing just fine,” she says.
“I am.”
“Obviously.”
“Who’s being sarcastic now?” I challenge.
“I’ve earned the right to be sarcastic.”
“And I haven’t?”
“No,” Josie practically growls, tucking her hands under my arms like she thinks she can hoist me up that way. When I don’t budge, she leans farther down, her chest against my back as she wraps her arms around my torso and tugs.
And she callsmestubborn.
“Just go,” I tell her. “I can get up by myself.”
“Then why aren’t you? Admit it—you’re just trying to be difficult.”
I don’t admit it. Though it may be true.
She grunts, tugging at me again. “I want to help you get up without injuring yourself even more.”
“You’re more likely to injure yourself trying to help me.”
“Says the man still on his hands and knees on the floor.”
I’m torn between irritation, amusement, and a pull toward Josie I have no business feeling. But it’s hard to suppress anytime she’s close. This feels a thousand times more intimate than when she helped me get into bed or to the car when I was feverish. Maybe because now I’m fully cognizant.
I flush with embarrassment thinking of that day. My memories are hazy, like some kind of drug-induced waking dream.Thankfully, my fever has stayed down since the hospital. Probably because Josie has alarms set on her phone for when I need antibiotics and ibuprofen.
The first time she gave me the meds, she asked me to show her my empty mouth. She’s probably been watching too many movies. I glared and refused until she laughed and walked away.
Now I feel bad. About all of it.
She’s stuck here with me, and I’m being ridiculously, stupidly stubborn. About everything. I can’t even explain why. Am I so desperate for her attention that I’ll even take it in the negative form?
Maybe.
And maybe it’s time I tried something like kindness and reasonableness instead.
Josie’s hands shift on my torso, and I tense. Her fingers have drifted closer than I’d like to the one ticklish spot on my body.
“Stop that,” I growl, already forgetting my resolve to be kinder. The threat of tickling will do that to a person.
She tugs again. “Youstop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop being a stubborn oaf!”
“Anoaf?”
“How about you stop fighting andlet me help you!”
She gives me another tug, this one more forceful. Her hands move even closer to the spot on my upper ribs.
“Josie,” I grumble, trying to wiggle away while keeping my torso flexed and mentally willing myselfnotto be ticklish. Mind over matter.
