Page 42 of Slots & Sticks
The words land between us as my pulse spikes. She’s teasing, probably, but my chest doesn’t get the memo. My fingers itch to reach for her, but I stay put. If I move too soon, I’ll wreck whatever this is.
“Yeah?” I set my fork aside. “You’ve been craving my, what was it?Swollen knot?”
She snort-laughs. “That is not what I meant! I was talking about theconnection.I already know I can trust you. I know you care about me.” Her mouth contorts into a wicked grin. “And if you have anymechanical troubles, Mira can talk you through it.”
I manage a laugh, but my palms are damp. We’re in a heart-shaped bed, alone for the first time, no excuses. Well, almost alone. If I so much as lean forward, this stops being theory and starts being real.
“About that. Can we maybe be… without… her?”
Dot turns her head. “Mira, power down.”
The music cuts off. Without the smooth jazz, I can hear the thrum of the central air, the faint hiss of pipes as someone in a neighboring room takes a shower, the rumble of cars on the road outside.
“That’s better. Are you sure she’s powered down?”
“Pretty sure.” Dot pokes the last soggy piece of French toast with her fork. “I’m done. Are you ready for bed?”
It’s early, but that only means that we have more time together in this bed. I clear away the remains of our meal. Whilemy back is turned, I cup my mouth to my hand for a quick breath-check. My breath smells like cinnamon and bacon. Could be worse.
I’m stacking empty containers, trying not to wince as the skin at the back of my neck pulls tight and raw. Must’ve been out there longer than I thought, hunched over the jack in the midday sun, pretending to know what I was doing. My neck’s on fire now—perfect timing.
Dot notices. Of course she does.
“Hold still.” She’s already rummaging in her bag. “You’re burning up back here.”
Before I can protest, she’s twisting the cap off a travel tube of aloe, squeezing a cool line onto her fingers. She moves behind me, gentle but sure, her knees pressed into the mattress as she shifts my collar aside. The first touch shocks a shiver down my spine—a sweet, stinging relief. She works the gel into my sunburn with slow, careful circles, the pads of her fingers featherlight but intent.
I can’t help it—I close my eyes, jaw clenching, breath caught somewhere between a groan and a thank you. The pain eases. Something else takes its place.
“Sorry if it’s cold,” she whispers, voice close to my ear.
I shake my head, throat tight. “Feels good.”
Her hand stills, but only for a second. “You shouldn’t have done it alone.”
I force a grin, keeping my eyes forward. “Had to look tough. Couldn’t let you see me cry in front of a flat tire.”
She huffs a soft laugh, but her hand stays on my neck. “You don’t have to look tough for me, Cam. I like you better when you let me take care of you.”
That’s what undoes me—the ease in her voice, the weight of her palm at the base of my skull. I want to lean back, let her hold all of me. Let her see it all.
But I just swallow, the aloe stinging and soothing at once. “Noted,” I say, softer than I mean to. “You missed a spot.”
Her fingers find it, brushing under the edge of my jaw. I shiver again, every nerve awake and wanting.
Dot lingers a moment longer, and when she’s done, my skin’s cooled—but the rest of me is burning up.
After she puts the aloe away, she lies back on top of the covers with her clothes on while I deposit the trash into the plastic bin.
“Lights on or off?” I ask, since I’m already near the door.
Dot’s eyes drift up to the deer head. “Off, I think.”
On the one hand, I don’t want to miss anything. On the other, it’s probably a good idea to deprive one of my senses. I want to make this last.
I turn off the lights and shuffle, barefoot, back to the bed. The springs groan when I lie down. Next to me, Dot sucks in a breath.
“Can I kiss you?” I ask.
