Page 30 of Take Me Home

“No fair! That was a follow-up question. I’m starting to think you have a pee fetish or something.”

“No, but I do have a fetish for people being hydrated and not getting heat stroke,” I teased.

She gave a good hearty laugh for that one. I fucking loved making her laugh.

“Do you feel up to getting out? I’ll close my eyes,” I said.

She sat up and tested her balance. “Head rush,” she said.

I stuck my hand around the shower curtain. “Take your time. You can lean on me. But let me know if you need more help.”

“Whatever, you’re just trying to see titties,” she said.

“Look, I’ve been a perfect gentleman!” I said, mildly offended. If she only knew the circles my brain was running to keep this nude interaction clean.

“I know, I know. It’s fun to make you sweat a little.” I liked seeing this truer side of her that wasn’t terrified of getting close to me.

As she got out of the bath, she held onto my hand, and I guided her to the chair with her clothes on it.

“Hope you don’t mind your Brooks and Dunn shirt and basketball shorts,” I said. She dangled the thong from one finger, cocking an eyebrow. I put my hands up in innocence.

“I just blindly plunged my hand in the underwear drawer. I didn’t think it was my place to thumb through for the best selection,” I said, trying so hard not to blush but definitely failing.

“I’ll forgive it this time,” she said. “But between this and the pee, I’m getting suspicious.”

I gave her privacy to get changed, standing outside the bathroom door in case she needed me.

“No bra, either. A real feminist you are,” she said through the door.

“I have two sisters. They’d barbecue me if I implied they should wear a bra when they’re sick,” I said.

The doorknob turned and Darcy sat in the chair, flourishing her hands to her outfit.

“You look great,” I said. “Let’s get you fed.”

We ate grilled cheese and a fruit salad I threw together from whatever was hanging around in her kitchen. Darcy insisted that I stay to eat, so I threw a blanket over her duvet, brought up my own plate, and made it like a picnic. It almost felt like a date, except my date was very casually dressed and a good bit sick still. I continued our game of truth or dare.

“Alright, Rossetti,” I said. I loved calling her by her very Italian last name. “No getting away from it now. Truth or dare.”

Her gaze was fixed on my arm as I leaned back on her bed, then shifted to my face. Was she checking me out?

“I feel like I shouldn’t do dares today, so how about a truth?”

“What did you do before you were a farm mistress?”

“I was in Raleigh, working as a copywriter for a bedding company. I got laid off a month or so ago, and Uncle Bill needed the help, so I came here. I wasn’t really happy with what I was doing, though,” she said, puffing out some air on the last part.

“Is that why you have this lush bedding?” I gestured to her crispy white sheets and billowy white duvet. It had felt amazing when I laid down with her earlier and I was admittedly jealous.

“You figured me out. You spend a third of your life in bed. May as well be comfortable,” she said, tapping her nose. “And I thought we weren’t doing follow-up questions.”

“Fine, ask me one.”

“Truth or dare.” I twisted my face up like I was thinking, hoping the face I was making was cute and endearing.

“Truth.”

Her face faltered for a moment as she considered what she wanted to ask me. She returned to her previous question about robotics.

---