My eyes round again and tears pinch behind my nose. This doesn’t make sense. Sure, we lightly hit on each other and bicker, but I assume he doesn’t care to go any deeper to take me seriously. “But you treat me like I’m a panel of buttons to push for a reaction.”
Jake rubs his hand over his brow. “Darcy, I give you shit because I think you like it. But if you don’t, I’ll stop.” He steels his gaze. “You don’t let your guard down easy, and you’re more comfortable with jokes and teasing. And I’m probably guilty of the same. I need to do a better job of showing you I care.”
That silences me. This is new territory. He’s being earnest—and for more than one sentence. I twist my lips and pinch them together, then lunge forward to hug him again. “I do kind of like it. The pestering.”
“Knew it,” Jake rasps, rubbing a thumb over my cheek. “You’re pretty when you cry, you know that?”
I laugh and sniffle. “I guess I’ve got that going for me.”
He puts a reassuring hand on my thigh. “You’ve got a lot going for you.”
One thought echoes across my brain:Only because I’ve got you.
His eyes move over my face and if I hadn’t just vomited and my head weren’t absolutely pounding, I’d be trying to crawl all over him. I still don’t know whether all of this is friendship or something more, but it feels good to let my guard down with him.
I’m starting to wish it were something more, and that sets off all sorts of alarm bells. I do not need to be involved with a man. It’s not in the cards for this summer.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it. So when he asks his next question, it’s so hard to not ask for what I really want.
“You need to hydrate and get some rest. Can I get you anything else?”
I’m tired of dancing around it. I’m tired of pretending I don’t want him to touch me. To tease me. That I’m not enjoying how sweet he is taking care of me. That it’s not confusing how much I crave his touch while knowing I should want nothing to do with him, or any man.
But his joke that first night rings true.
He’s not just any man. And I want him in this bed with me. I want him to hold me, to feel the security of letting someone else drive the life car for a while.
My stomach is both upset and in knots now, my eyes rounding. He cocks his head at me. “Don’t be shy. You’re sick and you need things. I’m here to do whatever.”
My laugh is watery and feeble. “It’s stupid. Caleb and Becca are probably waiting on you.”
He tosses a hand to tell me not to worry about it. Then he watches me again, those syrupy eyes concerned. The air shifts, a drifting mirage of feeling soup.
Concern.
Fear.
Longing. So much longing. Breaths held, words swallowed, silence louder than I’ve ever heard.
“Just say it,” he says.
The pressure is intense, the need to tell him something that, if I weren’t sick, if I were a little stronger, I would.
I want him.
But that’s a lot, so I settle for this.
“Will you lay down with me?”
Well, that probably isn’t the right choice either. Asking an employee to get in bed with me? What am I thinking?
I’m terrified to look up. He’s probably horrified. He’s going to quit. His weirdo, trainwreck of a boss just asked for cuddles.
“I mean, I haven’t showered?—”
“You know what, never mind,” I start until his hand lands on top of mine.
“But as long as you don’t mind a stinky cowboy in your bed, I’d love to snuggle with you.”
