I wince as she presses a little harder.
“I’m sorry,” she says in a high-pitched voice. “I’m making sure the cream is soaked into your skin before I apply the concealer.”
I don’t reply because she once again brushes her finger under my eye, but she does so more gently this time as her palm cups my face. I hold as still as a living statue.
There isnothinglike this feeling. I thought having her clean my face off after the crab incident was a feeling that couldn’t be topped.
Nope.
Kissing her was a Fourth of July fireworks experience, but having her touch me while my eyes are closed, never knowing when the next touch is going to come, is deliciously excruciating. Lucy’s touch brings a heat to my body like I’m once again on the football field in the middle of summer drills. At the same time, it grounds me like I’m an electrical current and she’s the metal that absorbs my shock.
Too soon, her warmth is removed. Instead, something prickles my skin. I crinkle my nose and open my eyes.
Lucy isright. there.
She’s focused, the red in her hair highlighting the green flecks in her eyes. The freckles across her nose provide a warm contrast to her cool skin as she tilts her head to get a better angle. She has some sort of brush in her hand, making gentle strokes right above my cheekbones.
“Does it hurt?” she asks, leaning back and grabbing something that looks like an artist’s color palette. She mixes a brown powder into a liquid that resembles the color of vanilla ice cream.
“No. What are you mixing?”
“Just adding a dash of bronzer into the concealer. Where I could scare a ghost if I happened upon it, you are the color of a bronze trophy. Especially since you’ve been in the sun this summer. You were paler back in February.”
My lips twitch upward. “You’ve been watching me that closely for that long, Little Lion?”
The brush she was circling slowly on the palette suddenly stops, but she keeps her eyes fixated on the color mixture, her shoulders raising just a hair. “I watch everything and everyone. Don’t feel special. You’re a person in my close sphere of living. Of course I watch you.”
“I’m still going to feel special,” I jest. “Being watched by you is simultaneously nerve-wracking and thrilling.”
She snorts a laugh as she turns her attention back to me. “Just close your eyes and tilt your head up, will ya?” The brush circles within her mixture once more, then she holds it up in front of me while her eyebrow hitches as if to question why my eyes are still open.
And the answer to her unspoken accusation is that Ihaveto see her reaction to my next words. I’m testing the waters since we haven’t addressed what happened last night. We woke up, silently moved around the house like nothing happened, exchanged knowing glances across the breakfast table, and then I asked her if she knew of a way to cover the black around my eyes since she’s the one who put it there.
“If you want to kiss me, Little Lion, at least allow me to stand so I can wrap one arm around your waist, stitch you tome, and run my fingers…”
The vile taste of concealer touches my tongue as she slides the coated brush across my mouth, a bewildered look painting her face. I spit into my hands and rub at my tongue, completely aware I look like a disgusting, uncouth pig-man right now, but hey… it’s her fault.
“What was that for?”
She holds the brush, eyes wide as saucers. “I–I,” she stutters, glancing from me to the brush in her hands, then she rambles. “I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me. You started talking about kissing me again and I got nervous and what happens on Monday when we’re back at work? Will people know I kissed my boss?”
I wipe at my mouth once more as she continues spewing her worries aloud. I let her get it all out. If you’re curious as to what concealer mixed with bronzer tastes like, it’s something akin to what you’d taste if you licked the floor of a chemical factory. And the taste seems to be getting worse as I attempt to rid myself of it.
Lucy stops her anxious maunder then fishes around in her makeup box.
“Take this.” She holds out a tissue, which I snatch, causing it to tear in half. She drops the half remaining in her hands onto my lap then walks out of the bathroom. I wipe my hands and face, not enjoying the taste of tissue either.
“Lucy May,” I growl, jumping to my feet and walking out into the hallway. “This tastes disgusting, you know?” I stop a foot in front of her when she darts out of my sister’s bedroom with a half-empty bottle of water.
“Here. Drink this.”
“It’s opened.”
She shrugs. “I know. It’s my midnight water. Now drink it or continue tasting my concoction.”
“Do you even know what horrid taste you just shoved into my mouth? Water is not going to make it go away.”
“No,” she says, averting her eyes and crossing her arms after I take the bottle from her and take a swig. She’s becoming defensive, and I can’t help myself. She’s hot when she’s feisty.
