Suddenly, coolness presses against my face, which I’m assuming is a napkin of some sort. She wipes off my cheeks, crossing the bridge of my nose with a gentle touch, before she moves lower. Involuntarily, I tilt my head as her fingers rest underneath my chin. “I’m so sorry about that,” she says quickly, still wiping at my face. “I just reacted when your hands touched mine.”
That I understand,I think to myself. Then I smile because it sounds like she felt the sameZING!I did.
“One second,” she whispers, and the napkin disappears. It takes over ten quickened heartbeats pounding my chest before I sense her presence in front of me again. A refreshing spicy vanilla scent breaks through the sourness of the seafood.
“I’m going to wipe your eyes,” she says. I nod, but that must have been the moment she was approaching because instead of receiving a cool, gentle caress like I was anticipating, I’m poked in the eye.
The curse that slips through my lips is perfectly warranted if you ask me.
“Gah, I’m sorry! But please, hold still, Mr. Harper.” While Lucy does sound sorry, she also sounds amused. And though my eyes are burning and the right one is also throbbing, the way her voicesounds when it shifts to a command could bring the dead back to life.
The damp napkin presses against my right eye and moves in slow circles before she moves to the other one. It’s as if I could see her directly in front of me, hazel eyes erring on the side of green, concentrating on the contours of my face as she works. I can imagine her lips parting or her nose scrunching up again. She’s so close that if I just leaned in, I could finally educate myself on how those supple lips taste…
“Done. But you should probably go wash your eyes out before you try to open them. I can get someone to lead you to the bathroom. Maybe the chef guy from earlier?”
“No,” I choke out, imagining my hands clutching the biceps on that guy.No thank you.Not the arms I want to feel up. “You can lead me to the bathroom just fine. But first, I think there are crabs in my lap.” I smirk, unable to help myself once again. “You want to clean those off for me, too?”
I can practically hear the scowl as she says, “You can find your own way to the little boy’s room.” She mumbles about how she feels like a mother managing a toddler because of our two-year age gap, which triggers memories I’d rather not remember. So to cope, I joke.
Chuckling, I regress, though there’s a slight bite to my tone. “Just messing with you, ma’am. Should I call you that? Since you’re older and such?”
“Be my guest. It’s good to respect your elders.”
I laugh some more to not feel thethingsand then change the subject. “Thanks for wiping my face clean. I’ll get the crabs off mylap, but at least guide my hand so that I can drop them back on the plate for you. These should be salvageable since they didn’t land on the floor.” I go to hold my hand up, but instead, I knock the bottom of the table. How many injuries will I walk away with from this lunch outing?
Silence.
“You want me to eat crabs that have been on your lap? Mm, no, don’t think so.”
“‘Kay, then.” I stand, the crabs falling to the ground. I feel the hard edge of the table against my hips, so this time, I swing my arm around to hold out my hand to Lucy. “Lead me to the bathroom, my fearless liege.” That word is foreign on my tongue, but I’ve read it in one of her books, so I give it a try.
She snorts. “Are we in a situational twist? Am I now your leader?” As she’s speaking, she wraps her hand around my outstretched wrist. Once again, electricity radiates from her touch, but this time, I’m prepared for it.
I grin towards Lucy, or at least I hope in her direction as my eyes are still squeezed shut. “I may be your boss, but you can order me around anytime you please.”
She doesn’t respond, but I can imagine her face flushing and her lips parting into that cute little “o” expression; she’s unintentionally Pavlov-ed me to react with pleasure when I see it. Or even think she’s wearing it, apparently.
My arm is yanked rather hard as she pulls me. I hip check a table and kick a chair as she drags me forward, not bothering to warn me of things in my path.
“We’re here.” She drops my wrist. “But I’m not going in there with you. Use your hands to feel around.”
A wicked smile stretches across my face. “Can I start now?” I stretch my hands out in the direction of her voice, but she slaps them and redirects me until both of my palms are flat against a door. Not willing to push her further, mostly because a fleeting thought crossed my mind that I might have gone too far with that one, I enter the bathroom and do as she says, feeling around until I touch a knob on a sink.
I let the faucet run for about thirty seconds to make sure I didn’t accidentally turn on the hot water, and then I set to work rinsing out my eyes. Once I finish and can finally open my eyes without the air stinging them, I cringe at my reflection in the full-body mirror by the door. I resemble a three-year-old who spilled his food down his shirt and then had an accident in his pants. The pink shirt I wear is now more of a dirty orange color down the front, and that bleeds into an unfortunate stain in an unfortunate area of my khaki pants. My hair has juices and pieces of crab shell from the few she managed to crack before I attempted to be a chivalrous man and help her. I wash my hair the best I can and dry myself off with a bundle of paper towels. What’s a little water dripping down the front of my shirt when there’s already other liquids there?
Confident that this is the best I’m going to look, I exit the restroom.
Lucy waits outside the door, her arms folded and a smirk across her face as two women with scowls stand behind her.
Nervously glancing at the signage by the bathroom, I realize the woman led me to the ladies’ room…
The situation grates my nerves, and I grimace in an attempt to hide my disdain.Sheshoved the plate onto me.Shepoked me in the eye.Shebrought me to this bathroom. “A step too far, Lucy May,” I say with a gentle but stern voice. Myboss’s voice.
She swallows, dropping her folded arms and clasping her hands in front of her. She hangs her head low, and I immediately regret using that tone coupled with what I call her to flirt with her.Good going, Mr. Harper…
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, barely audible over the noise in the restaurant. Speaking of, how many people saw that incident? Did Lucy shoo them away silently when they came to help? “I promise I’ll make all of this up to you. I got carried away in my frustrations.”
“Why were you frustrated?”
