“Landry, I don’t want to teach home ec. I don’t want to teach at all, at least not in a school setting. I can’t even cook, for goodness sakes!” She exhales before her eyes pop open again. “Son of a nutcracker, it felt good to say that out loud!”
I chuckle hesitantly, hoping that’s all she meant. “Good. I mean, I’m glad you finally figured that out. So what are you gonna do instead?”
“I don’t know,” she whines and sticks out her bottom lip. “I just know I don’t want to go back to living with my parents. I feel like … like Camellia might be my home now.”
I look away when I realize I’ve been torn between wanting her to have her independence and needing her to return to the safety of her family. Whether it’s for my safety or hers, I’m not sure anymore.
“I’d still like to work with kids. Maybe I can apply for a job as a babysitter or a nanny?” she thinks aloud. “I should be able to drive myself around soon. But, I don’t know if anyone would feel comfortable letting me stay at home alone with a baby or a toddler,” she says sadly.
“Have you ever thought about getting a service animal to help?” I pose. “I know it would make me feel a lot better about leaving you by yourself.”
She smiles. “Of course. But they’re not easy to get, and I certainly can’t afford one myself.”
“There are foundations that sponsor that sort of thing.” I watch her expression carefully.
“As much as I’d love having a seizure alert or even a seizure response dog, it doesn’t seem fair to go out looking for a sponsorship when there are so many kids with epilepsy who probably need it more than I do.” She shrugs. “Besides, I just remembered that I can’t become a nanny, anyway. I wouldn’t get health insurance, would I?”
“Not around here, I’m afraid. I don’t even think there are any daycares big enough to offer the salary and benefits you’d need to survive on your own. Especially once I move out and you go back to paying full rent.” I barely catch the way she winces at the last part before I continue. “What if you applied to teach at the elementary school instead?”
She shrugs. “I suppose teaching is my only option. Unless we find some other rich doctor willing to marry me and turn me into a stay-at-home mom between now and the end of the year.”
I laugh shortly, trying to disguise my disdain of that idea. “Should I start asking around on your behalf?”
“No.” She sighs and sits up to trade my lab coat for the study guide on the table. “I guess it’s time to accept my fate and make the best of it. At least I get to work at a great school, and I love my little house. And my roommate is kind of amazing, especially since he’s willing to stay up late to braid my hair and paint my toenails.” She slings her legs over mine and drops her feet into my lap, wiggling her toes.
I shake my head and bite back a smile. Little does she know that I’d happily accept a night of nail polish with her over a party with anyone else.
“Daisy,” I begin, barely aware of where I’m going with this. “I’d really like it if you came with me to my dad’s house on Christmas Eve. I think … I think it would make it a lot easier for me to get through the night without, you know …”
“Of course I’ll go with you,” she replies, tucking her hair behind her ears. “All you had to do was ask.”
I nod and squeeze her foot affectionately. “Thank you.”
She giggles and squirms, and the corners of my mouth turn up once I realize she’s been hiding something from me. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me,” I pause to run my fingers over the bottom of her other foot, and she squeals as she attempts to escape, “after all this time, you’re ticklish? What happened to full transparency, hmm?” I continue pinning her ankles against my lap with one hand while I tickle her feet with the other, and she’s breathless in no time.
“Okay, okay, stop!” she wheezes, reaching up to wrench her legs from my grasp. “Wait, ew, your shirt’s still all wet.” She tugs her hand back and wipes it on the couch.
“Told you so,” I retort with a laugh.
“Give it here,” she demands. “I was about to put this lab coat in the wash, so I might as well take your shirt, too. You’ll probably want to wear that one again before Christmas, since it’s such a pretty green.”
“It’s fine. I’ll wash it later.”
“Just hand it over,” she insists as she leans up and begins unfastening my shirt, her slender fingers making quick work of the buttons.
My chest starts heaving by the time she gets to the third button, and she pauses there to drag her eyes up to mine. Her eyelashes flutter and her lips part when she realizes what she’s done.
And dammit if she doesn’t keep going.
I barely hold back a whimper as the fabric loosens over my chest, but she continues, her gaze darting back and forth between my eyes and the next bit of skin she exposes.
Then she climbs up to her knees before fisting her hands into the sides of my shirt, tugging upward until she untucks the hem. She reaches up to grab me by the lapels, and I’m afraid I’m going to spontaneously combust any second. I garner every bit of willpower I’ve got and attempt to stop her by covering her hands with mine and holding her in place. But it backfires, because my skin burns at the contact.
“Daisy,” I rasp, my eyelids heavy.
“I’ve undressed you before, you know,” she tells me, her voice taking on a sultry tone, and I don’t know why I free her hands, but I do. She moves them up to my shoulders, peeling my shirt away and forcing the sleeves down my arms. I automatically lean up when she lets go of one side to wrench it out from behind me while her mouth looms only inches from mine.
Something rumbles in my chest against my will, just as I surrender the last remnants of my self-control. I can already taste her by the time I concede, reaching out to grasp her by the hips and tilting my chin up to her.
