“Want to talk about it?” I asked.
“Mason,” she scolded. “The Spin Doctors are playing. No, I don’t want totalkabout it.”
“Want to get out of here?” I asked.
“Not without my cheesesteak, I don’t.”
“I did promise you cheesesteak,” I said seriously. “To go?”
“Afraid I’ll beat you at pinball again?”
I looked down at my feet in mock dejection. “I can’t take the pain of another loss, Daisy.”
“How about we take those cheesesteaks back to your house?” she asked.
It wasn’t what she said; it was how she said it. And I had the feeling my day was about to get a whole lot better.
DAISYPreacher’s Kid
Mason and I had barely made it through his front door before we were totally tangled up in each other. I knew I should probably take a step back and assess whether I was going to sleep with him because I’d had a terrible day and wanted to feel better—which, I mean, to be fair, was an okay reason—or because our relationship had progressed to that point. I knew his reputation, and I didn’t want this man to be a one-night stand. I felt things for him that I knew I hadn’t felt in a long time. And, right now, what I felt, as I was unbuttoning his shirt, was that I wanted his skin on my skin. That was about the only reasoning I was capable of.
As I pulled the shirt off his shoulders, my face in his neck, I said, “You smell so good.” He pulled the bag in his hand up. “Is it me or the cheesesteaks?”
He set the bag on the counter and scooped me up fireman-carry style, and I just could not have been any more taken with him. He laid me down on his bed and, as I reached for him, he stopped and, staring at me, said, “Daisy, you are so beautiful. I am the luckiest man in the world tonight.”
It was kind of a line, but he said it with such sincerity that I believed him. I finished shimmying his shirt off, putting my hands onthose flat, tight abs that women say we don’t care about until we experience them in real life and then they are all. We. Can. Think. About. I pulled him down onto me and kissed him, every cell in my body tingling and feeling more alive from the proximity of him. As he was pulling my dress up, there was a knock at the door.
I pulled back and looked up at him. “It’s fine,” he whispered. “I’m sure they’ll go away.”
He leaned down and kissed me again. Another bang on the door followed by, “Coach! You there? It’s an emergency.”
My eyes widened, and, okay, yes, a wave of disappointment washed over me.
“Shit,” he said, pulling his shirt on. “I’m so sorry.”
Not as sorry as I am.
I heard the door open as I arranged myself. One should not have the inconvenience of sex hair without the joy of the sex itself. I was taking my time primping until I heard Mason call, “Daisy!”
He sounded frantic. I ran out and spotted Drew, his star pitcher, with a girl I did not know, who was shivering on the couch.
I rushed to her and, instinctively, put my hand to her forehead. “Sweetheart,” I said, “you’re burning up. What is going on?”
“My stomach,” she managed, clutching her abdomen and curling up in the fetal position.
“Mason, do you have a thermometer?” I asked. I didn’t really need one. I knew she was dangerously febrile. “Drew, get us a glass of water, please.” I just needed a moment alone with her.
“When did this start?”
“A few days ago,” she said.
“Are you having any bleeding?” I asked.
She nodded tearfully. “A lot.”
As Mason and Drew returned, I started to put some pieces together that I really didn’t want to. “What’s your name?” I whispered as I lifted the thermometer to her forehead.
“Sarah,” she said.
