No Attachments - By Tiffany King Page 0,57
set in their ways. It's best to just ignore them," I said, stifling a yawn.
"Oh, I didn't ignore them. I told them at least I got the girl," he said, chuckling as he pulled the drapes closed.
"That'll show 'em," I said, closing my eyes. "Thanks for checking in on me and telling Fran I'd be out today," I added, fighting my drowsiness. I figured he'd be ready to leave now that he had checked on me.
My assumptions were wrong though. I drifted in and out of a fever-induced sleep the majority of the day, and he was always there when I woke. I knew I should send him away. We were breaking every rule I had set, and would only be making things harder for ourselves in the end, but I couldn't find the will to send him away. His presence was oddly comforting as he pushed more Advil and water on me whenever I woke up. By the time the sun was setting, my fever had broken and I was ready to eat the hearty stew he had cooked for me in my kitchen.
"A man who cooks is a rare treasure," I observed, balancing my bowl on my lap as I dunked a hunk of French bread in the thick broth. I was perched on my couch, bundled up in the same quilt from the night before, glad to finally be out of my bed. My relief that my fever had passed was tangible. I wasn't ready for my symptoms to be known.
"Is that the only thing that makes me a treasure?" he said, sitting down and lifting my feet onto his lap.
"Hmmm, I'll have to get back to you on that," I answered, lost in his touch. Who knew getting your feet massaged could be so sensual? It seemed the more time I spent with Nathan, the more items I realized had been solely missing from my list. Even something as simple as having him cook for me had made my chest ache from the sweetness of it. I'd been so focused on experiencing things like jumping off bridges and getting drunk that actual human contact activities had never occurred to me. I was so bent on keeping everyone at arm's length that somewhere along the way I'd shut myself completely off from the things that should have mattered. The fact that I'd actually taken Fran's and Tressa's advice was a relief. Of course, I knew a big majority of the sensations and feelings I was experiencing had a lot to do with the person I was sharing them with.
"Do you like that?" he asked when I sighed with pleasure as his fingers kneaded the ball of my foot.
"It's fair," I answered, giggling when he tickled the bottom of my foot.
"Fair?" he growled, pulling on my foot.
I set my empty bowl on the table. "You can't be good at everything. How ever will we fit your head out the front door," I laughed.
"I'm far from perfect," he said quietly.
"Nobody's perfect," I clarified.
"Not even you?"
"Ha, I'm far from perfect," I snorted.
"Why do you say that? From everything I've heard from Fran and your best friends, you practically float on a gold cloud playing a harp. I quote, 'she's the nicest person you'll ever meet and if you hurt her I'll cut off your balls.'"
"Let me guess, Fran?"
"Would you believe she and Tressa pretty much gave me the same speech?"
"I'm touched they think so highly of me, but they really haven't known me that long. I have an uncanny habit of disappointing most people I know," I admitted. I instantly regretted my words. I knew it sounded like I was painting a woe-is-me picture of myself, and that was the last thing I wanted.
"Shit, that had an after-school special ring to it," I joked, trying to make light of the moment.
"Maybe you just don't see yourself clearly, or maybe you've set the bar so high for yourself that when you don't quite make the mark you think you've failed."
"Maybe," I agreed, though I knew he was wrong. If he knew the facts, he'd know just how wrong he was, but then that was the point. He'd never know the facts, so there was no reason I should obsess over it.
"Okay, so now that we've established we're not perfect, whatever will we do with our tarnished selves?" he asked, trailing his hand up over my calf. "Maybe we should work on perfecting this," he added, trailing his hand farther up my