“Your place is nice.”
“I’m sure you don’t think that. It’s eight hundred square feet of uninspired space.”
My apartment was a simple U-shape. The living room and kitchen were open to each other, and the windows faced the street. A short, skinny hallway led to my decent-size bedroom and bathroom, which had one window facing the courtyard at the back of my building. I joked that it had been finely decorated by the wonders of IKEA and Target, and Jamie laughed.
I watched him slowly take it in. He picked up a framed photo of my mother that was sitting on a small end table. “Beautiful,” he murmured.
“She was.”
Jamie was a presence in my small apartment. He stood near the counter, taking the food containers from the bags and opening them up. When I approached him, he removed his jacket to reveal a plain white T-shirt. I ran my hands up his forearms and studied his strange tattoos. They were interwoven in a pale reddish ink. “Did you get all of these in Africa?” He nodded. I brought his hands to my mouth and kissed them. He gently pulled me up to kiss his mouth. His hand went to the back of my neck, just below my injury. I winced. He quickly pulled away.
“See, we can’t do that,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“It was too much. I could hurt you.”
“I’m okay.” I grabbed the food and carried it to the small square table at the edge of my kitchen where it met the living room. “What would you like to drink?”
“I’ll get it,” he said. “You sit down and eat.”
“I’ll have a beer,” I announced.
“I don’t think so, lush. You’re not allowed to drink on your medication.” I was taking a few different medications for the swelling and pain. “In fact, I think it’s time for one of your pills.”
We ate practically in silence. I was starving and Jamie just sat there and watched me like a hawk, searching for any indication that I wasn’t perfectly comfortable. I took my medication and within half an hour I was feeling very groggy and ready for a nap. He walked me to my bedroom and motioned for me to sit at the edge of my bed. He removed my shoes and placed a soft kiss on the tops of both feet. He reached for my hands and lifted me to a standing position and then unbuttoned my jeans.
“I can undress myself. Shouldn’t you check your blood sugar?”
“I’m fine.” He pinched my chin with his thumb and forefinger and lifted my face until we were gazing into each other’s eyes. “I like undressing you.” He left me in panties and my T-shirt and then tucked me into bed.
“Aren’t you getting in here with me?”
“I would love to, but I think you need to get your rest. I have a few things to take care of. I need to call Susan and get my stuff from the hotel. Dylan said he would come and watch you so I could do that.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Well, I would feel better with someone here.”
Page 16
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Check Your Sources We spent the next week figuring out how to exist in such a small place together when Jamie wouldn’t allow me to do anything except lay around, read or watch TV. We had our first fight over whether or not I was allowed to bend down and shave my own legs . . . seriously.
“I can do it for you. I’m very good with a razor.”
“You’re insane. You’re not shaving my legs.”
“I don’t think you should dip your head down, it might make you dizzy in the shower.”
“You need to back off a little.” We were standing inches apart, face-to-face near the bathroom door. He towered over me, making me feel like a child.
“No, I won’t!” He said in a determined voice. “That’s what I did before, and you ended up almost bleeding out on a fucking subway.”
“This is not the same thing. Nothing is going to happen to me. You’re smothering me.”
“I’m going for a run. Please wait to take a shower.” He lifted the bottom of his white T-shirt to draw his earbud wires up through the neck. He was wearing gray sweats and trainers. Jamie could pull off sweats—he had one of those low angled V-cut stomachs. The sweats hung just below where the side indentations began. My mouth dropped open. I thought about slipping my finger in and tugging the waistband of his sweats down. I was practically drooling, even though I was totally pissed at him. I looked up to find him glaring at me, with a thick sheen of moisture near his sideburns.
“You’re sweating already, Jamie. Have you checked your blood sugar?”
“I don’t need you to keep reminding me,” he barked.
“You’ve been doing the same thing to me! How do you think I feel?”
He walked over to the entry table where his insulin pen was. He grabbed it and swiftly jabbed himself in the side without pinching his flesh. “There, happy now?”
“You shouldn’t do that without metering.”
“I’m fine! I’ve been living with this most of my life. What happened to you is different. It was a trauma; you were attacked.”