He got up on one elbow, with the light of the fire sending golden rays onto his Adam’s apple, and his stubble, and his absolutely beautiful face. Thick, dark brown hair, cut close on the sides and longer on top. He was friendly in the eyes, with long eyelashes and heavy eyebrows. And he was studying me so carefully, so caringly, that a quick blush flooded my cheeks. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Oh yes, I’m…just…” I began trying to stick my arms through the sleeves of the hoodies I was wrapped in, because I honestly just didn’t know what else to do. I don’t think anybody in my life had ever looked at me with so much worry or so much tenderness—and certainly never a perfect stranger. It knocked all my small talk right out of my head, and I was left with a rather unfortunate unfiltered honesty: “… I’m just really hot.”
Good work, Lisa. Top marks.
But he wasn’t bothered and looked absolutely relieved. “Well, thank God for that,” he said, sitting beside me, his huge thigh pressing against the side of my comparatively much smaller one. I noticed our pants were sort of matchy-matchy, like two versions of the same plaid. I was definitely wearing his clothes. Not his girlfriend’s or his sister’s or—God forbid—his out-of-town wife’s. Nope. These were his pants I was swimming in. They were so huge that my feet disappeared under the bottoms. I lifted up my big toe and snagged the hem, pulling it tight because the other side was pinned under my heel. He reached across me and unzipped the top hoodie, slipping it from my shoulders.
He closed his eyes. “I won’t look,” he said, smiling a little and unzipping the next hoodie just enough for me to let it slip down off my shoulders and find the sleeves with my hands.
“I think it’s a bit late for that,” I said, with a laugh sneaking up on me.
“Desperate times,” he said, clearly trying to keep down a laugh himself. He was a gentleman about it, though. He didn’t look, not until I’d gotten myself zipped back up, now with both my arms fully operational.
He reached across me and switched on a lamp. “I’m Dave,” he said, extending a huge hand to shake mine.
There was something so sweet about it. My clothes in a heap on the floor, me in his PJs, and him introducing himself like we were meeting for the first time on a blind date, and not at all like he’d just saved my life by undressing me. I extended my hand, too. His palm was warm, his fingers girthy, his whole presence very…swoony. “I’m Lisa.”
“It’s really good to meet you. And I’ll bet you’re hungry.”
Oh my God. My kind of man. Saved my life and his first thought was of…snacks? “Starving.” I smiled at him, almost overwhelmed with gratitude. “And thank you for helping me. Really. I’m sorry that I woke you up.”
He clicked his tongue and put a firm hand on my thigh. And then winked! Actually winked! “I’m glad you woke me up, and I’m so fucking relieved you’re all right.”
5
Dave
I spread a thick layer of peanut butter on two slices of bread and said, “I’d make you a hot toddy if I had any idea what the hell that was.”
“Oh, I know what it is,” she said, waggling her eyebrows. The light from the pantry was on and one of the under-cabinet lights as well. She really was just fucking beautiful, even swallowed up by my pants and with my hoodie hanging on her like a tent. “Got some bourbon, honey, and a lemon?” she asked.
“Copy that.” I set down the peanut-buttery knife and got all the fixings for her.
“Can I?” She looked up at the rectangular pot rack over the huge island in the middle of the kitchen. She reached up and put one finger on a small saucepan.
“All yours.”
Coming up on her tiptoes and reaching up for the pan, she gave me a perfect view of her belly button and the soft, bare skin of her stomach. Man, oh fucking man. “And I need two mugs.”
I got those for her, too, but I grabbed the good ones—the ones that matched, the ones Grandma told probably-bullshit stories about. As much as I liked the idea of her lips on a Royal Mattress mug, that mouth of hers was way more suited to fine china than the sort of promo shit people got for free with an extended warranty.
I could tell that having something to do made her feel less awkward, which I totally understood. The situation was pretty much once in a lifetime—I was certain it wasn’t every Sunday night that a stranger stripped her naked and got under the covers with her.
Fuck me.
But she’d rolled with it like a champ, totally graceful under fire. She took a knife from the block and a cutting board from a hook. She sliced the lemon in half and squeezed it into the mugs, followed by bourbon and a drizzle of honey. Then she filled the saucepan halfway with water and turned on the stove. She was mesmerizing—the way she moved, the curve of her throat, the thought that underneath my hoodie were her bare breasts. To stop myself from standing there with my mouth hanging open, I went back to the sandwiches, covering the empty halves with grape jelly.
Then I heard her hiss with pain, and I glanced at her. She was holding her hand to her forehead. “Lemon juice on my fingers. Shit.”
I grabbed a washcloth, dampened it under the faucet, and then turned on a second light to get a better look. “You’re lucky this wasn’t worse,” I told her as I tried to clean away the lemon juice on the small but angry red line, crusted with blood. “Normally, head wounds bleed a lot.”
“I think I was already freezing to death when it happened, so there’s that,” she said, wincing as I dabbed.
“I’ve never had anybody faint into my arms before,” I told her, just to break the ice a bit.
“Gosh, I don’t think I’ve ever fainted. Maybe once when I was a kid, but not since.”
Small smudges of her blood soaked into the washcloth, but I was careful not to push too hard. “That okay? Still stinging?”
She shook her head a little. “That’s much better. Thanks,” she said, almost shy now. Like she didn’t like all this fussing over her.
But I liked it. A whole fucking lot. “So, what happened?” I asked as I arranged the sandwiches on two plates.
“Stupid Lola!” she said, pointing at the storm. She was so animated, it kind of took my breath away. I’d gotten so used to women who were poised and controlled and whose every movement seemed like it was practiced in the mirror. But not her. She was just…her. Lisa, with her makeup smudged and her hair a mess. Cute as a button. “Totally hoodwinked me. I had no idea it would be this bad.” Lisa glanced out of the kitchen window. “Bombogeneroisis or whatever.”
I looked out the window, too. One of the pine trees in the distance was damn near bent double. “You drive off the road?”