19. You Make Me Act Crazy
“I’m cold”are the words I wake up to. My eyes blink and try to adjust to the pale light coming through the gaps in the blinds as my mind runs through yesterday’s events.
Primrose’s fist weakly grasps my shirt. “Logan?”
“Yes. You’re cold, I heard you.” I rub my face, then turn to her, big, watery blue eyes staring at me as she shivers. I’m nearly melting from her body heat, so the problem isn’t the room temperature.
I check the alarm clock on my nightstand—it’s one a.m.—and rub a hand on my face, trying to fight the sleepiness as last night’s memories come back to me. Her orgasm trickling down her legs, then how she snuggled against my chest with those big blue eyes and asked me if she could sleep in my bed.
I rest my hand against her forehead, and she’s definitely too warm. She must have a fever. “I’ll go get a thermometer.”
“Hmm?” she mumbles with a grimace.
Good grief, she can’t even open her eyes, can she? I guess walking around half-naked finally caught up with her.
I gently move her arm off my chest, then tuck her under my side of the blanket. Maybe I should bring her to the hospital and let doctors deal with her. I’m not exactly the patient, nurturing person you’d want to take care of you when you’re sick.
But I wouldn’t be able to sleep if she wasn’t here where I can see her.
I grab the medicine bag in the bathroom and bring it back to the bedroom. She’s probably sleeping already, her chest rising and dropping quickly.
Taking the thermometer out, I turn to her.
“Huh.” I look down at the small white device, realizing I’ll need to put it under her armpit. Regret strikes me for not changing it to a newer model that goes in your mouth, but it’s too late for that. “Primrose?” Nothing. “Primrose?” I insist as I gently shake her.
“Hmm?”
“I need you to put this under your armpit.”
She blinks, her eyes red and watery.
“I’ll need to...your shirt?—”
God damn it, she came between your arms, Logan. Get your shit together.
She barely responds, her eyes closing, and I’d feel better if she’d consented to it. Still, I guess extreme situations call for extreme measures, so I fit my hand up her shirt, grazing the sweaty and hot—way too hot—skin of her chest before I position the thermometer under her armpit.
“Don’t move, okay?” I tell her, but receive no answer.
I pace beside the bed, throwing a glance at Lola, who, probably bothered by the commotion, wanders out of the room. Once the thermometer beeps, I approach her, and Primrose whines as my hand touches her. I must feel as cold as ice to her.
“Holy shit,” I mumble when I see the numbers on the screen. 102 degrees. We need to lower her temperature immediately.
I give her medicine and put a cold, wet cloth over her forehead. She tries to get it off and complains she’s freezing, so I compromise on another blanket if she leaves it on.
After that, there isn’t much more I can do, so I sit next to her on the bed, wetting the cloth with cold water every time it turns hot. I watch her sweat through the sheets, whine in her sleep, and wish there was more I could do for her to feel better. That there was an expedited way to make her get over whatever she has.
I guess for a while, she won’t be leaving a mess all over my house, listening to her terrible music like she’s at a live show while she works.
Why does that annoy me?
I let my hand trail down her arm, then rub her knuckles, her fingers tightly holding the blanket, and feeling the pressure of my hand, she lets go and entangles her fingers with mine.
Shit. My stomach drops, and quickly, I pull my hand away. For fuck’s sake, this feels like more than physical attraction. Like her touch is infusing me with life.
What do I do now?!
* * *
“Have you been awake the whole night?”
Defensively, I square my shoulders and set the mug down when Primrose’s head drops against the pillow again. Considering it’s taken twenty minutes to get her to drink half a cup of tea, I don’t think it’s even warm at this point.
“You’re sick.”
“Aww. Are you worried about me?”
“Yes. You look like shit.”
She lets out a sound that’s probably supposed to be a chuckle, and I’m equally pleased to have made her laugh and concerned it sounds like a dying crow.
Biting my bottom lip, I watch her eyes close, my mind speeding as I consider my options. I haven’t slept a second, and I’m not comfortable leaving her alone—or with Kyle. I guess someone else will have to take care of deliveries.
“I’m cold.”
So she’s been saying all night long, and I’ve added blanket after blanket to the pile. “I don’t think I have any more blankets, Primrose.”
Her hand tugs at my shirt. “Come warm me up.”
With a sigh, I lie next to her, then lift the layer of blankets. I gently pull her to me, her soft body relaxing against mine instantly. I must feel lukewarm at best to her, but she seems to like my proximity, and within a few minutes, her shivering subsides.
“Why can’t I be your backpack?”
I freeze, my chest stilling against her cheek. Did she say...
I force a breath out and search for a possible answer in my brain. She’s feverish. She might as well be high. She probably didn’t even realize she said that out loud, and I should ignore her and wait for her to sleep.
But she said ‘backpack.’ Is that common knowledge?
“Kyle told me...” She breathes hard. “That you only let girls you’re attracted to ride with you.”
Kyle did what? I swear, I don’t know why I keep him around.
“Wait, so, the other night...” She was testing me. I told her I’m attracted to her, then I told her I wouldn’t let her ride with me, and she...she thought I was lying. “Is that why you avoided me all day?” My hold around her tightens as I bury my nose in her hair. How does she still smell like strawberries after sweating the whole night, I have no idea.
“You said you’re attracted to me, then you said you wouldn’t take me on a ride. At first, I thought you’d lied to make me feel better, but then, tonight...”
Tonight, I proved without a doubt that I’m attracted to her.
In fact, ‘attracted to her’ feels far too casual for the things I want to do to her.
“Barbie,” I say, pulling the hair off her ear as if that will convey the message more clearly. “Riding together has nothing to do with attraction.”
“It doesn’t?”
“Well, I guess it’s part of it, but not all.” The muscles of my jaw tick. “I’ve been attracted to you since the moment you ran me over,” I whisper as I softly brush my fingers through her knotted hair. “And none of what you’ve done since you’ve been here has helped in any way.”
I swallow, my heart beating quickly against her ear. Can she hear it? Can she tell that I’m nervously sweating?
“Then why did you lie? Why did you say you don’t ride with anyone?”
I lick my lips, thinking of the right way to express myself. It’s not easy with Primrose, whose questions are always so targeted. “Before I ride with you, I need you to understand what it means. Sure, there’s a certain component of attraction, but more than that? Intimacy.”
“Oh.”
I can’t tell if she’s disappointed or falling asleep, so I mumble, “It’s like this, Barbie.” I pull myself up on my elbow and lean closer as I rub her hip. “Riding with someone means becoming one. Being synchronous. Our bodies move together; your thighs press and release against mine, and the heat from your body emanates to my back. And adrenaline makes it that much more intense.”
“It sounds a lot like sex.”
“It’s foreplay.” I shift my waist, just in case. Talking about us riding together is so hot, and she doesn’t need me to grope her while she’s running a fever. “And for your safety and mine, we need to feel comfortable with each other. I need to know you’ll understand my body language and respond accordingly with yours.”
She pauses for a moment, then whispers, “So, Kyle was wrong. The women you rode with...you weren’t just attracted to them?”
“No.” I swallow, resisting the urge to kiss the soft, warm spot under her ear. “They’re women I was intimate with.”
Making herself even smaller against me, her breathing ragged, she blinks up at me.
I let my finger trail over the shape of her jaw, and both her hands encase mine, bringing it between us, against her stomach. She’s as warm as a furnace, probably delirious, and whatever she has, it”s safe to say I’m getting it next, but none of it feels inconvenient. There’s no other place I’d rather be right now than in this bed, soaking up sweat and microbes from this infuriatingly beautiful woman.
“So, will I ever be your backpack, Logan?”
I breathe through the blood rush to my groin, but focusing on that makes fighting other impulses tricky, and I lean down, pressing my lips to her shoulder. “Yes, Barbie,” I whisper, though I’m pretty sure she fell asleep already. “You’re mine.”
* * *
A melodic laugh interrupts the hum of the tractor’s idling engine, and I turn it off. I pull the bandana off my nose and mouth, inhaling the freshly cut grass, then wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my arm.
There she is, strutting by in her white boots. Primrose. Her blue skirt moves with the wind and her white top clings to her body, leaving her shoulders naked.
Her outfits have become the highlight of my day.
“No way!” she gasps, and trying to think past how goddamn beautiful she looks, I purse my lips. She’s been in bed all day yesterday, and now she’s out here again, wearing scraps of fabric that’ll hardly keep her warm during these chilly spring mornings.
My focus narrows on Kyle, walking beside her with a wide smile. This motherfucker. He’s always finding excuses to be around her—not that I can blame him. I could punch him, though. I won’t, but I could.
Kyle’s eyes meet mine as he waves. “Mind joining us for a moment, boss?”
I do mind, but I hop off the tractor and reluctantly walk toward them. I’m not exactly in the mood to chat—not after I got a home visit from Tom, who was frustrated from not being able to reach me on the phone.
The buyer is becoming impatient, and Tom urged me to take the offer because there is no guarantee a better one will come. He doesn’t need to tell me that—out of the dozens of farms in this area, the Gracen’s farm and mine are among the few that haven’t failed yet. And, besides, selling is my only choice. No matter how much it kills me, it’s the right thing to do.
On top of all of that, there’s been total radio silence from the police, and I don’t know what it means. Is the case closed? Are they gathering evidence before arresting me?
It’s unsettling.
Once I reach them, Primrose frugally looks my way, then, with a shy smile, turns around and sets her tripod on the ground. We’ve been sleeping in the same bed for the last three nights, and considering she got here ten days ago, my plans to keep a safe distance from her are, well...failing.
But she’s been sick, and we haven’t discussed what we did two nights ago. What she said afterwards, nor the fact that I told her she’d be my backpack.
“What’s happening?” I ask, focusing on Kyle.
“Uh, we’re doing a live.”
“Great,” I say flatly before cocking a brow at her. “Do you think you should be out here already? Wearing—that?” I say as I point at the blue, flowy dress that barely reaches the mid-point of her thigh. “You’ll get sick again.”
In fact, I’m surprised I didn’t catch her cold.
“I thought you weren’t going to tell me how I should dress,” she says with a pointed look. “And the people at Marisol are waiting, so I had to get back to work. I’m perfectly healthy, don’t worry.”
I’m not worried. I’m annoyed that she’s not taking care of herself, and, well...worried.
“Come on, kiss, and make peace,” Kyle says as he gestures for us to come closer.
My stomach drops. Why—why would he say that in front of her? He promised he wouldn’t make comments—I made him swear, before telling him briefly and vaguely about what happened between us. “Shut up, Kyle,” I bark. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to punch you.”
I venture a look at Primrose, and though she’s definitely upset, it seems her anger is directed at me, glowering as she walks to some weird piece of equipment.
Kyle glares, then tilts his head toward Primrose. Come on, man, he mouths.
What did I do? Jesus, how am I messing it up now?
“Anyway,” Kyle continues. “We were wondering?—”
“You. You were wondering,” Primrose says, avoiding my gaze like the plague.
“Right. I was wondering if you’d like to join us on the live. Maybe introduce yourself and the farm.”
“No. I have actual work to do.”
Primrose moves past me, grabbing something from the bag she’s abandoned on the ground. “This is actual work, ass mouth.”
“That’s not...” I press my lips tight, watching her tilt the tripod. I didn’t mean to insult her, but I can see where I fucked up.
Great.
“Kyle, go grab the hose.”
“What hose?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “The hose,” I insist, and with a small gasp, he nods, eyes widening.
“Oh, yeah. The hose. I’ll...” He points toward the fields, then walks away, and once he’s at an appropriate distance, I focus on Primrose.
“So, hm...sorry about that. Kyle is...an idiot.”
“Kyle is an idiot?” she asks. I’m pretty sure the implication is that I’m an idiot. An idiot who should have kept his mouth shut instead of telling Kyle that I watched her climax between my arms and that I can’t think of anything else since.
“Look, Logan.”
Oh, no. Not ‘Look, Logan.’ I’ll never hear her moan again, will I?
“Whatever this—” she points her finger back and forth between us—“is, we have a week left to explore it. I understand it’s just fun. Casual.” Her eyes darken, her lips pulling down. “But I won’t be kept a secret, okay? I don’t care how much you want me inside the bedroom. If you’re freaking out because I told Kyle what happened, then?—”
“You told him?”
“Not the details,” she says in a scolding voice. “But if I can’t tell anyone that there is something between us, then I don’t want anything between us.”
Jesus, again with this. I tell her I like her, and she doesn’t believe me. I show her how my body reacts to her, and she still thinks I’m hiding her.
I get it. She’s been hurt, and she struggles to trust men—we have Derek to thank for that—but I can’t watch her feel this way about herself, and I can’t stand that she believes any of it about me.
“Primrose, I’m not ashamed of you. Of...” My skin pulsates with warmth. “Of us.”
“Sure you aren’t. But you won’t take me on a ride, you won’t acknowledge in front of your friend that you like me.” She scoffs. “The day after you confessed you’re attracted to me, you asked me not to tell your friends.”
“That’s not?—”
“Kyle!” she calls as she waves her hand in his direction. “We’re done talking. You can stop pretending you’re looking for a hose.”
Kyle stares at me for confirmation, and with a shake of my head, I turn around and walk back to the tractor.
I sit and grab my bottle of lukewarm water, enjoying the partial shade from the tractor’s cab. Primrose’s voice reaches me from across the field, and I’m annoyed again that Kyle gets to hear her happy voice. I get the snappy voice, and for no reason.
What can I do to ease her concerns? To show her that I’m fully aware she’s out of my league, and not the other way around? She’s gorgeous, smart, a social butterfly. She’s built a social media empire for herself, only with her talent and hard work.
I’m lucky she even looks my way.
Watching Kyle and Primrose chatting happily, an irrational wave of anger crests over me. I’m so jealous that I’m seething. Then I take in her bare legs, the fabric of her short skirt lightly flapping against the backs of her thighs, and my eyes stick to the hem, waiting for it to inch higher.
I want to kiss her. I kissed her once, and since then, I’ve wanted to kiss her again, and I’m pretty sure if I did it now, I wouldn’t want to stop kissing her.
Every time I see her smile, every time I hear the hopeful lilt in her voice, a part of me wants to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could be what she needs. But I”m not the knight in shining armor she’s looking for. I’m a tarnished sword, rusty and dull, incapable of protecting anyone.
She giggles over something he said, holding her stomach and shoving him playfully, and though it stirs my stomach, I can’t even be pissed off.
Her laugh is so unique. It’s infectious. Contagious. The laughter of someone who feels every emotion deeply. She’s like a rainbow of color and feelings, while I’ve got one thing. Useless and consuming dark anger.
She turns her head, her eyes meeting mine across the field, and everything else fades away. I try to fight it, I really do. I tell myself that she”s not meant for me, that she”s looking for a Prince Charming with a white horse and emotional availability, but I’m back on my feet and walking to her before I can think it through.
I’m tired of pondering, of longing, of watching from afar. I’m tired of pretending she’s just my alibi half of the time and my girlfriend the other half, while she’s neither.
Most of all, I’m done with her thinking she’s not good enough.
When Kyle’s head turns to me, he lifts his palms and takes a step back, but I don’t spare him a glance. Instead, I stop in front of her, cataloging her wide eyes and parted lips. Her chest is heaving, and I’m pretty sure I just scared her, which I’ll have to apologize for. Later.
I cup her cheek, and though she flinches, she doesn’t move back and instead stares deep into my eyes.
“What...what’s going on?”
God, her voice. She doesn’t sound angry anymore. Just surprised. And maybe...pleased. What’s going on, I tell her with my eyes, is that I want a chance. Even though she’ll be gone soon, and this will be over before I know it. Even though it’s stupid, and I’ll end up getting hurt when she leaves me behind. Even with all the reasons I have not to date her...
“Fuck it,” I mumble as I lean forward, my lips falling on hers.
Holy shit.
She’s stiff at first, even more so when I let my other hand roam down her back and yank her flush against me. But it lasts less than a second before she melts. And then it’s... holy shit again. She fits so perfectly between my arms, like her curves were made to smooth my sharp edges. She tastes like summer and berries, and it’s a familiar mix that makes my knees weak.
Her lips part, and I breathe hard at the implicit consent. Just like the first time, she’s inviting me in, telling me she wants this as much as I do. That she’s been waiting for it, craving it like I have. That this kiss is the real reason she’s still here.
Her tongue grazes mine, and my fist bunches into her hair in response. All the blood has rushed to my groin, and I know I should stop, but I can’t remember why. Especially when she lets out a moan, so soft I can’t hear it, but I feel it vibrating against my lips.
I want to keep kissing her forever.
I never, ever want my lips to do anything else.
“Err...guys? The live?” Kyle calls.
Primrose bolts back, eyes wide and lips swollen as she looks between me and the camera.
She’s so pretty.
I couldn’t drag my eyes away if I wanted to, and anyway, there’s nothing I need to tell the people watching. There’s one thing I want to say, and only Primrose’s meant to hear it.
I step back into her space, pulling her waist against mine. “Two million people just saw me kissing you.” Leaning forward, I whisper in her ear, “How’s that for being ashamed?”