Chapter 13 – Betsy #3
I lift my chin. “No, thank you. I am quite capable of dressing myself,” I say as I struggle to get my arm out of the sling. I’m unable to lift my arm very high without it causing agony. I huff and wiggle, trying to get my arm through the sleeve. Eventually, I stop and look at Archer.
His grin deepens as he steps towards me and grabs the hem of my T-shirt, beginning to lift it up.
“Woah, easy there, buddy. What do you think you’re doing?” I gasp, halting him.
He arches his brow. “I need to lift your top up to see what I’m doing, or I could just fumble my way through it. I just don’t want to accidentally touch anything I shouldn’t,” he points out.
I anxiously nibble my bottom lip. “Fine, but if I catch you staring, my knee will be meeting your nuts again,” I threaten.
He smirks. “Noted.” He lifts the hem of my T-shirt up near my shoulder, and I turn my head, looking away as heat floods my cheeks. “I need to remove your sling just for a minute,” he states.
“Sure,” I mutter. His fingertips graze over the bare skin at my shoulder, and I fight the urge to shudder.
I swallow, keeping my gaze trained on the wall.
His touch is so light, so delicate, I almost turn to see if he’s even doing anything.
“Okay. I need to remove your whole T-shirt to put it back on.”
I whip my head back around to face him. “What?” I snap.
“It’s how you get tops on. Bad arm first. You can’t lift your arm up high enough to put it on,” he says softly.
“I can so. Look,” I say defiantly. Raising my arm, I immediately regret the movement and cry out in pain. “Ow, mother fucker!” I hiss.
He gives me a look that screams ‘I told you so’. I huff and lift my good arm for him to remove my T-shirt.
Thank god I shaved my armpits yesterday, I think to myself, although I wince at how bad I must smell from sweating in the leathers, from the smell of smoke and dust from the explosion.
He lifts my T-shirt over my head, and I keep my gaze anywhere but on those green eyes.
As he takes the hand of my bad arm in his, the feel of his rough hands against mine feels weirdly good.
His thumb strokes slightly over the top of my hand as he slowly glides the T-shirt over my hand and along my arm.
He lets go of my hand to stretch the head of the T-shirt wider.
“I need you to lean your head towards me a little,” he instructs.
I do as he says, and he pulls the T-shirt over my head, causing my hair to go over my face.
He lets out a soft laugh as I put my good arm through the other sleeve.
I blow, trying to get the hair from my face, but he takes over by gently gliding his fingertips along my hairline, moving my hair off my face and tucking it behind my ear.
I look up at him, feeling my heart thundering in my chest like a drum solo. His thumb briefly caresses my cheek before he turns and walks back over to the stove to continue cooking.
What the fuck was that?! I scream in my head.
Before I can think about the million thoughts and feelings currently battling out inside my head, Archer calls my name. “Betsy.”
I blink and look at him. “Yeah?” I ask.
“I’ve been talking to you. Breakfast is ready. Sit,” he orders, gesturing to my little breakfast table in the kitchen.
“Oh, sorry,” I mumble and walk to take a seat, noticing all the table has been laid out ready. I frown. “How did you let yourself in?” I ask, my brain now finally catching up.
“You left the front door unlocked,” he says casually, placing a plate full of eggs, pancakes, bacon, and hash browns in front of me.
I frown. I didn’t come home through the front door. I’m pretty sure I locked it before I left. “Eat,” he orders, pointing to my plate.
I pick up my fork and scoop up some eggs, moaning at the smooth and creamy taste. “Wow,” I mutter around my mouthful.
His lips tip up as he sits opposite me. “Glad you like them.” He nods as he drinks his coffee, and it’s then that I notice no food is in front of him.
“Are you not eating?” I ask.
He shakes his head back and forth. “No. I promised to take care of you, and that’s what I’m doing,” he answers.
I pause and look at him. “No one asked you to take care of me, just to watch over the house, and that was only to assure Josh. I don’t need your help,” I state defensively.
“Funny how short your memory is. Considering I just helped you get dressed, no one asked me. I want you to now stop bitching and eat your breakfast,” he snaps back.
I open my mouth to counter back, but words fail me. Apart from stop being a bossy twat, what else am I going to say? I angrily shove another forkful of eggs into my mouth, which only amuses him.
“Fine, but you don’t need to make me breakfast. In fact, if you are going to care for me, as you put it, maybe we should make some ground rules so something like what happened this morning doesn’t happen again,” I suggest.
He sits back in the chair and gestures for me to start. “After you.”
I dust off my hand and clear my throat. “Okay. First rule, you are no longer allowed to come over unannounced.”
He rubs his stubbled chin with his thumb and index finger. “Unless it’s deemed an emergency,” he counters.
“Fine.” I nod in agreement.
“Rule two, only I will watch out for you. No more Josh,” he states.
I think about it, and to be honest, that’s already happening, so I nod. “Agreed.” I pause for a moment to get my thoughts in order. “Rule three, you will only help when I ask for it,” I say, praying he will agree to this one.
“Within reason,” he retorts.
“What do you mean, within reason?” I press.
“Providing I don’t think you need help, then I will wait for you to ask.” He shrugs, his index finger stroking back and forth along his bottom lip. The movement is almost hypnotic.
“That isn’t going to work,” I point out, folding my arms across my chest, my gaze still following the movement of his finger.
“If you are stuck in the tub or have tripped and fallen down the stairs and can’t call for my help, I will help you. Those are just some examples,” he suggests.
“Well, if that’s what you mean, then deal,” I agree.
“It’s one of many examples, I mean,” he says quietly. I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off. “Rule four, you tell me how you got injured and smell like a fireworks display,” he presses.
“No,” I say sharply, taking a sip of my coffee. “Now if you will excuse me, I am going to have a shower.” I push to my feet, and when I hear the scraping of his chair behind me, I turn to see him following me. “I don’t need your help,” I state firmly.
“Really? So how are you taking your bra and top off?” he mockingly asks, continuing to follow me up the stairs.
I stop and whirl around to face him, but with me being a step higher, it brings me near eye level with him, and if I thought his eyes were dangerous with a normal difference, seeing them this close is like looking into swirling emerald pools.
Little gold flecks are dotted around the edge of his eyes, and they are the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.
“Your eyes,” I breathe, not meaning to voice my thought. His mouth is in a tight line, and his jaw tenses. I clear my throat and shake my head a little. “What I meant to say was, er, I will manage,” I say, softer than I had intended.
I turn around and continue to walk upstairs before I blurt out an internal thought again. I walk straight into the bathroom and switch on the shower, closing the door behind me and turning the lock. I can manage okay without him.
I slide my shorts and underwear down just fine with my good hand and arm.
“There. See? I don’t need help,” I praise myself.
I grab the hem of my T-shirt with my good hand and try lifting it up over my head.
I lean forward, figuring my position will help me, but I just get stuck with it over my head.
I try to wiggle free, but it’s as if the T-shirt has twisted.
“Fuck!” I cry out in frustration. A light knock on the bathroom door has me sighing. “What?” I call out.
“Is this one of those times where you need my help without asking? Or shall I just stand here and wait until you call me?” he says from the other side of the door. The amusement in his voice pisses me off all the more.
“Yes,” I relent through gritted teeth.
“You need to unlock the door,” he states.
I turn and shuffle towards the door, but not being able to see properly, I feel for the lock until I find it and turn it open. I hear him start to enter, but then I remember I’m naked from the waist down.
“Wait!” I screech. “I have nothing on my bottom half.” I sigh, wishing the ground would just swallow me up.
“I won’t look. I’m only going to help you,” he states calmly.
“You promise not to take pictures and then post them to all your frat buddies and laugh and mock me?” I say with a pleading voice.
“I would never do that, especially to you,” he says with a serious tone.
I hear the bathroom door open and his footsteps approach.
Feeling his body behind me, my heart is racing like a galloping horse in my chest. Those memories threaten to resurface as I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on my breathing.
“I’m not weak, I’m not fragile, this isn’t then, and he isn’t them,” I whisper to myself.
I feel his hands freeze slightly, knowing he would have heard me, but I’d rather that than have a full meltdown in front of him.
“Okay, I’m going to remove your T-shirt, then your bra. I will do it from behind, okay?” he asks softly, as if realising this is a big deal for me.
I swallow and nod. “Sure,” I croak.
He helps remove my T-shirt, and I look forward, watching his reflection in the mirror as steam from the shower begins to billow around us.
He slowly removes my sling, gliding it down my arm before letting it fall to the floor.
His gaze is focused on the task at hand, and as his fingertips dance over the skin where the hooks of my bra join, I suck in a shuddery breath.
His head snaps up, and his heated emerald gaze collides with mine in the mirror.
My lips part as he unhooks my bra, letting it fall to the floor.
His eyes remain transfixed on mine in our reflection, and I am the first to break the connection by looking down.
“Er, thank you,” I say in a whisper before walking into the shower. I keep my back to him, standing under the hot spray. He doesn’t say a word. I just hear the bathroom door click closed behind him.