Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
In our room, I go to the small chair in front of the equally small window and crack open the curtains a little for some evening sun so I can continue my book.
Maybe it was the creak of the chair or the sound of my footsteps across the old floorboards or the sliver of brightness, but Will shifts slightly then and rubs his eyes.
I hold my breath, waiting to see if he goes back to sleep. His back’s to me, away from the light.
He rolls over. “Dylan?” Will asks sleepily.
“Yeah? I’m here.” I set the book down on my lap, tugging the curtains back nearly closed so the light doesn’t hurt his eyes. “How’re you feeling?”
“Ugh.”
“Sorry.” I hesitate, peering at Will as best I can from across the small room. His face is as pale as the sheets on the bed. “Is there anyone I should call for you? Like your girlfriend, maybe?”
“My girlfriend?” Will lifts his head awkwardly to look at me. “What girlfriend?”
He’s genuinely confused. Not the reaction I expected.
“You know, your girlfriend.” Now it’s my turn to be confused. Obviously, his girlfriend. Who else?
“Dylan, I don’t have a girlfriend.” He frowns at me. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information. If this is yet another museum rumor—”
“It’s not!” I frown right back. “You know, remember that night I saw you in the pub around the corner from work? With a brunette woman.”
“Are you following me around?” he asks archly, struggling to shift propped up on his arm.
“Of course not. I went to the pub with my roommate and saw you there with a beautiful woman a few weeks ago. Or maybe it was a hookup. I mean, I don’t judge.”
He sighs. “That’s my cousin. Clem.”
“Your… cousin?” I ask, sheepish. “How am I supposed to know that? I did what any reasonable person would do, which is leap to conclusions.”
“Yes. Clearly. Now, would you open the window for some fresh air?”
“Of course.” I turn and push open the window, tugging a curtain panel back for the breeze. Outside, people laugh in the street. It’s warm in here. “Do you want me to go find a fan?”
“No, it’s fine.” He’s soon settled on his side, head propped on his hand, facing me. “What time is it, anyway?”
I’m still back on the fact that the beautiful woman isn’t his girlfriend. And I’m puzzling over the relief I felt at that news. Like I care who his girlfriend is. That or another woman. What does it matter?
“It’s after seven. Nearly eight.” I smother a yawn.
I’m a night owl by nature, but the early start at 5:00 a.m. today to be at the office for 7:00 a.m. is catching up with me.
“You were sleeping for a few hours. There’s some stuff for you from Boots if you like.
And I can get you food if you’re hungry. ”
He sits up then, soon investigating the bag. “Thanks. No food, though.”
Will’s lost the green hue from earlier, so he must be improving a little. But he’s washed out.
“It’s a few small things,” I explain. “Paracetamol. Apparently, it’s some sort of painkiller, they told me. And toothpaste and toothbrushes for us. Face wash. And some peppermint essential oil. That may help settle your stomach a bit.”
“This is very kind.” He smiles at me. “Thank you.”
Will uncaps the essential oil, closing his eyes to sniff.
And I take the opportunity to gaze at him, his tumble of dark hair, elegant eyebrows, high cheekbones.
Honestly, he’s truly something to look at, just like his fancy cars.
Even when he’s not feeling well. I only feel guilt for a fleeting moment.
“I’ll go freshen up.” He takes a couple of tablets, then takes a toothbrush and the toothpaste and heads into the en suite bathroom.
When Will returns a few minutes later, he hesitates, looking around the small room before his gaze finally lands on me. I give him a broad grin.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“Oh, nothing. I licked one of the toothbrushes. You get to guess which one.”
“Hmm.” He runs his tongue over his teeth in a way that captures my attention. Watching his expression shift from concern to resignation is a delight. I’m not sure if he’s playing along or is simply not bothered by the prospect of my germs in his mouth. “Oh well.”
“Relax. Lie down,” I encourage. “You’ll feel better after more sleep. I can leave you to get ready for bed in peace if you want.”
He blushes then. “No, it’s fine. It’s… God, I’m sorry for ruining your plans. Your date. And imposing like this. I owe you.”
“It’s not a problem. We’ll sort things out when you’re feeling better. You seemed so rough earlier, I was really worried,” I admit. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“Sometimes this happens,” Will concedes. “It’s been a while since my last migraine. And thanks. For everything.”
He stands looking at the bed. Like he’s acutely aware there’s only one bed. And there are two of us. And it’s not exactly a super king bed either.
“Like I said,” I say awkwardly. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“You won’t.” Will rubs his eyes, looking weary again. He sways slightly. “That’s gross.”
“Will, go to bed. Seriously, are you always this stubborn?” I frown at him. Talk about someone who doesn’t know when to call it a night.
“I’m not. I’m…”
“You’re what?”
“Tired.” He sighs and starts unbuttoning his shirt, color still in his face.
It’s cute, actually, that a man who looks like that might actually be shy.
And as I hoped, he’s built, a runner’s slim physique.
His chest is covered in fine hair. He’s totally gorgeous, toned, and I bet those muscles would be delightful to run my fingers over.
I do my earnest best not to gawp. Meanwhile, Will’s looking anywhere but at me. He turns slightly away.
“Sorry. I don’t mean to stare like that. I’ll try to be more subtle about my staring.” I do my best to keep my tone light. I’m not sure what to say next that doesn’t sound hopelessly silly. By some miracle, I keep my mouth shut.
He doesn’t have a girlfriend.
That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want a girlfriend.
Stop it. Also, he’s highly annoying, remember?
And straight. Though it costs nothing to look.
Don’t look at him like a creep. God, though, he’s so easy to look at.
Why am I clocking this now? I’d pre-clocked his hotness on that first day I saw him, but I soon filed that thought under A for annoying as hell.
He takes off his fancy watch and puts it on the bedside table with care and looks around. I’ve brought in our messenger bags, on the table by the door, and the loaned exhibits, which are in a box beneath the table. He looks relieved at the sight of them. “Dylan…”
“Yes?” My breath catches then, and I glance at him a bit too quickly. It’s not like my name’s an invitation or anything—stop it right now. The man’s ill, for crying out loud.
“I don’t know how to say this…”
Will shifts awkwardly. He fidgets with his belt buckle.
Like that’s not distracting or anything. He’s got to be doing this on purpose because he knows at least that I’m not straight. Maybe he’s bi-curious. Maybe he only wants me to go get him some dinner. Maybe—
“I never imagined a scenario where you’d see me like this, and you’re right, I’m wrecked and ready for bed, and, well—”
“Yes?” I blurt again. Is he trying to proposition me? Which is ridiculous, but—
He blushes furiously and stares anywhere but at me. “You see,” he says simply, “I’ve lost my leg.”
I cough. He said what? His leg? What does that mean?
My brain struggles to keep up, while blood flow has increased somewhere else at a very inopportune moment.
Belatedly, I come back to reality. “You… what?”
“My leg. I only have one.” He continues to study the small landscape painting on the wall with intense focus.
His throat works as he swallows. “And the only reason I’m telling you this is because I’m taking off my trousers now.
And my prosthesis. It’s too hot and uncomfortable to keep them on all night.
And going to sleep. Because I feel rather shit. ”
“Right. Right. Of course.” I’m flustered too, and my face also burns. Whatever I expected Will to say, this was absolutely not it.
Never mind the obvious question: why does he only have one leg? I make a big effort to keep my mouth shut.
He’s pulling back the bedding as I unravel in my head.
And I swear, I’m doing my absolute best not to look at Will in this suddenly way too small and close room on a hot July’s night as he undresses, now sitting on the edge of the bed.
From the corner of my eye, I can see Will has some sort of ultra-modern black prosthesis reaching nearly to his right knee as he steps out of his trousers.
He efficiently takes off his prosthetic leg with liner, which he props against the oak bedside table, and promptly slides under the top sheet.
Meanwhile, I’ve bitten my lip so hard it’s probably bleeding, my mind racing with a million inappropriate questions, none of which I dare even examine, never mind ask. It’s not my business what happened, or why, or anything else.
“I’ll let you go to sleep now—” I tell him in a rush. “And I’ll come back later. I mean, does that sound creepy that I’ll come in when you’re sleeping? Oh God, sorry, I’m only making this worse.”
He ignores my blathering. Then he says something equally unexpected.
“It’s up to you, but I don’t mind that you’re here.”
I blink. What? “You don’t?”
“No… I’m not feeling well, so I’m going to sleep now. And Dylan… don’t sleep on the floor. Please. It’s filthy.”
“I’m not sure that it is. This looks like a nice hotel where they, you know, clean. But I could use the duvet if it makes you feel better.”
He groans.
“Fine, fine.” I shake my head at him. “I won’t sleep on the floor.”
Fuck, this is torture.
But I stay in my chair, turning on the small reading light to continue with my book. I stare at the pages and keep rereading the same passage over and over till my eyes blur with fatigue. Nothing registers.