“Washer, dryer, detergent,” the man grunted as he pointed out the items.
Okay, she could do this. It was laundry. She removed her wrap, then tossed it into the washer.
“Could you throw this in, too?” Raz asked.
She peered over her shoulder, and hello, abs for miles! Raz had unzipped his hoodie, and he didn’t have anything on underneath it. She stared at the rock-hard wall of muscle. “Beefcake,” she whispered, her mouth moving of its own volition.
“Do you mind washing my hoodie with your wrap?” the man tried again, snapping her out of an abs-induced stupor.
“I’d be abby to. I mean, happy to,” she yipped, accepting the item while trying not to lean forward and lick the man’s torso. She cleared her throat, then fell back on a habit from when she used to do the twins’ laundry. She reached into the hoodie’s pocket, feeling for pens or loose change when her fingertips brushed against something cool and smooth. Immediately, she knew what it was. “My aquamarine gemstone,” she said, removing it from Raz’s pocket before tossing his garment into the washer. She kept the stone in her hand, added detergent, then started the machine. With the hum of the washer beginning its first cycle, she studied the stone. She hadn’t really looked at it yet. An oval-shaped piece of polished aquamarine, a little larger than a quarter, with a greenish-blue tinge. It honestly wasn’t that extraordinary. Aquamarine was Colorado’s state gemstone. Any rock shop or new-age boutique in the area carried them. But like the woman who’d gifted her with the stone, there was a familiarity about it.
“I forgot I had that. You threw that rock at me after you ran out of vibrators,” Raz commented as a rosy blush dusted his cheeks.
She sighed, feeling a strange sense of calm as she rubbed her thumb over the stone’s smooth surface. “I bet that’s something you never thought you’d say.”
“You seem to bring out another side of me,” Raz remarked.
She smiled. “It’s safe to say you’ve done the same to me.”
“I didn’t mean to mess up your chi. It wasn’t intentional. I didn’t expect…” he trailed off.
“What didn’t you expect?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“That’s not important. But I want you to know, if there was something, anything I could do to fix it, I would. But I should warn you. I’m a boxer. I’m better at breaking things than I am at putting them back together, plum.”
Had more heartbreaking words ever been spoken?
A wave of compassion washed over her, and the only thing she wanted to do was to shield this man from whatever demons put that thought into his head.
“Why do you keep calling me plum?” she asked, shifting gears.
He glanced at the ceiling. “I don’t know. You said I couldn’t call you sugar plum. Maybe I call you plum to piss you off? I am quite good at that,” he added with a stupidly sexy boyish grin. And Buddha, give her strength. That smile, coupled with the man’s Adonis of a body, was almost too hard to resist. “And of course,” he continued, “plums are purple, and I saw the violet and blue around us in the cop car.”
Her heart nearly stopped. “You saw those colors when we were in the police car?”
“Yeah, I did, but it could have been the light from a neon sign or something.”
But it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t that.
“You’re sure it was both colors?” she pressed, hardly able to believe a man who clucked and paraded around like the King of the Beefcakes could perceive auras.
“Yeah, bluish-violet. But what does that matter?” he asked.
“I noticed it, too. It’s called an aura. It’s curious we both saw it and that our observations are so much alike.” She paused as an idea sparked. “So much alike—like treats like,” she whispered.
He took a step toward her. “Are you okay, plum? Do you see colors again, or fairies, or whatever yoga people see?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t see any fairies, but something came to me—like the universe whispered into my ear.”
“And what did the universe have to say?” There was a decent amount of skepticism in his voice, but she ignored it.
“It told me there might be a way to get my O back,” she answered, her heart in her throat. The idea was absolutely insane, but it was her last hope. She looked her half-naked beefcake up and down, then locked onto his gray, piercing gaze. “And Erasmus Cress, you’re the only one who can help me do it.”
Eight
Libby
Libby stared at her beefcake as the remedy to her situation ricocheted around in her mind.
Like cures like.
So simple, yet so complex, it was worth a shot.
This might be the karmically craziest thing that had ever crossed her mind.
“What did the universe tell you to do?” Raz asked, concern marring his features, which wasn’t that surprising. There was an excellent chance she resembled a mad scientist ranting in a eureka moment. She paced the length of the laundry room, then stopped in front of a still befuddled-looking Erasmus Cress.
Here goes everything.
“The universe reminded me of a homeopathic concept called like cures like.”
He frowned. “I’ve never heard of it.”
Her apprehension gave way to a bubbling euphoria that thrummed through her veins. This had to be the solution. What else could foster steady chi and the return of her O better than a metaphysically balanced approach?
“There are lots of examples of like curing like or like treating like. They mean the same thing. Onions, for example,” she tossed out, excitement lacing her reply.
“Onions?” Raz repeated, looking quite the opposite of convinced.
She had to slow down and harness her excitement bordering on mania, or she’d lose him for sure.
“Onions can make you cry,” she began.
Raz sniffed, then glanced away. “I don’t cry, but I see what you’re getting at.”
“Onions,” she continued, leaning against the washer, “are the main ingredient in a homeopathic remedy that treats watery, irritated eyes. Like if you’ve got hay fever or caught a cold.”
Raz moved forward and rested his hands on the vibrating washing machine, one beefy paw on either side of her, as he caged her in. “I still don’t understand what that means for us? You’re not suggesting we only eat onions for the next several weeks, are you?” he asked, his voice doing things to her that it absolutely should not do.
The breath caught in her throat as she stared up at him. The zing of anticipation invaded every cell in her body. The intensity coming off the man in near-tangible waves combined with the motion of the washer had her reeling. She willed herself to ignore his all-encompassing vitality, then formulated her reply. “Since you’re the cause of my condition, you could also be the cure.”
He sharpened his gaze. “How would that work?”
The energy flowing between them sent her chakras into a berserk kinetic overload—or perhaps it was the washing machine. Still, whatever gave her this idea, she knew she’d stumbled onto something big.