I’m left hovering over his sleeping form wondering what in the world just happened. Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d say I just had my first kiss with Milo Papatonis. And it was the sweetest kiss of my life.
Chapter Nineteen
MILO
I awake to a fuzzy head and an arm buzzing with pins and needles. The head I expected since the same thing happens every time I take those damn pain meds. But the arm thing is new.
The explanation, it turns out, is lying right beside me. The bed shifts, and a groggy voice mumbles, “Goat.”
I tilt my head to see Jill sprawled out over the covers next to me, her head tucked in the crook of my arm and her wild hair spread out around her, half of it covering her face.
I can’t say how many times I’ve had this exact same fantasy over the years—with the minor elimination of the t-shirt and leggings she’s wearing, of course—but I never once thought it might actually become reality.
She mumbles again, and my chest vibrates with suppressed laughter at her nonsense.
Jill lifts her head a few inches and peers up at me through a swath of her crazy hair. “Why are you laughing?”
I know I’m grinning like a fool, and I can’t help it. “You just said, ‘Come here, Mister Goat.’ Am I to assume I’m this Mister Goat you’re speaking of?”
She squints and glances around to get her bearings, but she doesn’t jump up and run from the room—or punch me—like I anticipated. Instead, her head falls back down onto my arm. “No. It was an actual goat—or a dream goat, I guess.” She groans and closes her eyes again. “It’s your fault. You kept calling me ‘mountain girl’ and asking if I was going home to my grandfather. I think you got The Sound of Music and Heidi mixed up.”
“Heidi’s not in The Sound of Music?” I could have sworn.
“No, ding dong.” And there comes the expected smack to my arm. It stings against the still-sleeping nerves, and I shift to restore my circulation.
“Ding dong?”
“Believe me, there are worse things I could call you after last night.”
That has my curiosity piqued. “Do they have anything to do with you sleeping in my bed?” If something good happened and I missed it because of those meds, I’m flushing them all down the toilet.
“Rein it in there, Romeo. All you did was talk about Barney and eat my ice cream.”
This all sounds potentially embarrassing. Maybe we should fast forward to part two of our morning. “The purple dinosaur?”
“Different Barney.” This isn’t helpful at all since I don’t know any other Barneys, but delving deeper sounds unwise.
“I believe it was my ice cream, Louisa. I distinctly remember buying some at the store yesterday.”
Jill swipes the rest of her hair off her face, and I can make out the indentations from my t-shirt on her cheek. There’s something oddly satisfying about seeing the evidence of her sleeping against me there. “Oh, speaking of, if I weren’t so tired, I’d give you a standing ovation on that shopping trip. Well done.”
I could tell her I made the trip with her in mind, picking out things I thought she might like from pretty much every aisle in the place, but I won’t. It’s way too revealing.
“Crap. What time is it?” Her brow furrows.
“No idea. I don’t know where my phone ended up.”
She rolls over and stretches her arm to the bedside table, causing her t-shirt to tighten over her tits and reveal the tight buds of her nipples underneath. I try tearing my eyes away, but it’s impossible, so I attempt to shift my thoughts to something entirely unsexy instead. This only results in me picturing both the pope and me staring at Jill’s naked breasts together. Shit. I’m going to hell for sure.
“Thank God. I don’t have to be at work for another two hours.” She rolls back, and I’m starting to wonder what exactly she’s not telling me about last night. Because the Jill from the last week would never voluntarily lie in a bed with me, lean into me, or casually talk about groceries and dreams while doing so. I’m definitely flushing the meds just to be safe.
Both my cock and the area of my brain responsible for ignoring consequences want to tell her I can think of a lot of things we could do in two hours, but I don’t for obvious reasons. I’m a guy and we’re pretty good at separating sex from, well, everything else, but I have a history with this woman that tells me there’s still a shit-ton left in Pandora’s box where Jill is concerned. And I prefer my balls to remain attached to my body, thank you very much. Not to mention, hooking up would be a surefire way to send her running in the other direction, and I just got her to agree to stay here where I can keep my eye on her and put my mind at ease. At least for a little while.
But it’s a moot point anyway because, thanks to my home improvement project gone wrong, she saw me at my most vulnerable last night. And that surely explains why she’s not running from my bed like her hair is on fire. She’s entered the realm of caregiver, which leaves me squarely in the “never gonna see her naked” realm. The only possibility now is pity sex, and I’d rather get hit by a bus.
So, as good as it feels to have her gorgeous body stretched out alongside mine, I’ve got to preserve what sanity I have left and put an end to this.
“I’ll go make breakfast.” I fold the covers aside and push to sitting, consequently breaking my contact with Jill. She sits up as well.
“No. You need to rest. Let me make it.”
Yup, she’s gonna try taking care of me from now until the minute she leaves. She’ll probably even start agreeing with me and paying me compliments. It sounds like a living hell.
I swing my legs to the side a little faster than I should, but frustration is fueling me now. “I got it.” My leg tries to buckle the second I put weight on it, but I adjust and do my best to limp toward the door.
“Milo, stop!” I hear her scrambling out of the bed and then her arm is around my waist and her shoulder is propping me up under my arm. “Here, let me help at least.”
“I said I got it!” I snap. Shit.
Jill stills and silently drops her arm back to her side. God, I’m an asshole. But she already knows that so I don’t say I’m sorry like I should and, instead, continue on until I reach the kitchen and the refrigerator full of all the things I bought with her in mind.
She doesn’t follow.
Breakfast is a silent torture of runny eggs and burnt toast, but Jill doesn’t complain. She keeps her nose to her phone for the time it takes to inhale the awful food and then takes her coffee to the bathroom with her. I don’t see her again until she bolts out the door for work without so much as a goodbye, which is exactly what I deserve.
Thankfully, the lessons don’t involve me doing much besides pulling on a buoyancy compensator and demonstrating equipment because I’m stiff as hell today. Granted, moving around is one of the best ways to recover from an episode like last night’s, but only if it’s balanced with a good amount of rest as well. I popped a few ibuprofen to tide me over until I can repeat my routine of soaking, massaging, stretching, and resting again, but by the time my last lesson is over, I’m beginning to wonder if I can get home on my bike without crashing. As I’m thinking out my options, Leah breezes into the staff room and stops when she sees me. Her khaki shorts and blue work polo are crisp and fresh as usual, giving her the appearance of head counselor at summer camp. I, on the other hand, pulled my clothes out of the hamper this morning, and even that was a chore.