“Come on, you,” Oz says. “The doctor said she’s all right, she just needs rest.”
The dog whines, but stands, stretches and bounds off the bed, going to her master, and with a final kiss of my fingers, he’s gone.
While he cooks, I lie in his bed thinking about what’s happened today. It must be nearly a decade since I last saw Odysseus Volos. And yet, like a knight in shining armor, he turns up at exactly the moment he’s needed. At exactly the moment my life is in crisis. How could I have had no idea about my father’s gambling? I know I’ve been away at school in New York, but I can’t believe he managed to hide it from me. And refusing Rebecca’s offer to go with me to the gambling place was stupid. Although, if I hadn’t, would things have gone differently? Would I have reconnected with Oz?
And what does that mean anyway? Reconnected. Are we just old friends now, two people who used to know each other? If we are, why do I have this twist in the pit of my stomach like something is happening here? Am I that needy? He’s been out of my life so long, and I can’t completely forget that the last time we spoke before today he called me a four-eyed little freak whose drawings look like a baboon got let loose with a pencil.
That memory actually makes me laugh now, it feels so surreal. But at the time…
But then, he’s changed, hasn’t he? He’s not the same. Perhaps he feels guilty about what happened, and that’s why he’s being so nice to me now. Once I’m back to health, we’ll probably never speak again.
The smells of cooking drift up to me while I muse. Tomato and onion, beef and cheese. My stomach starts to groan with anticipation of whatever pastitsio might be. Part of me loves this, being pampered, being waited on. Another part hates the idea that I’m not able to do it for myself, that all I can do is lie here like an invalid.
Finally, there’s a gentle tap at the door, and before I can say anything it’s pushed open. In walks Oz, carrying a large tray, and the smell intensifies.
“No wolf?” I ask.
Oz laughs. “She’s a husky. Roxie, short for Roxette.”
“Like that old band?”
“I guess. I didn’t name her, but it’s what she answers to. She’s in her basket.”
“That smells good,” I say. “Where are my contact lenses?”
He shakes his head. “The doctor took them. Do you still have eyeglasses as a backup?”
“In my purse.”
He places the tray down on the end of the bed, then reaches beside me and passes me my purse. I open it up and take out the glasses, blushing at that memory of him calling me four-eyes as I put them on my face and all comes into focus.
The room is minimal but not bare. There’s a free-standing wardrobe, a chair and a desk. On the wall there are pictures of classic cars I don’t recognize, all gleaming paintwork and dramatic angles.
Oz is staring at me, eyes steady on my own. Both at once, we start to speak.
“Did you—”
“I want to—” He laughs. “You go first.”
God, that face. It’s changed, but still the same. A little bit of maturity suits him. He’s a man now, not a boy. True to himself, sure of himself, a little cocky even but that’s no bad thing. His cheekbones are prominent, curving down like arrows to those kissable lips. Hey, here they are, why don’t you take them? Dark eyebrows split by the gentlest furrow, hair swept messily to one side like it’s almost an accident.
Unwillingly, I squirm a little beneath the covers, stomach clenching, panties bunching on my butt cheeks.
“Did you take my clothes off?” I ask, feeling my nipples tighten against the soft lace bra.
His lips part, his Adam’s apple rising and falling, and something makes me glance down. When I do, I see it. The bulge in the front of his pants is unmistakable now that the world isn’t a blur anymore.
It must be as long and thick as my arm.
My blush deepens and I snap my eyes back to his, wondering if he can read the thoughts racing through my head.
He nods. “Yes, baby. The doctor was here too.” The words should sound apologetic but they don’t. Just a statement of fact. The doctor was here too, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t enjoy what he saw.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I don’t know why I asked. I’m grateful for what you did for me. And thank you for helping my dad. I won’t stay long, the doctor’s wrong about me needing rest. In the morning, I’ll get out of—”
“No,” he snaps, a little growl accenting the word.
I blink at him, falling silent, and for a moment he says nothing. It’s like there’s a battle going on that I’m not privy to, some sort of inner conflict.