Southern Heart (Southern 5)

"This is good," he says, chewing. "Better than your grandmother’s." I smirk at him. "If you tell her that, I’m going to deny it and blame it on the pills you are giving me."

I laugh at him. "I’ll just ask them for the tapes." He looks at me. "My house is wired, and everything is recorded." I do a circle with the fork in my hand. His mouth opens and then closes. "Kidding." I point the fork at him.

"Oh, you are bad," he says, shaking his head. "For one second, I believed you."

"I can guarantee you that outside is wired tight," I tell him. "Now the inside." I shrug, taking another bite. "Only time will tell."

He shakes his head and finishes eating his broth. "I have a question.”

"I’m full of answers," I tell him, leaning forward and putting my plate on the table.

"When can I shower?" He looks at me.

"Next month." I keep a straight face, seeing the way his mouth just hung open. I smile slyly at him. "To be safe, I would wait until it’s fully healed, so maybe even two."

"What?" He gasps. The way his eyes are opened so big, I can’t stop the giggle that comes out. "You little shit." He tries to snatch me, but I evade him.

"You can try to catch me," I tell him, bending to take my plate, "but it’ll be a cold day before that happens."

He looks at me, his eyes twinkling for the first time. "Is that so?" he says, swinging his feet off the couch. "You sure about that?"

"How about we bet," I tell him, putting the plates in the sink and ignoring the beating of my heart. "When you get better." I fold my arms over my chest. "You do the chase. I bet you won’t catch me."

"What do I win?" he asks me. "Usually, when the boy chases the girl, he gets the girl." He limps over a bit. "So what happens if I catch you?"

"Only way to find that out," I say, advancing on him, "is to catch the girl." I see his chest rise and fall. "Now, if you want, I can come in and wash you up."

"Do I look like I need you to give me a sponge bath?" he asks.

"Even tough guys like baths sometimes." I smirk at him.

"Not this tough guy." He folds his arms over his chest now. I take a second to see the orange flower on his arm. The bright green leaves make it pop more.

"Well, then, you can stay dirty," I start to say, and he smiles. "Or…"

"Why?" he moans out. "Why must you put an or in there?”

"Or you can have me sponge you off," I tell him, and he smirks at me.

"You really want to wash me"—he winks at me now—"all you had to do is ask.”

"You are lucky you have a bullet wound, and I can’t hurt you," I tell him, knowing right now that my cheeks are turning a bright red.

"Thank you,” he says softly when I walk back over to him and grab his empty tray.

“You’re welcome,” I say softly and walk back to the kitchen. He moves his leg now and starts to get up.

“Are you tired?” I ask, and he tries to deny it. “Go rest. I’ll come in and check you after.

I’ll come and change your bandages." I shake my head.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles now as he makes his way back to the bedroom.

"And just for that, I won’t even come running if you fall!” I yell to his back.

He laughs, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh so much since we met. Trust me, I would know since I used to watch him every single fucking time. "You lie."

When he turns and walks back to the bedroom, I ignore that my heart is pounding so hard and so fast it sounds like a group of galloping horses. "What the fuck was that?" I ask, putting my hands to my forehead to check if I have a fever. "Was he flirting with me?" I look back toward the room where he disappeared.

I walk over to the sink and try not to have my head overthink it. He is just being polite, my head says. The conversation plays over and over again in my head, and I’m brought back to the first time my feelings for him went from crush to something else.

I walked into the barn, rubbing my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, “I didn’t know you were in here.” I lied straight to his face. I knew exactly where he was. Every single time he came to one of our barbecues, I knew exactly where he was at every single time. I would try and talk to him but all he would give me was a grunt or one-word answers and I was tired of him not seeing me. So I was taking things into my own hands.