Hot Mess (10 page)

"Let me see, Rachel."

"No. Don't. I can handle this." She wrapped a dish towel around her finger and swept the vegetables she'd been cutting in a trash can, before putting the board and knife in the sink. He was still trying to grab her hand.

"I said, don't touch me, Sam. I mean it!" She was getting agitated, so he let her be. She held her hand up, above her heart, which was what he would have done.

"Just, finish chopping, I'll be right back. Please."

He turned and did what she asked, confused. It was just a cut, what was the big deal? He had his paramedic license, he could stitch her up if she needed. Putting the knife down, he walked down the hallway to the bathroom door, which was closed.

Knocking, he said helpfully, "Do you need stitches? I can run across the street and get my kit."

"No. Thanks, Sam. It looks worse than it is. I'll be out in a minute." Her voice, muffled from behind the door, still sounded hysterical to Sam.

He shrugged and went back to finish cutting up the vegetables. When she returned, she was wearing a latex glove over the hand she'd cut, and he could see that she'd wrapped up the cut excessively. He chuckled under his breath, trying to make light of the situation without hurting her feelings.

"Scared of a little blood?" He asked her.

"Yeah." She sounded relieved, which pleased him. It was certainly better than hysteria.

Immediately, she put the cutting board and knife in the dishwasher, then finished dinner.

"Girls! Wash up for supper!" She called down the hallway. Sam had seated himself at the kitchen table and watched her work. Her movements were efficient, yet she obviously tried to do as much as she could without using her left hand. He figured it must hurt. She probably needed stitches and didn't like needles or something.

Dinner passed quickly and easily, the girls chattering unceasingly, about anything and everything. Sam ignored the fact that Amanda picked every single sliver of carrot out of her dish before eating the rest. He noticed that Sophia ate every bite, and he commented on it.

"Sophie, you're such a good eater. I wish my Punkin would eat all of her vegetables like you do." This earned him a glare from his daughter, either for pointing out her inadequacies, or for the childish moniker in front of her friend.

Sophia grinned up at him, and then turned to her mother. "Can we eat cheesecake now, Mom?"

"Sure. Let me get it out of the fridge."

As full as he was of the fantastic meal, he always had room for cheesecake. "I may have to start trying harder with your mother Sophie. I could get used to this." Giggles in surround sound and a glare from the fridge area. He amended his statement. "Maybe not. Might be a little too much estrogen for my tastes."

The cheesecake was excellent, and when he'd cleaned his plate, all but licking the luscious cream off it, he said, "That was amazing Rachel. I've never had better."

She glowed under his praise, and he treasured the fact that he was the one who put that look of pride on her face. "I mean it, too."

"Thanks. It's my Meemaw's recipe." The unspoken words were there, and he read them in her eyes. He wouldn't go there. Was she trying to remind him of the ring, or was it unintentional? His daughter had not stolen her grandmother's ring. He tried to flash her a dangerous look, daring her to accuse Amanda in front of him, but she didn't see it. As soon as she'd said the words and given him the look, her eyes fell to her lap, and didn't rise.

"Let us help you with the dishes, before we go home."

"You don't have to. I've got this." She had risen and was gathering the plates, one hand still wrapped in the latex glove. Apparently, she'd forgotten to take it off.

"I don't mind." And he didn't. He realized that aside from the comment about her meemaw, the entire evening had been amazing, and he wasn't ready for it to be over.

Her gaze on him was firm. "Neither do I. Y'all were a guest for dinner, guests don't do dishes."

"But I invited myself. That doesn't count." Turning to the girls, he said, "Y'all go play, while we clean up, okay?" Amanda and Sophia scampered to Sophia's room amid squeals and shrieks, and Rachel shook her head at them.

Her eyes darted around the kitchen, finally resting on him. "Fine. You rinse, and I'll put them in the dishwasher." Sighing, she turned to take her position.

Feeling triumphant, he brought the rest of the dishes to the sink and began scraping and rinsing. As he handed each dish to her, he purposefully brushed her hand, trying to extend physical contact. Not the one that still wore the glove, although he did think it was weird she still had it on. When they were finished, she wiped down the counters, then pulled out a package of antibacterial wipes and began wiping down everything in the kitchen.

"Neat-freak, huh?" He teased, trying to rekindle whatever they'd had the last time he'd been over.

"Yup. Keeps us healthy. Sophie has never missed a day of school for being sick. I'm proud of that."

"You should be. That's quite a feat." Getting ready to make his move, he changed the subject. "Thanks for dinner. It was delicious." He purposefully drew out the word delicious, so he could see the flush steal up her chest and across her cheeks. It worked, so he advanced.

He wrapped his arms around her and tasted those lips again. The lips he'd been imagining all evening. Hell, all week. He hadn't been able to get the kiss last weekend out of his mind, and he had to know it wasn't a fluke.

It wasn't.

As he pulled her closer, she opened up to him, her mouth, her arms, all of her. He could taste her desire on her tongue, and he pulled her closer. When she whimpered, he did a mental fist pump before devouring her.

She tasted so good. He couldn't get enough. He pressed her softness closer to his body, feeling her breasts press against his chest, and wishing like hell the girls weren't in the house. He could take her right here, on the counter top, the kitchen table,
and
the floor.

He'd made moves on women before. Lots of women, especially before Marisol, and a few after her. But there was something about Rachel that made Sam try his hardest with her. He didn't want to fail with this one. He knew that something about Rachel made her different. She was special, and he didn't think he'd get any do-overs if he screwed something up.

His mouth took her, making promises with its licks, nibbles, and sucks. His tongue thrusted, imitating what his body wanted to do to hers. He pressed her against his raging hard on and felt her tremble against him. She moaned, and the sensation of it against his mouth sent up a guttural growl from somewhere deep within him. She was warm and moist, and he couldn't help but imagine other warm, moist parts and the heaven they could send him to.

He pulled away, roughly, knowing that if he didn't stop soon, he wouldn't be able to. "Jesus, Rachel." His breathing was ragged, and his voice was hoarse with desire. A desire he honestly hadn't felt for any other woman. Leaning his forehead on hers, he saw she was flushed, and her lips were swollen. Sexy.

Sam took a step back, and adjusted the tightness in his pants, before clearing his throat and calling his daughter. Even so, his voice was not his own.

"'Manda! Time to go home!" Moans came from the princess palace immediately before the girls came running, faces crestfallen. "Y'all can play again tomorrow. We've got to go home, now. I'm sorry, Punkin." He ruffled her hair, and she looked somewhat appeased.

He flashed Rachel one last devastating grin, before he left. Later that night, he texted her.

The cheesecake was delicious, but it's got nothing on you
.

From Remainingrachel.com:

Coming to terms with my HIV status has been nearly a lifelong process. I found out I was HIV positive at the same time I found out I was pregnant. My doctor suggested that I start treatment immediately to protect my daughter from becoming infected, and I've been on various treatments for it ever since.

Treatment for HIV or AIDS isn't easy, but has gotten much better over the years. It is a commitment--you have to remember to always take your pills on time, every day--and the side effects can be rough sometimes. A good diet and regular exercise can really help your overall health and build immunity, as well as help with side effects. Finding the right treatment therapy is vital, so it is important to find a health care provider that you can really talk to.

Other issues that I face with my lifestyle include depression. I suffered a bit from depression as an adolescent, but my parents were not the type to rush me to a psychiatrist for medication. I lived through endless amounts of prayer before I finally figured out how to hide some things from my parents and just pretend to be happy.

Now, the depression is a little worse, as my problems are grown-up sized, but I have a life to lead and no time to wallow in self-pity. I have difficulty finding time to take care of myself and getting help for my depression. So I continue my farce, hiding the symptoms from my daughter, when the nasty depression monster strikes.

One issue that I have a hard time dealing with is rejection. My family rejected me when I was diagnosed, and because of that, I don't open up to many people. I have one girlfriend who knows and my online community. Other than that, it's a closely guarded secret. There is a man who I may get close enough to join the ranks of "need to know." I'll keep you guys posted on how that one goes. Until then, in the immortal words of Matthew McConaughey in Dazed and Confused, "Just keep on living."

The following week, Rachel didn't see much of Sam, although they did text regularly. The fire station was keeping him busy. It had been a dry winter, and now that the weather was warming up, people were outside more, burning trash, and Sam had been on a lot of calls. The outlying areas had volunteer fire departments, but Serendipity's fire station got called in more often than not to help.

He'd been so busy, she was surprised to see him show up at her doorstep one morning, after she'd returned from dropping Sophia off at school. He looked hot as usual wearing his faded jeans, worn boots, and a flannel shirt, open over a Henley.

"Hey. How are you?" As always, she was stunned by the sheer enormity of the man and how impervious to it he seemed. He filled her doorway, replete with rock hard muscles, and a knowing grin. She gulped.

He swooped down for a kiss. It was just a brush of lip against lip, but it still sent a jolt of electricity through her body. "Sam…"

"What? Just saying hello." He gave her an innocent look that she knew better than to believe.

"Please don't."

"Don't what, Rachel? We're good together. You have to feel that."

"I do, but I can't."

"Whatever," he said dismissively. "Do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Bring Sophie by Saturday night, and let Brenda watch her. I've got a thing I've got to do with the fire department. It's a fundraiser. And I need a date. Please say yes, the only other women in town that I know are Brenda and Mrs. Brigsby. Brenda doesn't need to be getting any ideas, and Mrs. Brisby is…well, I'm not asking her. Besides, I think she might be married."

Rachel laughed. He looked embarrassed about Mrs. Brigsby, whoever she was. And she could only imagine what Brenda had probably tried on Sam. She'd known Brenda for a couple of years, and the woman had been looking for love everywhere, and everybody was a potential husband. She reeked of desperation.

"Are you talking about the annual Fireman's Ball?" If so, she already knew the answer. He'd have to be on his own for this one. There was no way.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, Sam. No." She ached a little inside when she saw his face. He was actually disappointed she was saying no. But there was no way she was going on a date with Sam, much less to a formal affair like the Fireman's Ball.

"Why? We could go as friends, pretend its prom or something." He looked at her, a pleading look on his face. Sam, pleading. It was novel.

"That's a swanky affair. I don't have anything to wear. I don't like public events. I wash my hair on Saturdays. You come up with a suitable reason. I am not going with you. I'm sorry."

"It would mess with our relationship status too much? Is that what you're thinking?"

"Our non-relationship status, Sam. We don't have one."

"I won't lay a finger on you. I swear. Please?"

"Begging doesn't become you."

"I can persuade you." His words turned to a menacing growl.

"No you can't." At those words, his glare became triumphant. She realized her mistake as soon as she saw that Sam wouldn't back down from what he saw as a challenge. And apparently, she'd just thrown down the gauntlet.

"Yes, I can. One kiss, and you'll go." He started advancing, and she backed away from him, panic setting in.

"No. Sam. I mean it."

"Ignore the kiss, I'll take Brenda. Kiss me back, and I'll pick you up at six on Saturday. I'll even bring you a dress."

Why wasn't she putting her foot down? There was no way she could go with Sam. There was no way she could have a relationship with him. There was no way she could survive another kiss from him.