Page 42 of Will to Run

“Just me,” she laughs, knowing exactly what I was doing.

“Why didn’t you get me?”

“You’re recovering from a migraine,” she answers as if I’ve just asked the dumbest question in the world.

“And what’s in the bag?” My stomach growls at the smell of whatever food she brought.

“Sliders from the lodge and some fruit from my cabin. I also brought a box of pasta if the greasy takeout is too much.”

My mouth is open as I look at her. The first thought that flies into my brain is, I can’t believe the piece of shit couldn’t see what was standing in front of him. She is the entire fucking package. I hate that she has a timeline here because I can’t tell you the last time I had a honest-to-God crush, but every single day I’m more enamored with this woman. “I… I’m starving,” is all I manage to stutter.

“The after-migraine hunger is a thing!” she replies. “I can still make the pasta if the other food doesn’t fill you up.”

“No, this is more than… God, Della. Thank you so much.”

We stare at each other, and I swear the world is whispering into my ear.

Beaming, she shoos me to the island, directing me to sit and putting the food down in front of me while she goes back to grab the bins.

When I stand up to help, she shoots daggers out of her eyes. “Sit your behind in that chair, Jaxon Wills. I’m earning my keep.”

“I’m not letting you carry those, Del.”

“Already did,” she makes a face, brings one over, and karate chops my arms in a playful gesture that makes me laugh out loud. When she finishes emasculating me by grabbing the other bin, she sits and asks what’s on the docket.

When I explain what I need between bites, she’s up, taking the different papers out, and arranging them in an assembly line.

But before we begin, she excuses herself to use the washroom. The migraine hangover is still there, but the food she brought did wonders, and since I’m almost feeling human again, I get to my feet and start assembling.

“Jaxon!” she gapes when she sees me, aghast that I’m on two feet. “What are you doing?”

“Assembling packets?” I say, looking around, not understanding the problem. “I’m feeling better.”

“Sit down!”

“I’m not letting you do this by yourself,” I say.

“Who helps you?” she asks.

“Well… no one. Because it’s my job.”

“Today it’s mine,” she says. Grabbing my shoulders, she leads me to the couch before pushing me down to sit. But instead of standing, she holds the back of the couch while looking at me, frozen a foot from my face. Is she trying to bait me? Because it’s taken me a lot less to kiss someone.

When I look at her perfect lips and back at her, I can’t help the way my gaze bounces between her eyes. It’s another fucking moment between us where all movement stops. Well, almost all movement. I feel my blood rushing south with the thoughts I have of grabbing her and laying her out on this couch. That’s the first-ever post-migraine boner I’ve ever had.

Fuck it, I say to myself.

And right as I think those words, she stands back up. The abrupt movement stops me from reaching for her.

“You can seal the bags,” she says. In her rush, when she tries to rush away, she gets tripped up by my legs. Reaching to stop her from tumbling onto the ground, she ends up in my lap awkwardly. Of course, she has to fall right on my erection, and when her eyes widen, I know she feels evidence of my dirty thoughts. But I can’t help it; I want this woman.

She scrambles up, and rushes over to the table. As I track her, I watch her face get redder as each millisecond goes by.

“Do you want to turn some music on?” she sputters. “Oh, shit, no, you don’t. You have a migraine hangover. Um…” she draws out the sound, and though I’m laughing on the inside, I don’t want her to feel more uncomfortable, especially because she’s been my saving grace today, so I switch the subject.

“What do you think of our employee welcome packets?” I ask. She got one of these last week, but I’m always up for feedback.

“They’re great,” she says, not making eye contact.