"It's nothing. I'll get it out later."
"No, you won't."
"Yes, I will."
"Danielle, you hate the sight of blood, let alone digging through your own skin and flesh."
Her skin paled and she wobbled a little, so I steadied her by taking a seat on a nearby log and pulling her onto my lap.
"What are you do-"
"What does it look like? I'm getting this splinter out."
She tried to wrench her hand from mine. "Oh no you're not!"
"Yeah, I am. I promise I won't hurt you."
"I've heard that before."
My eyes shot to hers. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," she murmured, glancing down at where my fingers were gently stroking hers.
I, too, took in our caressing hands, such a simple action yet one that had the ability to say and mean so much, because … well … because touch. You didn't need words when you communicated that way. And we sure as hell were communicating.
"Lots, please stop, " she whispered.
"Why?"
She didn't answer. So while she was distracted, I pushed into her finger behind the splinter and popped it out enough for me to easily remove.
"Fffffaaaaaark you," she hissed, and went to retract her hand.
Holding it even tighter than before, I heard her sharp inhalation as I raised it to my lips and sucked her finger into my mouth.
She shuddered.
Our eyes met, and she swallowed, her lips parting, my arm tightening around her hips, my tongue swirling against her skin.
She didn't move at first, so I leisurely slid her finger out of my mouth and gently kissed the tip, keeping my lips pressed to her. "Tell me why I should stop again?"
"Because … because … "
Danielle stared at my mouth and rocked ever so slightly on my lap, and fuck me if it didn't make my dick hard.
I had to get up.
There and then.
My plan to outwit her into submission and give me the upper hand had worked, but if we stayed in the position we were in, my unplanned submission would soon push against her thigh and give my entire offense away.
Fuck! I didn't want to lose my advantage, but I sure as hell didn't want to stop her pussy rubbing against my lap as well.
Fuuuuuuuck!
Tightening my grip around her waist, I stood up swiftly, lifting her with me and placing her on her feet.
"Well?" I asked. "Tell me again why I should stop, and I will."
"Um … well … Er … Because … "
"Just as I thought. You don't know why, do you?"
I did know the reason why Elliot should stop. It was freakin' flashing inside my head like a Vegas street sign.
Flash, flash. Because friends should never fuck. Flash, flash.
Apart from Chris, Elliot had been my only other true friend, and I didn't want to screw that up now that he was back in my life after so long. The problem was that all we seemed to have done so far was fight, and I hated that.
Struggling to keep my eyes from closing under his intoxicating effect, I quickly found my bearings and stood back, away from his grasp. "I do know why. I'm … I'm seeing Chris."
He turned away from me, dismissively, and immediately snatched up pieces of wood, tossing them aggressively into the wheelbarrow. His hurt and disappointment were obvious and they stirred an ache in my chest that I wasn't used to feeling, a type of pain that stung without actually stinging. I wanted it to stop. I wanted to tell him the truth.
But I couldn't.
At least not yet.
"Elliot, I-"
"If all you've got to tell me are lies, don't bother. I don't want to hear them."
I wrung my hands together, hoping it would stop me from bursting into tears.
"And you should put a Band-Aid on that finger," he added, not turning back to look at me. "Soil contamination has one of the highest potentials for harbouring pathogens."
Nodding at him, but more at myself, because the nodding helped keep the tears at bay, I turned on my heel and headed for my car. I had a first aid kit under the driver's seat. I also needed a moment of privacy to calm my racing heart.
Elliot didn't so much as say a word to me for the rest of the day. Mum did, though, and she was on her third attempt of asking what was wrong.
"Nothing, Mum," I replied while biting into my sandwich.
"You're barely talking to each other. Did you have a fight?"
"Mum, we're fine."
"You don't seem fine." She poured herself a cup of tea from her flask. "Communication is the key to every relationship. You should go talk to him."
"REALLY? You're gonna give me advice on relationships?"
The moment those words left my mouth I wanted to pull them back in again, to tether them to a bottomless pit inside myself so they could never resurface. Mum's non-existent love life wasn't through any fault of her own. Dad had up and left when I was a baby. No phone calls. No birthday cards. No nothing. So it had just been Mum and I for as long as I could recall. She'd remarried when I was just two, but Ken died of a brain aneurysm less than a year later.