“You’ve never had a Zombie attack?” I asked cynically.
“Not since the beginning,” he promised. “It’s a science for us.”
He led me up the porch stares and through the painted red door into his big house. It seemed too big for two people. I could only imagine what it was like for him by himself. For a second, I felt sorry for him. I understood his need for companionship, to fill his house with any other sound than his own breathing. I didn’t agree with it, but I understood it.
He walked me upstairs and gave me a toothbrush and toothpaste. Using bottled water I brushed and rinsed my teeth and then used his comb to brush through my hair and put it back into a ponytail. I needed a shower, but that was a different problem for a different day.
He offered some of his clothes to sleep in, but I insisted on keeping my own- which prompted some obvious suspicion from him.
In an effort to placate him, I said, “You cannot possibly expect me to give up my freedom so easily and accept this…. this imprisonment, can you?”
He broke out into that charming smile again and shook his head. “I guess not.” He stepped past me into the bathroom and pulled out his own toothbrush. “Wait for me?”
I shrugged because I felt like I didn’t have a choice, but the atmosphere in the small bathroom became intimate as he brushed his teeth thoroughly. I sat down on the useless toilet and watched him get ready for bed.
I shouldn’t have noticed the way he took care of his white teeth, or how his corded neck rippled and strained as he worked the toothbrush around each tooth carefully, but…. there was nothing else to watch. When his teeth were cleaned, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and I was given a full show of his sculpted chest and back.
Holy hell, this guy was like the Incredible Hulk. And while steroid-strength had never really peeked my interest before, I found myself fascinated by each of his movements.
Holy shit, in the past twelve hours I’d come down with Stockholm Syndrome. What the hell was wrong with me?
Ok, no wait…. On closer inspection of my feelings, I still maintained the good old revulsion and derision I always felt for him. I couldn’t help it that he was nice to look at.
I shook my head and tried to look away but then he was taking out his contacts and…. if he wasn’t such an asshole it would have been endearing.
Once the task was completed, he looked down at me with his black framed glasses on and I couldn’t stop the smile. This was Clark Kent to his Superman.
“What?” his mouth mimicked my soft expression.
“The glasses,” I laughed. “They’re just not very intimidating.”
He held his hand out to me and I took it automatically. Pulling me to my feet he promised, “I’m not trying to intimidate you, Reagan.”
And in that idiotic moment, I believed him.
He walked me to a room down the hall from the master bedroom and said, “You can stay here until you’re….. until you’re more comfortable with being around me.”
I nodded, grateful in that moment that he was giving me this space and that I would be gone by tomorrow.
“Thank you,” I offered magnanimously.
He walked me in the room and gestured for me to sit down on the bed. I obeyed, but immediately tensed.
Out of his back pocket he pulled handcuffs and I gave a resigned sigh. I held them out in front of me and then with big, Bambi eyes I asked, “Can I at least keep my hands in front of me? If they’re behind my back you’ll have to cut them off by morning.”
He shook his head, lips twitching at my unintentional humor. He gestured toward the headboard and this time I let out a frustrated groan.
“You won’t try anything?” I asked one last time before I obeyed.
“Not a thing,” he assured me. “Not tonight.”
“Swear it to me. Swear to me that if I put my hands above my head you won’t touch.”
“Reagan, I swear to you that I won’t touch you tonight unless you give me permission.”
I rolled my eyes but accepted his answer. He handcuffed my hands above my head and then watched as I struggled to get comfortable on the bed. When he was satisfied he offered the blanket, which I declined and then he offered to take my shoes off.
“Uh, no, thanks.” He raised his brows at my answer and I saw the paranoia plant a seed behind his eyes. Trying to diffuse his mistrust I assured him, “It’s just that I’ve slept with my shoes on for two straight years. I know you say this town is safe, but I need to see it for myself. I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t have them off. At least not yet.”
Accepting my answer he walked over to the door and turned around to take me in one more time. “Reagan, I know this isn’t ideal for you, but you are for me. I mean, you are ideal for me. I think you should give this, us, a chance. Your friends would have a chance too then.” And then he left me alone, turning the light off and locking the door from the outside.