“That sounds really bad.” Willow’s face is awash with concern.
I suck in a deep lungful of air, but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough for some reason. I let it out slowly. “Honestly, it’s been this way for a few days. Doesn’t seem to be getting any worse, but it’s definitely not getting any better. I forgot to take cough syrup today, though. That’s all.”
Willow gives me a critical once over, as if she doesn’t trust what I’m saying.
“I’m fine,” I promise, then loop my arm through hers, urging her to walk forward again.
“So how are things going with Dax?”
I duck my head, trying to hide a smile as I study the shiny tile floor. Perhaps I hesitate too long because Willow stops and pivots toward me. I’m forced to raise my head to find her grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“Oh, things are going very well,” she drawls. The tone of her voice is slightly taunting, but in a fun way. “I can see by that expression on your face.”
I could deny it. I could downplay it. Wipe my face blank.
But why should I? Willow is my friend. My sister-in-law as well.
So, I choose honesty. “Things are going well. Too well, actually. So well, I doubt it’s real. This wasn’t supposed to be anything more than sex.”
Willow laughs as we start walking again, heading toward the shoe section. “Nothing is ever really just sex, Regan. There’s always something more. But that’s a good thing for you and Dax, I’m thinking.”
I open my mouth to respond, but another coughing fit hits me. This time, it doesn’t last very long, but I’m left almost gasping for breath at the end. Before Willow can say anything about me being sick, I say, “Anything more than sex is too complicated right now.”
“No way,” she tells me. She waves her hand up and down, indicating my entire self. “You practically glow when I talk to you about my brother. You’ve got it bad for him. It’s more than just sex for sure, and that’s a complication you should relish in.”
I turn to pick up a pair of taupe-colored sandals. They have little leather daisies running along the strap that goes around the ankle. They’re adorable, and I don’t want to talk about Dax anymore.
I don’t want to talk about him because it makes me hope for too much. These last few days—really since Valentine’s Day—I’ve started to think he might be developing deeper feelings for me that go beyond our initial friendship as well as beyond the bedroom. But then I start doubting myself because it seems way too good to be true.
Dax is way too good to be true.
“Cute shoes,” Willow says. “And you ignored my last question, so I am guessing Dax is off topic for now.”
“For now,” I agree. I put the shoes back on the stand, and we start meandering again. “So let’s talk about you. Are you going to hook up with your big-dicked photographer friend?”
Willow shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
She then spies a pair of strappy high-heeled sandals in a pearly champagne color and nabs them. She holds them out toward me. “These would look fantastic on you. I bet Dax would find them incredibly sexy.”
I hold back a chuckle since I know it will instigate my cough. Shaking my head, I smile. “When I win the lottery, I’ll buy them. But right now, I’m pinching pennies. Until I finish my master’s degree and can work full time, I don’t have room for luxuries like that.”
Although I will have to say I didn’t mind digging into my meager savings account to buy the lingerie I wore for Valentine’s Day. Dax went crazy when he saw it. For the first time in our sexual relationship, I felt a measure of power over him. It had felt nice, but I also like that it was short-lived. Truth be told, it’s better when Dax holds the reins.
And I realize Willow has effectively turned the direction of the conversation back to Dax and me. Sneaky woman.
I feel compelled to turn it around on her. “I think you should hook back up with the guy with the big dick. Will he be in Kosovo?”
Willow just shrugs as she picks up a hideous pair of purple pumps. She holds them up for my inspection, and I shake my head while wrinkling my nose.
“They are pretty ugly,” she mutters as she puts the shoes back.
“Could it be you’re interested in someone else?” I ask, and her eyes flick to mine for a moment before turning away guiltily.
Willow refuses to look at me, seemingly intent on another pair of shoes, but asks innocently enough, “Who would I be interested in?”
“Dominik Carlson, of course.”
Willow looks at me blankly. We engage in a standoff, our eyes locked on each other. She doesn’t so much as blink, even lifting her chin a bit in defiance.