’t have germs.”
She took a few sips, realized how thirsty she was and gulped down the whole lot. She tried to move off his lap, thinking to get him another glass but he held onto her. “Didn’t say you could move.”
“I thought I’d get you some more water,” she explained, feeling special that he didn’t want her to move.
“I’ll get it in a minute. And I’ll bring in some wood for your fire. It’s starting to get chilly. Where do you keep it?”
She bit down on her thumbnail. He gently extracted her thumb free. “Gotta do something about that.”
“About what?”
“What’s going on that you don’t want to tell me, Abby?” he asked instead.
“Well, okay, I don’t have any wood.” Being poor is nothing to be ashamed of. Being poor is nothing to be ashamed of.
Yeah, she wished she actually believed that. Considering how much shit she’d taken over the years about being poor, it was hard to believe.
“You used it all during winter? It was a cold one this year. You need to order some more though, sweetheart because this house is so old it’s probably drafty and needs its insulation upgraded.”
She nodded. It wasn’t really worth telling him that she didn’t have money for wood. That she hadn’t had any all winter and instead relied on blankets and hot water bottles to keep her warm.
Although, he was better than any hot water bottle.
“Just relax, baby,” he told her, rubbing her back up and down.
“I should clean up the pizza.”
“I’ll clean it up before I leave. I just want you to relax so we can get you back to bed. When’s your next day off?”
“Sunday.”
“Tomorrow? That’s good. You can get some rest.”
“No, next Sunday.” She yawned, her eyes growing heavy. She wanted to prolong this. It felt so nice to be touched, held
He grew tense beneath her. “Next Sunday? Seven days away? When did you last have a day off?”
“Last Sunday.” Belatedly she realized why he had tensed up and his voice had grown low.
“You’re working thirteen days in a row?”
“Umm yeah.” Her thumb crept towards her mouth and he gently grabbed hold of her hand, pulling it away.
“You’re going to bite your thumb raw. Why are you working those sorts of hours?”
“Because I need the money.” And because she wasn’t very good at saying no.
“I don’t like that.”
She sat up with a sigh, trying to climb off him. He pulled her back. “Kent, let me go.”
“No.”
“Kent,” she warned.
“I don’t like you working such long hours.”
“Well, I don’t either. But I need the money. It’s my life. My job. Now let me up.”