The Jenkins Girl
by RosalindB
Chapter 11 - Love via Hairbrush
Last time: CJ got her new "do" wet.
It took a few moments to get out of my clothes. My shoulder was not happy. My ribs wanted attention too. But I did it, and finally eased into the hot water. It felt so good. The stress and ickiness from the hospital washed away with the water. The heat made my shoulder easier to manuever, and my neck loosened up a bit too. Just enough to get some Ocean Breeze shampoo on my hair.
I'd just rinsed out the shampoo when it hit me.
My hair was just straightened.
It was not supposed to get wet.
Almost made my neck and shoulder worse reaching around and shutting off the shower. Raced as best as I could to dry off, put on at least some undies and threw my robe on.
He heard me curse. I know he did, because his footsteps betrayed him. He stopped at the bathroom door. When I exited, I couldn't look at him. All that trouble to look nice for a date, almost lose the date because of the accident and now I sent the effort down the drain in 15 minutes.
Maybe I could brush it out...tried to take a deep breath, and the ribs started up. The relief from the heat was vanishing with every stressed out second.
He stood at the door. For a moment it looked as if he was going to laugh. I admit I was a sight in my funky orange robe and medusa hair.
He walked in and stood behind me.
He took the brush and tried to get the hair straight again. I closed my eyes.
"Sorry Thia, I can't get it straight."
Thia. The Roselli's call me that. Hearing him say it though...it did something. His hands caressed my shoulders. He kissed the top of my head. My wet, curly haired head. Then my neck, then my shoulder.
He asked if he should stop.
He asked first.
That was enough. I wanted him. Even though it was our first date. Even though we hadn't had a meal together yet. Even though it may not be what other people wanted for me.
I wanted him.
...
He slipped the robe off my shoulders. I leaned back against him, my head just above his waist. His hands slid down my back. I felt his fingers trace the scars.
"If they scare you, I understand," I whispered.
He didn't answer. He helped me to my feet, wrapped his arms around me and kissed me thoroughly. He tasted of coffee. My hands explored his thick head of hair. Traced his thick head of hair. His fingers traced the scars again. He guided me to my bed.
"Lay on your good side," he said.
Once on my right side, I heard him slip out of his shirt.
Then the belt buckle landing on the floor.
The bed rocked gently.
He no longer traced my scars with fingers. His lips were there instead.
Lunch could wait.