Falling for the Ghost of You by Nicole Christie

burn , and I sigh in relief.
    After a couple of minutes, the sting subsides.  Zane lifts th e towel up to check my skin .  “No blisters,” he says softly.  “It’s just a little red.”
    He gently brushes a finger over my inner thigh , in a feather light touch that steals my breath and makes me tremble in a way that has nothing to do with pain.
    I guess I make some kind of noise.  Zane looks up at me, and as if suddenly realizing what he’s doing, he stands abruptly and backs away.
    “Keep it covered.  I’ll go look for some aloe gel,” he mutters . 
    I watch him walk away in a daze.  Oh, my god.  I can’t believe I’m sitting here in my underwear.  I can’t believe he touched me…there.  I see- saw between utter mortification and a nervous exhilaration.   And I’ll admit it—pure lust.
    Um, thank goodness I’m wearing nice underwear. Ugh, I just realized, this is the sec ond time he’s seen them.  Not the same pair, though.  Today’ s selection is lacy and a buttercup yellow.
    God.  This is so embarrassing.
    Zane comes back with a tube of something and a light blanket.  He drapes the blanket over my lap and hands me the tube.  “Wait a few minutes, then put some of this stuff on your—on the burn,” he says gruffly.
    “Thanks.”  I risk a peek at his expressionless face.  “Sorry I’m such a klutz.”
    He allows a ghost of a smile.  “You are a bit accident prone, aren’t you?”
    I shrug, my cheeks heating up.  I spread the blanket so it’s covering most of my legs.
    He doesn’t say anything for a minute, just staring down at me.  Then he mumbles something about fixing his contacts, and disappears into his room again.  He wears contacts?  Hm…I bet he would look really hot in glasses.
    Just when I’m convinced he’s not coming back, he walks back out, and sprawls next to me on the couch .  “You up for some mindless TV?” he asks, picking up the remote.
    “Yeah,” I say gratefully.
    So we sit there and watch sitcoms, reality shows…whatever is on.  We laugh at the same things, and make fun of the people in the reality series .  Zane doesn’t even seem to mind my sarcasm.  He seems to enjoy it.  We spar back and forth over our favorite shows.
    I don’t even remember falling asleep.  The next thing I know, Zane is lifting me up from the couch, and carrying me into my room—as if I weigh nothing.
    Being in his strong arms is so…it’s an incredibly precious feeling.  I pretend to be asleep just so I can stay there.  He gently lies me down on my bed , and draws the covers over me.  My eyes blink open when I sense him lean over me.
    “Sweet dreams, Violet,” he whispers, kissing me on the forehead.
    Sweet dreams, indeed.
     
    Wait, I’m not quite done being the stupid damsel in distress.
    Lauren and I leave Taco Bill’s the next afternoon , and discover my car has a flat tire—and I don’t have a spare.  Where did it go?  I may have moved it to make room in my trunk one day —I remember now.  For those boxes of piñatas.  Don’t ask.
    Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m calling Zane.   He laughs at my sheepish tone, and promises to be there in twenty minutes with a new tire.
    He gets there in fifteen minutes .  I introduce him to Lauren—who is suitably awed—and he effortlessly changes the tire , while we look on.  Why is it so sexy when hot guys do manly things, like work on cars?  Or maybe it’s just Zane.  Everything he does is sexy.  I’m not the only one who thinks so, judging by the group of girls who stop to drool over him.
    Damn it, I should be the only one allowed to drool over him.  I found him first!  Or something not as stupid.
    Lauren is appalled by my behavior.  I become a giggly loser around him.   I disgust myself , but I can’t seem to help it.  I clamp both hands over my mouth and force myself to stand silently next to Lauren.  When Zane is done, he pats my head my like a puppy, and warns me to stay out