𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | 𝟏𝟖+

𝟗. 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐃

ADDIE

DAY EIGHT

This is the fourth store we've been inside over the past three days, and our odds of finding anything of use were getting more bleak every day.

The shelves are so empty, and my shoulders sag even more as I search around for anything I can find. Joel and I split up to scour the building quicker. He said it was safer to keep moving as much as possible. Although, because of the incident a few days ago, he would always do a brief sweep before he let me inside.

I was grateful.

My hope thinning by the second, I'm almost ready to give up until my eyes fall on a small package of baby wipes. It's the best thing I've seen all day, all week, and an excited squeal bursts through my lips before I can stop it. Clinging the wipes to my chest, I bounce on my heels ardently just as Joel comes ripping around the corner—chest heaving.

"What's goin' on?" he pants.

"I found wipes!"

His eyebrows knit as he huffs out a harsh breath. "Fuck's sake, Addison."

"We can get cleaned up," I offer, peeking up at him. "Since we can't take a shower."

"What're you screamin' for? I thought somethin' happened."

He's out of breath as he scowls down at me, and I realize he was actually worried about me. He rests his hands on his hips, shaking his head. Did he run across the entire store?

I bite at my lip. "I'm sorry."

Sighing heavily, he looks down at the wipes in my hand before back up at me. As annoyed as he may be with me, he knows that we need to do something to get cleaned up. It had been days since I'd had a hot shower, and I could feel the filth on my body.

"Let's get this over with," he says lowly.

My fingers peel back the opening of the wipes, pulling out a few before tossing the package over to him. They're not as moist as they normally would be, but they'd suffice. We stand there awkwardly, staring at each other for a moment before we turn around, facing opposite directions, and I feel like the oxygen has been sucked from my lungs. Shrugging my jacket off, the sound of it hitting the floor echoes throughout the quiet building. I hear his, too, and my heart  beats harshly against my chest. Stuffing the wipe inside my shirt, I shiver as the cold cloth touches my bare skin.

I don't know why I'm so anxious all of a sudden.

Okay, maybe I do. All I can think about is what Joel looks like under all of the oversized clothes he wears, but I don't dare peek.

I wonder what he's thinking about.

My thoughts are shameful as I take another wipe and shove it into my pants, down between my legs, where my butterflies have also traveled to. What would his hands feel like there? His large, warm hands–

No. No. No.

Jesus Christ.

Swiftly removing my hand, I hurry to pull my jacket back on, as if my thoughts are in giant letters written across my forehead that I need to hide from him. Like he'd just heard all of my thoughts out loud. I settle down into my jacket as I turn back around.

Joel turns around simultaneously, and our eyes meet briefly before he's throwing the wipes back at me.

"We'll camp here tonight."

And that was that.

Obviously, I'm the only crazy person here having these feelings. Is that what happens when you're stuck with someone for a week? I can't even remember the last time any guy had touched me. I know options are slim nowadays, but I'd never met anyone who looked like Joel, either...I need to go to bed.

My cheeks are ablaze as I follow him toward the back of the building, where he opens an office door and guides us inside. It's quiet as I meticulously get out our sleeping bags, and he gets a fire going. It's usually quiet like this, but for some reason, it feels all-consuming now. I want it to be anything but quiet.

I'm so absorbed in my touch-starved thoughts that I don't even know what Joel is doing until I smell something awful. Jerking my head in his direction, I see him brewing something over the fire.

"What is that?" I ask, wrinkling my nose.

"Coffee."

"That stinks."

"Yeah, well," he grumbles. "It tastes fuckin' good."

Putting my hand to my nose, I say, "God, that's bad. Are you sure it's safe to drink?"

He gives me a pointed look.

"Here." Digging the wipes back out, I wave the package in the air as I bite back a smile. "You might need these after all when it's coming out of you later."

"Shut up."

Laughing softly, I throw the wipes at him. They smack against his chest with a large thud, and that only makes me laugh even harder.

"Ain't funny," Joel bites out.

I'm giggling so hard that I crumple over, holding my stomach that's starting to ache from the strain now. He watches me with a hard glare, clearly unamused, but his gaze never wavers. I can't tell if he's disgusted by the sight or fascinated, but I can't stop. It's like when you're not supposed to be laughing, it only makes everything that much funnier.

"Quit."

I roll my lips into my mouth as I try to contain myself, walking toward him and plopping down next to him as he sits by the tiny fire. His coffee bubbles in the pot, steam billowing above it. Eyeballing the dark liquid, I grimace playfully.

"Joel," I whine. "You can't be serious."

"Don't start with me. You haven't tried it."

"I value my life."

Pouring it into a cup, the steam swirls toward me, and I fake a gag as I swat it away. This makes him roll his eyes as he blows at the hot liquid, carefully taking a slow sip. His shoulders relax as he drinks the horrendous-smelling coffee.

"Delicious," he comments.

Bringing the cup to my face, he wafts it under my nose, and I swear I see a twinkle of amusement in his dark eyes. I duck, laughing once more as I crawl back over to my sleeping bag to get away from the stench, listening to him grumble under his breath. The wrinkle between his brows has disappeared. For once, I don't feel completely annoying to him. For once, I think he was actually trying to joke around with me.

I fall asleep that night thinking of that flash of playfulness.