Try to remove it myself, or find Gretchen or Margot and ask them for help.

It’s an easy decision. The idea of breaking off the body and leaving the head embedded in my skin is horrifying. I need help. Throwing on a pair of sleep shorts and a hoodie, I grab tweezers from my makeup bag and head out of the bedroom.

ELEVEN Shane

I’m reviewing a brief in the library when I hear footsteps. Margot didn’t work today, and Gretchen’s visiting her family for the weekend, so I know it’s Claire. They pass the library, going down the stairs. Then I can’t hear them anymore. A few minutes later, the footsteps are back. This time, they move to the door and pause. There’s a soft knock.

“Come in,” I call, fidgeting with my papers before I catch myself and stop.

Claire peeks in, only her head visible. “Hey, sorry to bother you. Is Gretchen around?”

I shake my head. “No, what do you need?”

“Margot?” she asks.

Another headshake and the same question. “What do you need?”

The look she gives me is suspicious, cagey, and more than a little embarrassed. My curiosity blooms.

“How are you with tweezers?”

What the fuck?

I don’t answer quickly enough and must look confused because Claire holds up a pair. “You know, these—”

“I know what tweezers are.”

“Well, it didn’t look like you did.” She sighs. “I’m sorry to ask this because I know it’s gross, but will you get a tick off me?”

I’m already moving, finally understanding the tweezer question. “Of course. Let’s go in the bathroom. There’s better light.”

I lead her down the hall to my bedroom. Claire lets out an approving whistle when she walks in. One wall has floor-to-ceiling windows. During the day it provides an unobstructed view of the woods.

“Bet that’s gorgeous at sunset.”

“Stunning.” I feel tongue-tied, like I want to say more. Maybe something witty, but nothing’s coming.

In the bathroom, I feel even more awkward. Claire passes me the tweezers, a concerned look on her face. Her shorts are loose and soft, blue cotton fluttering around her mouthwatering thighs. Thighs that are distracting me, making me forget how to act like a human.

How long has it been since there was a woman in my bedroom? In my bathroom?

I imagine Claire in my shower, soaked and soapy. I swallow hard, trying to distract myself. My cock likes where my imagination is headed.

Careful.

She’ll think you have a tick fetish or something.

“You okay? You look a little pale.” Worrying her lip between her teeth, she studies me. “This is weird, right? Super gross? I’ll wait till Gretchen gets back tomorrow.” She turns to leave, cheeks red. Great. I’ve made her feel self-conscious.

Shit.

“No, it’s fine.” My fingers close around her arm, and I tug her back. “It’s not gross. Swear.”

She sighs again like she doesn’t believe me, but she turns. Dropping her head, she parts her hair, and sure enough, there’s a tick.

“I’m sorry,” Claire says. “I know this is a huge turnoff.” She sounds genuinely upset, and that surprises me.

“Why would it be a turnoff?” I study the tick, noting that it isn’t too round, which means it hasn’t been latched very long.

“You’re picking a bug off me.” Her voice is softer than before. “I had one behind my ear once, and Keith had to help me get it off. You would have thought I’d vomited on him the way he acted. Like I repulsed him.”

There are so many things I want to say to that, starting with Keith is the biggest piece of shit I’ve ever met. “That’s a him problem” is what I go with instead. “Besides, isn’t there something in marriage vows about for better or worse, with ticks and no ticks?”

Her snort makes me smile. “So I take it you’ve never been married? Because it’s in sickness and in health, not in tick-ness and in health.”

I laugh, appreciating the pun. Edging the tweezers under the tick, I try not to squeeze it prematurely. “Never married. Truthfully, I rarely date.”

“Really?” She’s either truly surprised or a fantastic actress.

Plucking the tick with a quick, twisting motion, I remove it in one piece. “I spend a lot of time at work.”

“That doesn’t have to keep you from dating. Work is where Keith found a girlfriend—Naomi, the pretty paralegal you work with.” There’s a tone in her voice I don’t like. She’s trying to come across as nonchalant, but there’s an ache underneath her words that makes me want to kiss her, touch her, coax out those hungry little whimpers instead of her sounding so sad.

Our eyes meet in the mirror. Again, I want to say too many things.

You’re prettier.

She’s barely old enough to drink.

Keith’s a jackass having an early midlife crisis.

“You know he fucked up, right?” is what comes out. We’re in a mirror stare-down. She shrugs, and I gently nudge her back with my chest. “He did. You’re a catch. Seriously.”

As I’m saying it, the truth in my words registers. It crawls beneath my skin, unsettling me.

Claire is a catch, and when she’s no longer locked away in my home, someone will snatch her up. The idea of her dating anyone makes me want to put my fist through the wall. The urge is jarring. My loss of composure earlier at work and this flare of anger now aren’t like me.

“I guess you would say I’m a catch, huh?” She chuckles. I should smile, but I’m still too irritated by the thought of her dating. “How’s the tick?”

“Dead.” I hold up the tweezers, finally laughing when she wrinkles her nose.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry for interrupting your work.” Shuddering, she turns like she’s thinking about leaving.

I don’t want her to. Thirty days suddenly feels far too short. “I wasn’t doing anything important,” I lie. “I was actually getting ready to watch some TV.”

She nods. “I’ll let you get to it.” Then she’s moving to the door again.

Damnit.

“Do you like Real Estate Wreck?” I blurt.

That makes her spin. “That’s what you’re going to watch? I’m obsessed with that show.”

“Really?” I try to sound surprised. Like I didn’t hear her talking to her best friend about it during one of the dozens of coffee dates I observed. Like I didn’t DVR three seasons, just in case she might want to watch it while she was here. I never planned on watching it with her, but right now, the idea is appealing. “Watch it with me.”

She arches an eyebrow. “You sure that doesn’t go against anything in the contract? It’s not too relationship-y?”

Fuck that contract.

Pressing a hand to her lower back, I steer her out of the bathroom. “Positive, and I’m a lawyer, so I would know.”

Claire laughs at that. A real laugh, one that might make up for the fact that I’m about to sit through a home improvement show. She follows me downstairs, settling on the couch while I find the remote. “Lights on or off?” I ask before I join her.

“Off,” she says. “Unless you think you’ll fall asleep.”

“Unlikely.”

After turning off the lights, I move toward the couch, trying to gauge where I should sit. Claire isn’t fully to one end; she’s at about a third of the way in. Moving to the opposite end from her feels rude, but I don’t want to sit so close that I make her uncomfortable. I decide to sit a foot from her, near but not too close.

A half hour later, she’s asleep on my shoulder while Real Estate Wreck plays. I watch the whole episode, and after seeing a couple discover their new house has a bat infestation and was built over an unmarked cemetery, I’ve decided that maybe the show isn’t too bad. When it ends, I wake her. Claire’s voice is sleepy, her hair wild as she looks around. Owlishly, she blinks at me.