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Deep breath. In. Out. Everything’s okay.
My cheeks heat up as he follows me inside. The apartment is tragically tiny. Worse, I share it with my sister, because even if I wanted to, I couldn’t afford it on my own. All of those embarrassments are muffled by the screaming inferno now known as my left leg.
“Where’s the bathroom?” he asks.
I point down the hallway. The only direction it could be. Each step burns and I’m mortified Sully not only witnessed my clumsiness, but now he’s in my home.
It’s a tight fit in the bathroom, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Sit down,” he says, nodding at the closed toilet seat.
Realizing protests will get me nowhere with him, I perch on the seat.
“Scissors?” he asks.
“Cabinet.” I point, you know in case he can’t tell the big square box in front of his face is what I’m referring to. I’m not sure my hair-stylist sister will appreciate me using her fancy scissors, but they’re the only pair I can think of at the moment.
Methodically, he lays out each item he plans to use on the counter and my stomach flutters. “I think I’m going to be sick,” I whisper.
He runs his hand over my head, pulling me closer, so my cheek rests against his leg. “Deep breath, Aubrey. You’re okay.”
It’s corny, but all my fears settle down with his touch. He’s a solid guy. Muscular and strong. Not too tall. I’m five-foot-three on a good day. He easily has nine or ten inches on me. Enough to be comforting, but not overwhelming.
He crouches down in front of me and I have a chance to study his eyes. Bottomless and rich, like my favorite Spanish roast coffee. Sympathetic and warm.
His strong, steady hands wrap around my calf, gently lifting my foot. I hiss at the pain racing over my skin.
“May I?” he asks, tapping my sneaker.
“My feet probably stink.” Nervous laughter follows my idiotic words.
He shakes his head and eases my sneaker and sock off, setting them on the floor. “Hmm, nothing looks broken or swollen, so that’s good. Do you have an ice pack in your freezer?”
“That’s probably all we have in the freezer.”
He raises an eyebrow. “We? Do you live with your parents?”
“No, my sister.” The one who took me in after my parents tossed me out.
My gaze drops to my shredded leggings. “My sister’s going to kill me,” I mutter. Realizing he has no idea what I’m talking about, I add, “The pants. I borrowed them from her.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Little thief, huh?” he teases. “Jake’s always pilfering my stuff too.”
The teasing works and pulls a chuckle out of me.
He returns to studying my injury, while I contemplate running my fingers through his dark brown hair. Not to be creepy or anything, just to verify if it’s as silky as it appears.
“I hate to say it, but I either need to cut off the fabric around the wound or…”
Sully’s too much of a gentleman to suggest what’s extremely obvious. It would be easier if I strip down. “I can take them off,” I offer.
My T-shirt’s long enough to cover me and with his help, I stand. Pretending his face isn’t up close and personal with my lady bits is rough. My hands shake as I hook my fingers into the waistband and slowly roll the stretchy fabric over my hips. A grunt of pain pops out of me when I try to bend my leg and Sully helps by dragging the pants down my legs, carefully pulling the material away from my cuts.
For a moment neither of us speak.
His warm breath skates over my bare skin, easing my pain.
I glance down and find his gaze riveted to my lower body.
“Sully?” I whisper.
As if in a trance, he slowly drags his gaze up to meet my eyes. “Do you have a bucket? I need to clean the wound and don’t want to get water all over your floor.”
Bucket. First aid. Of course. Sully is all single-minded focus and none of that attention is on me as anything other than an injury to be treated.
“Under the sink, there’s a foot bath. Will that work?”
“Yup.” He curls his hands around my thighs, his fingers dangerously close to my butt and nudges me back to the toilet. Heat sears every inch of my skin where we’re touching. He seems to feel it too and jerks away. “Sorry.”
Oh my God. Light tingles race over my skin. A shivery sensation that tightens my nipples.
From having his hands on my legs for five whole seconds.
If that’s how my body responds to a such a simple touch, what would—
“Aubrey?” Sully’s voice interrupts my speculation. “Are you ready?”
I’d like to say I don’t cry or act like a baby while he treats my cuts and scrapes, but I don’t believe in lying. It hurts like a bitch. Especially when he deftly uses a pair of long, skinny tweezers to pluck out the more stubborn bits of gravel embedded in my flesh.
Tears silently roll down my cheeks and I swipe them away before Sully sees.
“Almost done,” he murmurs.
I exhale a long slow breath as he smooths ointment over the whole area. Finally, he tapes a piece of gauze into place and declares me finished.
“Thank you so much. I don’t think I would’ve been able to do that myself.”
“No problem.” He finally meets my eyes and there must be a stray tear or two, because he uses his thumb to whisk it away. “I’m sorry. I tried to be gentle.”
“Digging gravel out of flesh is going to hurt, no matter what,” I say with a wry twist of my mouth, trying to make a joke to cover my embarrassment at being caught crying like a baby.
He holds out his hand and helps me up. “Let’s put that ice pack on your knee to keep the swelling down.”
“I-uh, I’m going to put some pants on.”
“Need help?”
I wish. “No, I’ve got it.”
I limp my way into my bedroom, closing the door behind me. Is this really happening? Sully’s in my apartment?
Because he feels sorry for you, klutz.
Shaking my head, I push away from the door and grab the first pair of shorts I see. My T-shirt is longer than the shorts, so I trade it for a tank top, then slip my feet into my favorite fluffy slippers.
Sully’s in the living room holding a small blue ice pack in one hand and a kitchen towel in the other. “You weren’t kidding about the empty freezer. Not even a pint of Ben and Jerry’s?” he teases.
I almost say “It’s not that time of the month yet.” But thank God, my brain to mouth function kicks in. Instead, I shrug. “I’m more of a Stewart’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream girl.”
“Upstate New York girl through and through. I’m partial to the Crumbs Along the Mohawk myself.”
“Adventurous,” I tease, drawing a smile from him. Maybe this is my chance to slip in a casual not-a-date invitation. “Maybe we can stop by there after class next Sunday?” I force a light chuckle to cover my nerves. “I at least owe you some ice cream for taking care of me today.”
His smile fades. “You don’t owe me anything, Aubrey.”
Right. He’s not interested. Not even in a thank-you-for-rescuing-me ice cream cone.
He motions for me to take a seat on the couch and crouches down in front of me, gently pressing the towel-covered ice pack to the red lumpy area on the side of my knee. “Twenty minutes on twenty minutes off,” he says in a low voice.
Is he planning to stay here the whole time?
Do I want him to?
I’ve been dying to be alone with Sully for weeks now. But not like this.
“So it’s just you and your sister?” he asks. “Are your parents nearby?”
I clench my teeth. “How old do you think I am?”
The question seems to startle him. He sits back and allows his gaze to sweep over my body. “Eighteen? Nineteen?”
I lift my chin, as if that will make me appear older. “I’m twenty-two.”
A glimmer of some
thing—interest?—passes over his face. “Sorry. You—”
“Yeah, I’m short.” I try to laugh it off, but it sounds forced. “I get it all the time.”
The smoldering look in his eyes must have been a hallucination. Pity is the only thing shining there now as he attempts to explain himself. “Aubrey, I didn’t mean—”
Being bitchy isn’t the way I pictured this chance alone with him, so I fake a casual smile. “I guess you don’t read those forms you make all your clients fill out.”
He ducks his head. “Guilty. If we did more one-on-one training or you used the weights or something, I would’ve looked at it closer.”
One-on-one. Good Lord, is that an option?
Or was that a hint that my big butt could stand to do a little more cardio?
The door opens, putting an end to our awkward conversation. My sister, Celia, slips into the living room unaware of us at first. She’s so engrossed in reading the mail in her hands, she jumps when she notices Sully. Her wary gaze slides between the two of us finally landing on me. “Hey, Aubrey. Everything okay?”
“This is Sully—”
“Oh, the self-defense guy.” The tension drains from her face and she takes a step closer, holding out her free hand. Sully stands and greets her. Inwardly, I groan. Celia’s beautiful. Taller, skinnier, prettier. Introducing her to a guy I’m interested in never ends well for me.
After they say hello, Celia’s gaze settles on the ice pack covering half my leg. “What happened?”
“I was jogging with Gambler and fell.”
