Cheers ring out farther up the road, and we watch as a sea of people gather around the winner of the race. The people who had been surrounding us trickle away to join the celebration, knowing Carter is essentially okay.
“Damn. I feel bad I didn’t win that money for Nick.” He’s frowning, watching the celebration ensue with his legs pulled up and his arms wrapped around them.
“You shouldn’t feel bad. Most people wouldn’t have even offered to try.”
He turns to me, and his eyes are soft and happy. “Careful, Ashley. If you keep talking like that, I’m going to assume you don’t think I’m a total douchebag anymore.”
I roll my eyes, but my cheeks heat. Hopefully my blush is masked by the wind chill, which is already making my cheeks cold. “C’mon. I’ll patch you up back at my place.”
As soon as we arrive home, Carter insists on telling Nick the bad news before he’ll let me see to his injury. I ask him to meet me in my en suite, where I keep all my first aid stuff.
I’ve got everything on the bathroom counter, and I’m just finishing washing my hands when Carter walks in.
“How did Nick take the news?” I ask.
“Fine, actually. Said he appreciated me giving it a go.”
“You sound surprised.”
He shrugs. “I figured he’d be disappointed. He could just be high on painkillers, or he felt bad when he saw my injury, and that’s why he doesn’t care.”
“Would you stop? You did your best.”
His usual stupid cocky grin spreads across his face. “That’s two.” He puts up his fingers. “There you go, giving me another compliment.”
I nod toward the vanity. “Just get up on the counter so I can fix you up. You’re too tall for me to do it with you standing.”
He puffs his chest out a bit. “Three.” He puts up three fingers. “You’re on a roll now.”
“Carter…”
He holds both hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay.” He hops up on the counter, still in the Santa suit minus the beard and the hat.
The suit has seen better days after being dragged through the snow, but I don’t see any rips or tears. I’ll make sure to wash it for Nick.
I soak a cotton pad in hydrogen peroxide, moving in front of him. His legs part, and I slide in between. It’s oddly intimate, being this close to him again.
“This might sting a little.” When I gently dab at his wound, he hisses through his teeth, so I pull back. “Sorry, did I press too hard?”
He shakes his head. “Believe me, my pride is more wounded than my chin. Just caught me off guard.”
“I literally told you it was going to sting.”
“If I told you I was going to punch you in the gut, then did it, you’d still react to the pain.” His blue eyes hold my gaze.
“Fair enough,” I grumble, then get back to cleaning the wound.
He sucks in a breath, and his jaw tightens every time I press the cotton pad down, but he never draws back. He watches me tend to him, and I push away the feeling of being the center of his attention.
Remember how horrible he made you feel.
That thought should help me ignore the tug I feel toward him, but it doesn’t.
I clear my throat and toss the cotton pad in the garbage. “I’m going to put some ointment on it now that will help it heal and prevent infection, then I’ll dress it.” Hopefully, Carter doesn’t notice my voice quivering.
“All right.”
This might be the quietest I’ve ever seen Carter. After I grab the ointment, I lightly press some on the wound. It’s not terrible and should only take a week or two to heal if he takes care of it properly.
