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“Let’s get you into bed.” He smiles wickedly and I give myself a mental slap upside the head. “You’re lucky you’re injured, buddy,” I warn with narrowed eyes and smile of my own.
Locating the robe, I help him get into it, and even manage not to gawk at that championship winning body while I’m doing it. Then we slowly and carefully make our way upstairs to his bedroom, where it takes him a good fifteen minutes to get comfortable on the bed.
“Motherfudrucker,” I mutter under my breath, while I spread the arnica cream on the giant bruise on Calvin’s lower back––which is getting larger and darker by the second. A strange and violent protectiveness has me undone. Given the opportunity, I could inflict some serious hurt at the moment. My hands move up his spine, gently kneading every bulging, tense muscle they roam over. “How does that feel?”
“Like heaven, don’t stop.”
“You’re going to have a real hard time getting up and around the next couple of days.” His exhausted exhale tells me he knows this. “Somebody needs to take out his knees.”
Calvin chuckles. His eyes still closed, he says, “Didn’t peg you as the bloodthirsty type.”
“Have you seen what your back looks like? You’re lucky you don’t have a lacerated kidney.”
“He’s just a kid trying to prove to the team he’s worth a first round pick.”
“Wow––did someone forget to put their grumpy pants on today?”
“Isn’t there some kind of rule about not kicking someone when they’re down?” His gentle rebuke makes me suck in a breath. Now I feel like dog shit.
“I didn’t mean that,” I blurt out. An involuntary reflex has me raking his hair off the side of his face so I can get a better read on him…except the gesture is excruciatingly intimate. Something a lover would do. Both of us realize it at the same time. I’m about to retract my hand when he grabs my wrist.
“Keep doing that.” He releases my wrist, but I don’t move. “Please.” I crumble like a cookie in the face of that sweet, vulnerable plea. Very slowly, my fingers sift through his hair, raking it back. A grumble surges out from deep within his chest. I scratch his scalp and he moans in appreciation. It sounds like Animal Planet has invaded the bedroom. If I didn’t already know he was the one making those sounds, I would think an injured lion was hiding under the bed.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to watch the rest of the game.”
With his pretty face pressed into the pillow, his eyes are closed and the lines of pain that were marring it a minute ago have gone smooth. And then I need to kick myself because the satisfaction I get knowing that I did that for him is ridiculous.
“It wasn’t as much fun as I thought it’d be…now that I got skin in the game. When I saw you on the ground and in pain, I swear my heart stopped.” For some reason, I feel absolutely no desire to lie or dissemble. Maybe because I’ve been through too much. Maybe because I know life is too short to waste time on subtlety and ambiguity. Either way, I’m not having it. In the past, I spent way too much time keeping shit to myself, not telling Matt how I really felt because I didn’t want to rock the boat. Well, fuck the boat. If it sinks under the weight of the truth then so be it. At least, I can live the rest of my life without regrets.
He wraps his long fingers around my forearm and brings it to his mouth. I feel the soft touch of his lips on the inside of my wrist and my heart begins to thump inside my chest as loudly as an elephant stampede.
I study the man that’s attached to the pouty lips resting on my pulse. Those impossibly thick and spiky black lashes throw shade on his sharp cheekbones, his breathing deep and even as he descends into sleep. Warm puffs or air hit my skin and radiate pleasure to every point in my body. I try to slowly pull away, but he suddenly wakes.
“No, don’t go. Stay…’kay. Hmm. Stay with me,” he half mumbles. Sounds like the painkillers have finally caught up with him. When I don’t respond, he lifts his head off the pillow and scowls at me. “Don’t go.”
I chuckle at the look on his face. “Okay, Champ. Relax, I’ll stay.”
Satisfied, his head falls back on the pillow. I crawl onto the other side of the bed, pull out my IPhone, and click on the Kindle app. Seconds later, he’s snoring. I consider leaving for only a moment. I gave him my word. This man that I respect and care about. I can’t do that to him. The thought of disappointing, or letting him down in any way is anathema. Which is why I push it away and start reading.
