He growled.
“It’s okay. You don’t need to talk to me, just sit down.” I pushed him back down on the couch.
“I’m in the house, you can take the dog and leave.”
“I’ll get you settled first.” I eased his foot onto the coffee table in front of the couch and attacked his laces, which were icy and tangled. His ankle was definitely swelling and the shoe was biting into his bare feet. “So why did you run out of the house like your butt was on fire?”
He said nothing, just pulled the sweatshirt over his head.
“Wait. You’re all dirty.” I stood and did a little rotation, spotting his kitchen. A very unpacked kitchen, save for a stack of towels by his sink. Black and gray of course.
Color me shocked.
He sighed and pulled it back off. “You really don’t need to?—”
I gave him a bland stare and he shut up. I wet one of them and took two others to dry him off. “Can you get it?”
“Yeah,” he muttered and took the towel. He swiped it over his chest and the sand and debris from the beach scattered into his lap and on the floor.
The look of dismay on his face made me laugh. “That’s what vacuums are for.”
“When I find it.”
Because watching him wipe himself down gave me ideas, I popped back up and into the kitchen. Luckily it was a new fridge with an ice maker. I made a makeshift ice pack with a towel and some tape I found inside the box. By the time I returned to him, the sweatshirt was back on and I could actually think straight.
It wasn’t the nudity.
I didn’t mind that. Bodies were natural and clothes were a nuisance sometimes when I was working. Unfortunately, his body was a little too delicious.
He was still shivering and I noticed the big dark stains of wet on his sweatpants.
“Okay, let’s see, we should probably get these pants off you.”
“Pardon me?”
“They’re wet.”
He looked down. “I’ll take care of it. I should go take a shower.”
“Can you make it in there and stand?”
His jaw did that clench thing.
“Right, that’s what I thought. Let’s get this shoe off and we’ll get you undressed.”
“Lady, this isn’t your problem.”
“I know. But you need help, so I’ll help.”
“You don’t know me.”
“You’re my neighbor.” I shrugged. “It’s just skin. It’s no big deal. I should probably find you some boxers or tightie whities or whatever.”
He choked.
“I mean I helped you up the stairs, Dutch. I know there’s only you and a threadbare pair of sweatpants going on over there.” I pushed up my sleeves.
“You are not undressing me.”
