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But the real showstopper happened to be hiding in the pouch of his boxer shorts. He’d been rocking some serious morning wood. And the light blue boxer shorts covered in a hockey puck print didn’t do much to mask the problem.
Now that his jerk status has been shelved, and I’m no longer irritated by my attraction to him, I’m finding it a challenge not to think about what he might look like minus the boxers and the shirt. Thanks to my overactive imagination, I’m nervous about seeing Miles this evening. I’m also concerned about his allergies. So worried, in fact, that I meet him outside on the front porch.
He’s wearing a pair of black dress pants, free of animal hair, and a light blue button-down—which happens to be the same color as his boxers this morning. I quickly try to corral my excited imagination, but his tie is hockey themed too, so the image pops back up like an untamable gopher.
He’s not wearing a suit jacket, but as my gaze lifts to his face I feel my eyebrows rise. A blue surgical mask, the kind doctors wear, is looped around his ears and hangs under his chin like a fabric beard.
“Hey.” He raises a hand as he walks up the steps to the front porch.
“Hi. How was your day?” I make a general motion to his face.
This was a lot easier when his jerkiness interfered with his attractiveness. Now when I look at him, all I see is the hot guy I took care of last night who’s going through a tough time.
“Not bad. Just a bit tired. You’d never know I almost had a brush with death yesterday.”
“It’s a bit surreal, I imagine.”
“Yeah, kinda.” He pulls his hand from his pocket and starts to rub his chin, but the mask is in the way. “I did some online research, and one suggestion was to wear a mask so I’m not breathing in the dander. If that’s the problem, anyway. But a mask is a barrier between me and whatever is causing the allergy. The internet gurus also suggested goggles, but the only kind I have access to are swimming ones, and I draw the line at wearing those outside of the ocean.” He holds up a pair of blue surgical gloves. “But I also have these.”
“It looks like you raided the nurse’s station at a hospital.” If he was wearing a pair of scrubs he’d look like a doctor.
“I haven’t been there yet today, but that would have been a lot cheaper.” He rolls up on the balls of his feet, then drops back to his heels.
“Do you want to come in, or . . . ” I let it hang, unsure how to proceed and nervous he’s going to have another allergic reaction. One brush with death in twenty-four hours is more than enough.
“I’ve been inside my mother’s house a lot over the past couple of weeks, and yesterday was the only time I had a reaction like that. I’m sort of hoping it’s a one-time thing.” The way his voice lifts at the end makes it sound like a question.
“Do you have your EpiPen with you?”
“Yup.” He pulls it out of his shirt pocket.
I nod and blow out a breath. “This feels a lot like I’m sending you into a burning building.”
“I’m sure everything will be fine.” He runs his hands over his thighs and pulls the mask up to cover his nose and his luscious, full lips. It’s almost a relief that I don’t have to look at them anymore.
I step back and allow him to open the door.
I don’t know what I expect to happen. Maybe for him to blow up and turn blue like the girl in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory when she eats the gum that tastes like a four-course meal with blueberry something or other at the end.
But he crosses the threshold and doesn’t immediately start gasping for air. He leaves his shoes on, a habit I’ve gotten into as well, thanks to Prince Francis and his twitchy paws.
When he reaches the living room he stops, toes an inch away from the carpeted floor. His eyebrows lift and his head turns my way. “Was this place clean when you got here?”
“I tidied up,” I admit.
Now his eyebrows pull together. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I was here early, and it only took a few minutes to put everything away.” Or toss it in the garbage.
He nods once, like that makes sense. “You mentioned staying overnight to monitor Prince Francis. Do you think you still need to do that?”
“It depends on how much longer he’s on his own. You said you had an appointment at a home?” I keep waiting for him to make a comment that’s going to throw him back into jerk territory, but so far so good.
