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“Nothing.” I glance back at the TV, pretending I’ve been watching it since he plopped down next to me.
“You know how you chew the corner of your lip when you’re dying to say something people might find offensive and you’re wondering if the backlash will be worth it?”
“No.” Note to self, don’t chew on my lip when I’m debating whether to open my mouth. “I don’t ever wonder if the backlash is worth it. I don’t care.”
“Depends on how offensive you’re about to get. And toward who. So, out with it.”
“Out with what?” I ask innocently, which Noah answers with a heavy sigh. “Fine. I was just thinking that for a hockey god who’s got possibly the best body I’ve ever had the pleasure of climbing, you’re looking awfully winded after walking ten yards.”
“Crutches are exhausting.”
“You’re only using one. You’re practically walking.”
“I’m mostly trying not to fall.”
“Still, shouldn’t you have more…stamina?”
I totally didn’t mean for that word choice to be so charged, but I can’t say I don’t love the wave of lust that glazes his eyes.
“Noah Tremblay, get your head out of the gutter.”
“You dragged me down there.” His bashful smile damn near makes me crack one of my own. This man is too gorgeous for his own good.
“That’s getting easier and easier to do. But as much as I like how your mind immediately conjured an image of me bouncing on your cock, I’m genuinely worried. You look worn out.”
Noah’s smile fades to a strained grin. “The swelling is just… It makes my foot feel tight, like it doesn’t fit in my skin. And that pain makes walking a lot harder than it looks.”
Cocking my head to the side, I study the ankle he has propped on the coffee table. “I guess it does still look pretty puffy. Can they juice it?”
“Juice it?” He wrinkles his nose in disgust.
“Don’t give me that look. I didn’t come up with the term. Willy Wonka did.”
“Willy Wonka?”
“You know, the candy guy in that movie? When that girl turns into a giant blueberry they take her to the juicing room, I think. We should take you to get juiced.”
He laughs, looking at me like I’m both absurd and amusing. “The only way to get swelling down is time. Although, I suppose a massage wouldn’t hurt.”
“A massage?” Now it’s my turn to wrinkle my nose. “You want a foot massage?”
“I mean, if you’re offering—”
“I’m not. Nope. Not offering that.”
“You don’t like giving massages?”
“I don’t like touching feet.” I shudder at the thought.
“Let me get this straight, you'd happily stick a finger up my ass but not touch my feet?” The gleam in his eye says he’s baiting me, but I’m too grossed out to take it. There’s one body part I don’t love on anybody, and I don’t plan to start now.
“You haven’t let me put my finger in your ass yet, but yes. I’d take that over touching your feet.”
“What about my swelling?” He adopts this wounded puppy look that’s so fucking cute words spill out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Will that extra fluid go to your dick and make it supersized?”
“No.” His lips split into a wide grin as he laughs at my pout.
