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Derek clears his throat, wetting his lips with his tongue, still not taking his eyes from mine. “Feel better?” he asks.
I nod, unable to form words and quite sure my face and chest are turning red. Heat is spreading through my cheeks. Derek finishes bandaging my leg, which isn’t more than a couple of large band-aids overlapping. But still.He bandaged me up.
“Do you want help with your hair?” he asks. As soon as he says it, I realize my head is still full of conditioner.Christ, I must look ridiculous. I did not look like this in my fantasy.
“Oh crap,” I say.
“I can rinse it out for you, so your bandages don’t get wet,” he offers.
Given I can’t exactly keep my towel firmly in place, keep my leg dry, and rinse my hair all at the same time, his offer makes sense.
“Oh, um,” I hesitate. “Okay.” I swear to Skittles, I know words. I’m good at words. But Derek has always left me a little shaky and unable to articulate much more than simple responses.
I push the curtain open, pulling the spray nozzle from the holder. I guess it’s lucky I have one of those detachable ones with the hose.
Derek leans in, turning the water back on as he takes the nozzle from me. “Okay,” he gestures, “sit down and lean back.”
With a little maneuvering, I manage myself into a position where I’m not terribly uncomfortable. My head is over the bathtub, and the towel is still covering my goods.
He leans down over me, rinsing the front first, nearest to my face. He shields my eyes with his hand, making every effort to prevent the conditioner from running. Then his fingers thread through my hair, combing near my temples and further back. I suppress a sexual mouth noise. Would it have been a moan? A stifled whimper? A sexy hum? The world may never know. I got that shit on lock. But Doctor Derek’s fingers are in my hair, his short nails scratching gently at my scalp. And it’s enough to make me come or die, I don’t know which. I don’t even care which. Just let me go.
His hands continue down the length of my hair as he rinses. I roll my lips together into a line, trying hard not to make this any weirder than it already is.
Derek’s hand slows, the circular motions morphing from efficient to damn near sensual. Or at least that’s how they feel to my dopamine-soaked brain.
I chance a look, peeking one eye open, and his hands are still in my hair as he makes eye contact.
He clears his throat again, dropping the spray nozzle and leaning down to turn off the water. His face comes so close to mine, I feel his breath hit my cheek as goosebumps trail down my spine.
“All done,” he says, standing upright and backing away. He wipes his hands against his jeans, leaving spots of water.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice low and shaky.
He steps out, letting me walk past him and to my room.
Once inside, I fling myself down at the foot of my bed rather hard, burying my face into my comforter.
I’m so mad at Hawk right now. Of course he had to go and suggest that Derek stay with me. Of course he had to do that. I mean, why not? The slow and painful torture of being in close quarters with a person I’ve secretly loved most of my life is exactly how I always imagined dying.
I reach for my phone, scrolling without a thought.
Me:Hey
Joe:Hey, what’s up?
Me:Drink later?
Joe:Sure!
His use of an exclamation point is a little off-putting, but I need somewhere to release this sexual tension before I make a grave mistake.
I text Joe the address of a local bar and stand. Then I start flipping through the clothes in my closet with two goals in mind.
1. Feel sexy.
2. Get Joe to ask me to come back to his place.
It should be simple. Let’s face it, it doesn’t take much to get a guy’s engine revved. I’m sure I could put no effort at all into my appearance and he’d still be into it. And I’m not saying that to be conceited. Men are just easy creatures. Well, some men. Obviously one still eludes me.
