“Yeah?” I smile. “Make sure you tell him that. The little punk thinks he can beat me.”
Riley laughs. “Are you close in age?”
“Four years. He’s twenty-six. We've always been tight though.” I point my spoon at the bowl after swallowing the last of my bite. “This is good fucking chili, babe,” I tell her, meaning that. “I hope you made a big batch `cause I’m going to tear this up and will absolutely be going back for seconds.” I take another bite, watching Riley’s pink lips curl up before she takes a sip of her drink. “Here.” I say, scooping out more. I hold the spoon out in front of her face. “Come on. You know you want this.”
She shakes her head, laughing softly as she lowers her glass. “I already ate.”
“Humor a broken man, will you?” I inch the spoon closer. “I want you enjoying this with me, Riley. This is probably the best damn chili I ever ate. Honest to God. Come on.”
Riley looks from the spoon to my face, eyes big and bright and heat burning across her cheeks. And I know I've done it again—given her something she isn't used to getting.
I smile watching her. I hate that Riley hasn’t had this before, but I can’t deny it.
I like being the one giving her this.
Before I hit Riley with a more insistent request, she gives me a sweet look and leans forward, taking the bite I'm offering.
Two bowls (the second of which we end up sharing), two beers, and plenty of easy conversation later, I’m grabbing my crutches and standing from the couch as Riley cleans up dinner.
“I'm going to need your help with something when you get a minute,” I call out, moving toward the hallway.
“Okay!” Riley shuts the fridge door and rushes out of the kitchen with a big grin on her face. She stops in front of me, rubbing her hands together. “That’s why I’m here. What do you need?” she asks. Her voice jumps with excitement.
“I gotta take a bath.”
Her grin fades, her mouth goes slack, and her hands slowly lower and separate, dropping to her sides. “Uh . . . you, gotta take a what?”
“A bath,” I repeat, fighting a grin at her reaction. “It was hot as shit out today. I need a shower, but my doctor said I shouldn’t be attempting that. I can’t really get this wet yet.” I look down at my foot, then back into her face. “I’m going to need you to help me out. They told me sponge baths are ideal.”
Riley blinks. “They did?”
Now I’m fighting a grin hard, since I am completely lying here. Not about the showering thing—I was told that—but I’m sure I can manage washing up on my own.
“Oh yeah.” I nod my head, face serious. “If my nurse was here, she’d be giving it, so . . .”
Another lie. Pretty sure that wouldn’t be a requirement.
Riley straightens up and stands taller after hearing me. “Right. And that’s me. I’m your nurse,” she declares, owning that responsibility and looking prepared for the task. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s get you a bath then. Are you ready? I’m ready.” Her voice is quick. Anxious.
Fuck yeah. I’m ready.
A SPONGE BATH.
I’m supposed to give CJ Tully, gorgeous police officer with a body like Thor, a sponge bath.
Sweet Jesus.
Okayokayokayokay. Don’t panic, Riley. You can do this. Seeing penises is going to be part of your job after you graduate. Plenty of men come into the hospital, and those men might need to disrobe. You’ll see penises. Tons of them. All of the dicks. It’s bound to happen.
Of course, I doubt these will be penises I’ve had hours of fun with. But still. This is part of the job. CJ needs me. He needs my help. He wouldn’t need any help if it wasn’t for me, so, yeah, I can do this.
I can totally do this.
Be professional. And try not to stare.
Exhaling a deep breath, I walk past the hallway bathroom, knowing that one doesn’t have a tub, and head for the master bath instead.
It’s an impressive bathroom, with a large glass door shower that has one of those built in seats for . . . resting, I guess. A double vanity sink with all chrome fixtures, and a private room for the toilet.
And then there’s the tub.
Tiled and big enough for two people, maybe more, unless one of those people is CJ.
He doesn’t seem like the type of guy to takes baths though. He’s big muscles and rough touches and doesn’t shave for days. He’s a shower after a hard day’s work kind of guy. I bet this will be his first time using it.
“Do you take a lot of baths?” I ask when curiosity gets to me, turning to look back at him.
He stops just inside the bathroom and gives me a lopsided smile. “Wouldn’t say a lot,” he answers. “I’ve used it before. Two, three times, maybe.”
“Really?” I laugh a little. “Did you light candles and set the mood for your alone time?”
I picture that in my mind—CJ with the lights dimmed and Enya playing from a nearby speaker.
He has to be the biggest guy I know. Manly to the extreme. He takes baths?
“I didn’t say I was alone,” he shares, his smile fading out.
I blink. A strange tightening forms in my stomach. “Oh . . . right. Of course,” I mutter, gripping the strings of his hoodie and tugging them as my eyes fall to the tile floor.
God. Why did I even ask that question? Now I’m picturing CJ having an orgy in his bathtub, with the lights dimmed and candles lit and Enya playing in the background.
I was better off not knowing.
“Um, let me just,” I spin around and move to the tub, “Get everything ready. Give me a minute.” I push my sleeves up, turn the water on and test the temperature. “Do you like it hot? Warm?”
“On the hot side.”
I twist the knob, getting the temperature warmer, and pull up the stopper to plug the tub. Then, hearing a knocking sound, I stay leaning over with my one hand flat on the tiled edge and peer over my shoulder.
I watch CJ prop his second crutch against the wall, brace his back against the sink and tug his shirt over his head. The faded grey cotton falls to the floor. My gaze lifts to his bare chest and moves lower, over the outline of his abs and the sharp, slanted indent of muscle narrowing underneath his waistband.
I’ve had my hands there. My lips there—tongue and breath when I kissed down his body to pull him into my—