“Could you not. This is so embarrassing.”
“Oh, it’s not bad. We don’t even have far to go.”
Once I’m situated on his back, he begins the trek down the trail at a steady pace, as to not have my foot swinging too much.
“When I thought about you having your legs wrapped around me, it wasn’t like this.”
“Oh god,” I groan.
“I did think about you saying that, though.”
“I’m in pain here,” I complain.
“Sorry.”
When we reach the car, he gently places me on the hood, then digs in the backpack for the keys. After starting it up, he opens the passenger door and comes back to lift me up.
“What’re you doing?”
“You can’t drive. It’s your right ankle.”
“Goddammit.”
He carries me—damsel in distress style—and places me into the passenger seat. After putting the bag in the back, he climbs into the driver’s side and closes the door.
“Since you don’t have a GPS, you’re gonna have to guide me back to your house.”
“My house?” I question.
“Yes, your house. I have to get you home. You can’t drop me off and then drive yourself back home.”
I groan and throw my head back. “This sucks. I don’t need this right now.”
“Do you have any ACE bandages at your house?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’ll get you home and then call a cab to pick me up. You need to get settled and put your foot up with some ice on it. Will your husband help you?”
I don’t speak for a few seconds. “My husband isn’t home.”
“Where is he?”
“At a hotel with some chick.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“Oh. This is the weekend he was taking a trip with someone?”
“Except he’s in town.”
“Wow.”
“Just take me home. I’ll be fine.”
I guide Chris all the way to my house. It takes almost forty-five minutes to get there, and I feel like I’m near death when we arrive. I have no pain pills in the car with me. What kind of nurse am I?
“How ya doing over there?” he asks as he pulls up to my house.
“I’m pretty sure I’m dying.”
“Nah, I doubt it,” he says with a deep chuckle.
“The garage door opener is on the visor.”
He presses the button and drives my car into the garage. I can’t even begin to think about how awkward this is. I’m bringing another man into my house while my husband isn’t here. Well, actually, he’s bringing me into my own house, because I can’t even fucking walk.
Chris gets out and rounds the vehicle to get to my side. Once again, he lifts me into his arms—his very strong, inked, muscled arms—and carries me inside.
“Just go straight, maneuver through the kitchen, and the living room will be right after.”
He places me on the reclining section of my couch, pulls the handle, and pushes me into a laying position.
“Do you have any pillows? Your leg needs to be elevated.”
I try to point behind me. “There’s a hall back there. The closet nearest the bathroom has some extra pillows.” He walks behind me and out of sight. “Oh, and the ACE bandages are in the bathroom under the sink. Oh! And some pain pills are in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, too.”
A few minutes later he returns with all the supplies. “Drink?”
“There’s some Gatorade in the fridge. You can grab one too if you want.”
Once he’s back with the drink, I swallow down a couple of pills and let him situate my leg onto the pillows. He then begins to inspect my leg once again before wrapping it in the bandage.
“Don’t wear this for more than thirty-six hours, but it should help with swelling. You cannot walk on this foot at all. Do you have crutches or a brace to protect your ankle?”
“No,” I say on a breath.
“Ice? You need to ice it every hour or two for the next forty-eight hours or until the swelling goes down.”
“I have ice in the freezer and some Ziploc bags,” I say with a shrug.
He saunters off to go get them. After hearing a couple cabinets close, I yell out. “On top of the fridge.”
“Thanks.”
He comes back with a bag of ice and places it around my ankle. “Only twenty minutes at a time.”
I nod my head and try to force a smile, but this really does hurt.
“When is he due back?” he asks.
“Late tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night? Who the hell is gonna help you get ice, and go to the bathroom, and get food, and whatever else you might need?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“No you won’t. You cannot walk on it, Aria. I’m serious. You risk more damage.”
“I know, I know.”
“You have any friends that can stay with you?”
“I’m pretty sure Janna is working, and if so, she won’t be home until ten o’clock or so, and Carmen works nights.”
“Well, you know what that means.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You can’t stay here with me.”
“You need help.”
“Yeah, but having you here with me is . . . weird.”
“It’s not like I’m going to take advantage of you. I’m here as your doctor and your friend.”
“You don’t feel uncomfortable here?” I ask.
“Oddly, no,” he answers with a grin.
“Well, I do.”
“That’s too bad. You’d feel even more uncomfortable if I weren’t here to help you. Now, do you need anything right now? I’m going to go grab a shower and some fresh clothes at the hotel real quick, and I’ll bring food back with me.”
“Uhh . . .” I bite down on my lip, unwilling to ask for this favor.
“What is it?”
“I kind of need to use the bathroom.”
He smiles as my face turns a million shades of red.
“Come on. Up we go.”
Chris gets the chair into a seating position, removes the pillows, but takes care of my injured foot. I take his arm and pull myself up, keeping my right foot off the ground. I hobble to the bathroom with his arm wrapped around my waist, and mine around his. He offers to carry me, but I refuse. It's not a long walk, so hopping on one foot is fine as long as I have him to hold onto.
He gets me to the toilet and looks at me.
"You are not watching me pee."
He smirks. "You got it from here? I'll wait outside the door, yell when you're done."
"Okay. Thank you."
Being helpless sucks. I wait for the door to click before pulling my pants down and trying to sit. I grip the counter as I lower myself, making sure I don’t just fall onto the seat. Once I'm done, I have to once again hold onto the counter to help get myself up. I accidentally put some pressure on my hurt foot and cry out.
"Aria?" Chris's worried voice calls through the door and I see the handle turn.
"Don't you dare open that door!"
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Just give me a minute."
As soon as I'm standing, I pull everything up as fast as possible before I topple over. With a couple hops to the sink, I wash my hands and then look into the mirror to see how much of a hot mess I look like.
Fuck, I could use a shower myself.
"You done?"
"Uh, yeah."
There's no way I'm going to ask for help in the shower. Nope, nope, and nope. The door opens slowly, and he comes in and helps get me back to the couch.
"You sure you'll be fine while I'm gone? I'll make it quick."
"I'll be fine. I might just fall asleep."
"Are you sure it's okay to take your car?"
"It's fine, Chris," I say on a breath. It's the third time he's asked.
"Okay. I'll hurry."
"Drive safely."
He smiles at me before walking out of the living room and back into the garage. After a little while, I reach for my phone that he put next to me, and text Janna, hoping that she isn’t working after all.
Me: Janna. Mayday. What are you doing?
Jan: What's wrong?? I'm at work.
Me: Ugh! I need help. I hurt my ankle and I'm helpless. I need a shower.
Jan: Oh no! What happened? Where is Aaron?
My hopes fall when she tells me she's at work. Maybe I can hop to the bathroom again and take a bath. It requires no standing, so that's my best bet.
Me: I'll call you later and explain everything.
I don't waste any time. I don't know how much time I have until Chris gets back, but I want to be clean before then. After hiking, I'm all sweaty and gross, and can't possibly stew in my disgustingness when he comes back freshly showered.
The struggle to get off the couch is real, but I manage to get to a standing position. Flamingo style.
There’s no way in hell I’m going to try to hop my ass upstairs to get clothes from my room, so my only option is to hop to the laundry room and I hope I have something decent in the dryer. After what seems like forever, and lots of holding onto furniture and walls in the process, I push open the laundry room door, and pull out a handful of clothes from the dryer.
Underwear—check. Large T-shirt—check.
After bending down as much as possible and bringing out another handful of clothes to throw on top of the dryer, I find a pair of shorts. They’re shorter than I’d like to wear around Chris, but it’s my only option right now.
Clothes in hand, I hop my way back to the bathroom. Out of breath, and hurting a bit more than I’d like, I sit on the edge of the jetted tub and start the water. It’s probably already been twenty minutes or more since he left. When it’s half-filled and full of bubbles, I begin ripping my shirt off.
The shirt and bra come off easily, it’s the bottom half I’m worried about. Working as delicately and cautious as possible, everything comes off with very little pain. I place my left foot into the tub, and begin to lower myself into the water, holding onto anything I can. I leave my right foot out of the water, propped up on the edge.
“Good grief,” I say out loud, slightly out of breath and already tired.
I never thought taking a bath would be such a chore.
With no clue as to how long it’ll take him to get back, I need to be sure I hurry. I only enjoy soaking in the water for a few minutes before I make sure I scrub my body down. I dip my head into the water and shampoo and condition it, and don’t bother shaving. Good thing I did that this morning when I took a shower.
After I rinse my hair out and begin trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to get out of here, I think I hear a noise. With a pause, I wait and listen some more. Nothing.
I’m going to have to push myself up with my arms, slide my ass onto the edge of the tub, and then swing my leg over the side. As I begin to do just that, the door swings open.
“Aria?”
“Shit!” I drop back into the water and under the cover of the bubbles. “What are you doing?”
“What am I doing? What are you doing?” Chris asks.
“What does it look like?”
“Aria.” He growls my name and it sounds fucking hot.
“I couldn’t stay in my sweaty, dirty clothes.”
“I could’ve helped you.”
“No way.”
“How are you planning on getting out of there?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
He’s dressed in gray jogging pants, a black T-shirt, and some sneakers. How can men pull this casual look off so well? Well, maybe not every man, but he certainly does. My eyes drop to the slight bulge in his pants, telling me that he has something to be proud of. Well, hello.
“I have a plan,” I answer, trying to shake any other thoughts from my head.
His eyes roam over the water, and I have to look down to make sure the bubbles are covering everything.
“Don’t worry. I can’t see anything.”
“Can you give me some privacy so I can get out?”
“I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Here. I have an idea.” He struts closer to the tub, and my eyes—wide with surprise—watch his every step. He pulls the curtain closed. “Drain the water and I’ll hand you a towel to cover yourself. Once you’re covered, I’ll open this back up and help you out. Deal?”
“Are you going to keep bugging me if I say no?”
“No. I’ll just pull the drain right now and watch the water disappear, then I’ll lift you into my arms and carry you out.”
I scoff. “Okay, close this the rest of the way,” I say, touching the curtain.
He obeys and I hear him sit on the toilet while the water drains.
“I brought back some pizza, but don’t worry, it’s from some place called Sicily’s.”
“Oh, they have good pizza, too. Thanks.”
“I can’t believe your crippled ass made it into the bathtub. You’ll be lucky if that ankle of yours isn’t swollen to all hell later.”
“Hey!” I chide. “I didn’t walk on it. I’ll be fine. I couldn’t be all gross the whole night.”
“You looked and smelled fine.”
“Pft.”
He laughs. “How’s it going in there?”
“Oh, you know. Just hanging out with these bubbles.”
“Lucky bubbles.”
“Right,” I say, rolling my eyes even though he can’t see me.
“You don’t know what I’d do right now to be those bubbles.”
“You’re crazy,” I say with a laugh. “I’m gonna try to get up now.”
“Be careful.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mmm,” he moans.
“Oh, stop.”
I bring my injured foot into the now drained tub, and plant my left one firmly on the bottom. Using both hands, I push myself up and surprisingly get up with ease.
“You can hand me a towel now.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ugh. Ma’am makes me feel old.”
“Maybe you are. You haven’t told me.”
“I know I’m younger than you,” I quip.
“Ouch.”
I hear him get up from the toilet, and soon after, his arm slips in through the side holding a hand towel.
“Uhh . . . try again.”
“Won’t work?” he asks, amusement obvious in his voice.
“I’m thinking no.”
His hand comes back through with a regular sized towel.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
After wrapping the multi-colored towel around my body, I pull open the curtain.
“Okay, just help me get over the side and I’ll be fine.”
He doesn’t answer, he just steps closer and picks me up, cradling me in his arms. “Where to?”
“The floor. I need to get dressed.”
“Do you?” he asks, his face looking down at me.
My arms automatically went around his neck when he picked me up, and we’re so close my heart can’t help but pick up speed. The feeling of his arms wrapped around me has my body tingling with warmth.
“Yes, I do,” I tell him, giving him a smirk.
“Need help?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course,” he answers honestly. “Come on, it’ll be faster if I do. Our food is getting cold.”
After some thought, I say, “Okay, but just do what I say.”
“I’ll try.”
I playfully smack the back of his head with my hand. “Put me down first.” Chris places me on my feet. Well, foot. “First, can you hand me that brush and rubber band?”
“This?” he asks, holding up my blonde-colored rubber band.
“Yep.”
I run the brush through
my hair a few times and tie it into a low ponytail.
“Better. Now, can you grab that T-shirt right there?” He does and hands it over. “Okay, now just turn around and I’ll put it on.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I can do it, but the towel has to come off, so . . .”
“You’re really taking the fun out of this for me.”
“Sorry.”
The shirt slips over my head and because it’s so large, it covers all of my girly parts, but barely.
“Uhh . . . can you reach my . . . you know . . .”
“Under things?” he asks with a chuckle.
“Just grab them and hand it over,” I say, trying not to be too embarrassed.
Chris reaches over and grabs my bright blue panties from the counter and then holds them over the back of his shoulder. “This is my favorite color.”
“Sshh.”
“How are you planning on getting those on when you can only stand on one leg?”
“I’m trying to figure that out.”
“Is your shirt long?”
“Kind of.”
“Can I turn around?”
“Sure.”
I tug at the bottom of the shirt, trying to make sure it’s covering everything.
His eyes drink me in, slowly roaming over my body, making me flush with excitement.
“Sit down on the toilet,” he says, grabbing me by the waist and picking me up to spin me around.
“No,” I say with a gasp.
“Just trust me.”
He lowers me onto the closed toilet seat and takes the panties from my hands. Kneeling down in front of me, he slips my left foot into the leg hole, and then does the same for the other foot, being even more careful. The entire time, I make sure I’m pulling my shirt down in between my legs to ensure that I don’t flash him.
Chris pulls the material up as far as he can, but the entire time he’s staring into my eyes, and I can’t look away. His eyes are full of lust, and the attraction between us is palpable. My heart thunders rapidly in my chest, my eyes admire his gorgeous face, but my mind is on his hands. Hands that are running up my legs.
“Let me help you up,” he says, his voice rough and low.
I nod, unable to respond verbally right now for fear that I might say something I’ll regret. Once he has me standing, he grabs the material of my panties and brings them into place. His fingers graze the skin of my thighs and then my hips, causing me to break out into goosebumps.
Think Again Page 9
