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I go as fast and as gingerly as I can, making note of the areas I’ll need to bandage once he’s dry. “Almost done.”
“Never want you to be done. I want to keep you forever.”
“They knocked your head pretty good, didn’t they?” I refuse to give in to the things he’s saying, no matter how badly I want to eat up every last word. Not now. Not yet.
I squirt shampoo into my hands and massage his scalp with my fingertips. His eyes close and he lets out a low groan. Tipping his head back, I rinse the suds from his hair.
One of his hands snakes around my waist while the other is splayed on the tile to hold himself up. He crushes me against his body, gaze heated and locked on mine. Steam and water and desire fill the space around us.
“TJ—”
“I don’t deserve you.”
A heavy sigh pushes from my mouth. “Come on. Let’s get you dried off.”
With a towel around his waist, I bandage the gash on his head and treat the scrapes on his ribs. His lip stopped bleeding, so I dab ointment on it and call it good. I help him step into his boxers next. When I’m all finished, he’s sitting up in bed holding an ice pack on his eye with another strapped around his torso.
“I really wish you’d let me take you to the hospital for an x-ray. Your ribs might be broken. You could have internal bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” he says.
“You’re not fine. Nothing about this is fine.”
“Stop pacing. You’re making me dizzy.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Oh, it’s my pacing that’s making you dizzy? You sure it’s not the concussion?”
A smirk forms on his lips, and it only infuriates me more. “So angry.” He pats the mattress beside him. “Lay with me.”
I keep my scowl in place, grateful that he can’t see my heart stretching toward him. “I need to clean up the bathroom and get out of these wet clothes.”
He pats the bed again. “Leave it. I need you.”
Looking at him lying there, so battered and broken, my resolve melts away. “Fine. Google said it’s safe to sleep after a concussion as long as you’re able to talk and your pupils aren’t dilated.”
“Told you I’m fine.”
“Yeah, well, it also said you could be dead by morning if you’re bleeding internally. So, hopefully I’ll see you when the sun comes up.” I yank one of his T-shirts over my head and slip into bed beside him.
He chuckles and then winces as I turn out the light.
The next morning, I’m woken by the scent of bacon wafting through TJ’s bedroom door. I sit up in his empty bed, digging the heel of my palm into my eye.
I don’t know what time it was when I finally let myself fall asleep last night. I’d stayed up, fighting my drooping eyelids, listening to TJ’s breaths while he slept.
I slink down the hallway and into the kitchen. Good Lord. TJ’s standing in front of the stove in nothing but his white boxer briefs. His hair is a disheveled mess. Blood is seeping through the gauze on his ribs. I rub my chest, the dull ache where my heart pounds at the mere sight of him.
As if he can feel the weight of my gaze, he turns around and slays me with a smile. His poor face is a torn-up mess, but his dimples break through. “Morning, gorgeous.”
I thrust a hand through the tangled mop on my head. His eyes flick to the hem of his shirt that’s riding up over my panties, and I fight to ignore the rush of blood that creeps into my cheeks.
“You should be in bed,” I say taking a seat at the table.
“Says the woman who stayed up to watch me sleep all night.” He deposits a plate in front of me. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. He even chopped up strawberries.
My eyebrows lift. “This smells an awful lot like an apology.”
“I was going more for the smell of gratitude.”
