I follow behind but cut a right and make for the couch.
“Hey, I can take you to all of these,” she comments. “I don’t have class Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. This is great.”
“Huh,” I mumble, keeping a straight face when Riley peers back at me with suspicion in her eyes. “What? That’s what they had open. I had to take what they gave me.”
She squints, trying to see through my bullshit. Her cheeks lift before she turns back around. “Dinner’s ready. And don’t worry. I didn’t skimp out on the meat,” she informs me. “There's basically an entire cow in there.”
I'm chuckling, halfway to sitting down, but hearing she has dinner ready, I stand tall again.
“No, sit,” Riley orders from the kitchen. “Relax. I’ll bring you a bowl.”
I give her a smile. “Appreciate it, darlin’.” Then I lay my crutches on the floor beside the couch and fall back onto a cushion, propping my foot up on the trunk to keep it elevated. I drop my head back and look up at the ceiling. “Can you grab me a beer too? I’m fucking beat.”
I should sleep good tonight, as long as Riley doesn’t come crying to me again. And she shouldn’t. I think I cleared her conscience.
“Do you want your pain meds?”
“Nah. I’m going to hold off,” I reply. I scrub my hands down my face, ignoring the pain in my calf and ankle and the urge to rip this fucking boot off, then hearing Riley approaching, I lower my hands and drop my head to look over at her.
“Here you go,” she says sweetly, stepping between the trunk and the couch and passing me my bowl. “I’ll get your beer.”
“And a bowl for you. You’re eating with me,” I tell her.
“I already ate.”
“Oh.” I crane my neck to watch her walk back to the kitchen.
Damn. I was wanting her to enjoy this with me.
“Yeah, sorry. I kinda ate while it was simmering. I was starving,” she explains. “The only thing I had for lunch was a soft pretzel at Costco.”
“You get your shopping done?”
“Yep. Got ten boxes of Raisin Bran. I think you’re set through the weekend,” she jokes, rounding the couch again with a beer for me and a glass of something for her.
“Cute,” I tell her, taking the bottle she holds out.
She laughs quietly and takes a seat on the far cushion, left leg bent up off the floor and body angled toward me. “Hey, who’s that guy in that picture with you on the fridge? The one in the uniform.”
“My brother, Jake.”
“Is he in the Army?”
“Marines,” I answer, taking a sip of my beer and then setting it beside the couch. I scoop a heaping bite of chili into my mouth and chew it up, adding, “He’s stationed in South Carolina. You might meet him. He’s coming up in a few weeks.”
“You two look alike,” she shares, gathering her hair over one shoulder and then dropping the side of her head on the cushion. “Except,” she looks at my arm, my chest, then lifts her gaze to my face, shyly adding, “I think you might be a little bit bigger.”
“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.