12. Bea
12
Bea
“What?” I ask.
“I’m helping you.”
“Excuse me?”
He points down at my offending ankle. “You aren’t supposed to put weight on it. How do you plan to shower?”
“Carefully.”
He makes a face at me.
“I’ll be naked!”
“Come on. I’ve seen you naked before.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure your breasts still look amazing in your old age.”
“Charlie!”
“Bea!” The corner of his lip quirks up.
I glare at him.
“Safety first,” he admonishes.
“You’re annoying.”
“I don’t care.”
I glare at him some more.
“Would you rather me call your sister or your mom?” This question isn’t teasing but genuine.
Now he’s all mature, and I have to grow up too.
“No, it’s fine. Just...don’t look.”
“Okay, how about I stand right here“—he moves to right next to the tub—“and I’ll even close my eyes.” He demonstrates, covering his eyes with his hands.
“Fiiiiiiine.”
Charlie drops his arm and I unzip my jacket, the thin one I normally wear when I go for a run. Then I peel off the tank top and sports bra.
Charlie whistles, but when I glance up his hand is still covering his eyes, right above his big, stupid grin.
I whack him with my sports bra before throwing it on the pile.
Okay, pants now.
I sit on the toilet to peel off the rest. I unwrap the basic bandage that the medic put on my ankle and toss it in the trash. Then I hobble over to Charlie fully nude and rest my hand on his shoulder. “Okay, now what?”
“Hm. Maybe sit on the edge of the tub and I’ll get the water started.”
I sit down, stretching out my leg while Charlie fumbles with the faucet. I move my foot this way and that, inspecting it. There’s a bit of a twinge but I don’t think there’s any swelling beneath the compression lines from the bandage.
Steam billows out from behind the shower curtain. “Ready?” I ask.
“Ready,” Charlie confirms. His eyes are still closed, though now his hand isn’t covering them anymore. He holds out his hand instead. “Here, give me your hand and stand up.”
I do, and with his help I stand and maneuver around. Charlie ends up holding on to my shoulders while I face away from the showerhead and wash my hair. Then he holds one hand again while I use my loofah to suds up.
Throughout this, I keep glancing at Charlie’s face. Sometimes his lips twitch, possibly trying not to laugh or smile. But mostly he’s just quiet and relaxed.
He’s wearing one of those waffle-style long-sleeve shirts, and he’s rolled it up past his elbows, though his sleeves are pretty soaked.
Finally, I turn the water off. “All clean,” I tell him. He helps me sit and spin my legs out before retrieving the towel and holding it out for me.
I could take the towel from him and dry off. I should dry myself off. I could sit here on the tub and wrap myself up, and he could open his eyes...
Instead, I hobble into the center of the towel and Charlie wraps it around me. I grip the top and curl it around myself.
“Can I open my eyes now?” It starts with a teasing tone, but in the silence afterward, it fades to something else.
He’s so close right now, and I study his face in a way I haven’t in a long time.
Charlie’s skin is darker than mine, a natural golden tan he gets from Susan. His eyebrows and hair are dark and thick, like hers too. A small mole on the right side of his face just under his eye is one I kissed a lot. Those features haven’t changed.
But there are new things, or maybe things I’ve forgotten about. A small scar on his upper lip, slightly darker bags under his eyes that make me think of how little sleep he got sometimes when he was away at college. I don’t know when the last time he shaved was, but he’s past a five-o’clock shadow now, the stubble on his jaw and upper lip thick.
I haven’t answered his question, and he hasn’t opened his eyes either. Instead, he runs his hands up and down my arms and my back, drying me off under the big, fluffy towel.
He gently tugs the towel out of my grip and it falls, catching on his hands. They move down my hips, rubbing slow circles down the front of my legs, and Charlie crouches. I hear his breath catch as his hands shift to behind me, drying off the back of my legs.
He’s on his knees in front of my naked body, his eyes tightly closed, taking care of me.
There’s a heavy moment, and Charlie clears his throat before standing. He wraps me tightly in the towel, firmly tucking the end in at my back.
“Can I open my eyes now?” He says it so softly I feel it deep inside my chest.
Where he’s already broken me once before.
I look away, catch sight of a second towel for my hair, and hop toward it. “Yup,” I chirp, trying to sound every ounce of casualness that I don’t feel.
The mood shifts and at my request, Charlie leaves me to get dressed myself, wiggling my sleep shorts up over my hips while I balance on the toilet again. Back out in the living room, I tell him my ankle is throbbing a bit, so I lie down and close my eyes while he carefully wraps it and lays the ice pack on it.
It does throb now that I’m paying attention to it, so it’s not entirely an excuse.
I keep my eyes closed while Charlie pulls a blanket up to my chin, and when I crack them open a few minutes later, he’s in one of the armchairs on his laptop, presumably working.
I don’t have to fake a nap for long before the door opens and our boisterous family comes rolling in. The moms cluck over me and Naomi rewraps the bandage. We graze on leftovers and cheese platters for dinner, spread out between the living room, dining room, and kitchen.
I’ve got a text from Marco, a picture of him and Brin with a ridiculously large pile of wrapped presents in our living room.
Bea
What are you two up to?
Marco
Getting paper cuts, apparently.
He sends me another pic of his thumb, with a bright red slash across it. We chat for a bit, him telling me that the snow has basically turned to slush in the city, and I send him a picture of our idyllic, fresh-snow-covered backyard.
My family had a great time at the mountain, and they make plans to go out again the next morning. Naomi helps me up the stairs, and back down the stairs in the morning, where I settle on the couch again.
“Are you sure you don’t want one of us to stay behind?” Mom perches on the arm and strokes my hair while she asks. “You know I’d stay behind if you wanted some company.”
I love my mom but spending a whole day alone with her probably means doing something energetic, and since I can’t put weight on my foot, that probably means we’ll watch a movie that Mom talks through while she crochets in the armchair or something. Or she’d spend the morning baking cookies and shouting at me from the kitchen while I try to read.
“I’ll be fine,” I promise. “I have an audiobook I have to finish before it goes back to the library.”
“Anything good?”
My mom is mostly a nonfiction reader, so we don’t have a lot of overlap in our reading choices. “It’s about a hockey player,” I hedge. It is about a hockey player, but it’s a smutty romance.
She hums, uninterested in sports. To be fair, I’m uninterested in sports too, but not when it comes to fictional hockey players.
“Besides, you promised Susan you would go snow tubing with her.”
Mom grins. “I did. That way Gary and Erik can go hit the black diamonds.” Her smile changes, an eyebrow raising. “You know, Charlie would stay behind if you asked him to.”
My cheeks heat, thinking of the way Charlie took care of me yesterday. “He’s enjoying skiing,” I say firmly. “And his day was cut short to take care of me. I promise, Mom, I’ll be fine.”
She fusses a bit more and then makes a sandwich for me for lunch before she goes, which I’ll probably ignore in favor of cookies and the Sour Punch Straws.
Finally I have the house to myself. I lie on the couch and eat cookies, listening to my audiobook until I realize I’ve completely lost the plot and must have fallen asleep. I go back a few chapters and take out my headphones. They’ve been in my ears long enough that they are getting uncomfortable, and if I’m going to fall into a sugar coma, I’d rather do so unencumbered by headphones.
My audiobook starts getting really spicy.
“He shoves his hands up my skirt and my back hits the cold metal of the locker. ‘There’s no one here, so I get to make you be as loud as I want.’ His fingers move from my silken entrance up to my clit, where he circles with his callused fingertip.”
I’m so wrapped up in listening that I must not hear the door open, and the first cue that I’m not alone is a flash of movement above me.
I jolt upright and twist around.
Charlie’s standing at the entrance to the room, his mouth open and clutching imaginary pearls, trying to pass for shocked and scandalized while holding back his laughter.
My audiobook drones on. “‘Ryan, what are you doing?’ The words come out breathy. ‘I’m getting you ready to take my cock like a good puck bunny,’ he responds.”
I scramble for my phone and in my fluster, I drop it, sending it skidding under the couch.
“Nooooo.” I flip myself upside down, peering into the dark, where the audiobook continues to play over the sound of Charlie’s mirth.
“‘Oh Ryan,’ I moan. ‘I can’t...I need you inside me. Make me come.’”
I flip up my head to glare at Charlie. “Shut up and help me,” I demand.
“Like she needs his help to get off?” Charlie chuckles, but he crouches down at the end of the couch and reaches underneath. He pulls out my phone and a fistful of dust bunnies.
“Bleh.” I make a face.
“Hey, you’re the one who’s listening to it.”
“Not that!” I roll my eyes. “Your hand is all gross.” I finally pause the book and the sex scene cuts off.
Charlie wiggles his fingers and stands, walking into the kitchen to wash his hands. He’s still in his under layers, his hair mussed and sweaty from his helmet.
“What are you doing here anyway?” I shout over the sound of the sink, praying we can just ignore the broadcasted smut.
“I wanted some of Jasper’s fried chicken for lunch.”
Uh-huh. Sure. “It’s—” I check the time while Charlie dries his hands. “Two thirty.”
“Yeah, and I’m starving.” He digs through the fridge, pulling out wrapped plates and baking dishes. I hobble over to the counter. After last night’s grazing, we’re almost out of leftovers and the fridge is looking pretty bare again, so we might need to run to the store soon. But for now, there’s still a few pieces of chicken and a few bags of microwave-ready veggies.
Charlie stretches on his toes, exaggeratedly looking at the coffee table and my plate of cookie crumbs and half-full bag of Sour Punch Straws. “Why don’t I heat up enough for you too?”
Even though it’s cold, I can smell the breading on the chicken and there’s still one leg quarter left, calling my name. Eat me, Bea. Even fresh out of the fridge, I’m delicious . “I suppose.”
Charlie grins and turns on the oven. Oh yay, hot fried chicken. “I’m going to go shower. I’ll throw the chicken in when I get back down.”
“Yeah. You stink.”
He winks and climbs the stairs two at a time.
I hop back to the couch and flop onto it. I just know that five, ten, fifteen years from now, I’ll have a sleepless night and remember that time Charlie overheard my smutty romance novel.
My thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. I sit up. Who could that be?
Maybe one of my sisters forgot the code to the door. I get to my feet—well, foot—and hop my way out of the living room and into the front hallway. I didn’t think it was unnecessarily long, but now that I’m hobbling down it, it seems to stretch forever.
Just as I get to the foot of the stairs, I hear a beep and the lock slides open. I reach for the handle but miss as the front door swings toward me and I lose my balance, falling directly into the arms of a flannel-wearing, handsome stranger.