Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
This was not a date. Not in the slightest. Nima was enjoying a quiet evening with an old friend in need of support. And maybe if he kept telling himself that, he might actually start believing it.
He trailed after Mari as she hobbled into the living room on her crutches.
Her moves weren’t graceful, but she successfully settled herself onto the couch without incident.
It didn’t surprise him. She learned fast and possessed a natural drive to conquer and succeed.
He inwardly grimaced. It was a wonder she’d waited so long to divorce him.
“Ugh,” Mari sighed as she scooted back and adjusted herself. “That wasn’t pretty, but I’m here.” She glanced at Nima. “You’ve got fresh ice packs for me?”
“I do.” He set the packs and an elastic bandage on her small coffee table before perching on the other end of the couch. “Let’s take your air cast off, wrap ice on your ankle, and stack pillows to prop up your foot.”
“Why would I need pillows?” Mari asked.
Nima paused. Had she already forgotten the nurse’s instructions? Perhaps he’d let her sleep too long today. “To elevate your ankle and reduce swelling.”
Mari cocked her head. “But aren’t you going to sit on the couch too? I’ll prop my foot in your lap.”
A warm sensation spread across Nima’s skin, lifting his fur. He had to use all his willpower not to smile like the giddy yeti he suddenly was. He feigned a casual tone as he said, “Sure, that works.” He’d willingly serve as her pillow anytime, anywhere.
“Otherwise,” she quickly added, as if in afterthought, “you’d have to sit in a stiff, wooden dining chair.
” She gave him a discerning look as he positioned the ice pack and began wrapping the bandage around her foot and ankle.
“You’ve been rubbing your lower back this evening.
I’m sure it hurts from sleeping in one of those chairs last night. ”
The chair had been horribly uncomfortable. But sleeping near Mari in her hour of need had comforted him. It all balanced out, even with the crick in his neck and the ache in his back. “Since you’re on the mend, I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”
Mari eyed the couch as if she had misgivings about its comfort too, but only nodded. He was certain she wanted him out of her bedroom and to regain her privacy. She’d mentioned feeling exposed after he’d plucked her sex toy off the floor. Twice.
He had to stop thinking about that toy. Imagining her using a dildo that was a near replica of his cock would make his own dick drop in a matter of seconds. His sheath already throbbed in arousal just being around her again.
Nima covered Mari with a blanket, placed the remote within reach, then returned to the kitchen to clean up the dinner dishes and pop popcorn.
As he put leftovers away, he called, “Should we make a grocery list for Tseten? We have eggs and bacon for breakfast, plus other odds and ends. Did you have anything planned for Christmas Eve or Christmas Day?”
“Don’t judge,” Mari began, “but it’s become my tradition to order an extra-large pizza with all the toppings from the Wildwood Brewery before they close on Christmas Eve.”
Had he heard her right? His mouth watered.
Nima hadn’t had Wildwood Brewery pizza in over ten years.
Despite being full, his stomach rumbled as he imagined eating a slice.
He stepped into the living room as he dried a bowl.
“That sounds fucking delicious. Who cares about other people’s holiday traditions? Make your own.”
Mari playfully offered him an air fist bump.
“I’m usually alone on Christmas Eve, so I do pizza.
And then I go to my parent’s house Christmas morning, drink an extra creamy cup of coffee topped with a tower of whipped cream, and eat a bunch of chocolate and mandarin oranges out of my stocking before breakfast. Nothing like giving myself heartburn before sunrise—Merry Christmas to me. ”
Nima grinned at that. Who didn’t gorge on treats around the holidays? “My mom still puts mandarin oranges in my stocking when I’m with her for Christmas. Remember when they used to come wrapped in tissue paper?”
“Yes, the ones imported straight from Japan. Was that just an Alaska thing? I never see those oranges in the stores anymore.” She paused, then asked, “Do you do anything special for Christmas? Any new traditions?”
He pulled out a pot and lid for popcorn, adding oil and kernels. “No, not really.” His post-Mari wanderings hadn’t been conducive to anything like that. “So, it’s extra important we keep your tradition. Plus, pizza sounds delicious. Do they still make the white pie with bacon and arugula?”
Mari chuckled. “Yes, you were the only teen I knew that liked arugula on his pizza. Let’s order a stack of pies tomorrow, and then we’ll have leftovers for Christmas.
You might not be familiar with the brewery’s private back room.
Tseten loves it. The kitchen delivers food through a small elevator.
It’s one-hundred percent yeti-friendly. You can come and go from the building without being seen. What do you say?”
Nima shook the popcorn pot, kernels beginning to pop, as he called over his shoulder, “Sounds good to me.”
After the popping stopped, Mari asked, “Did you just make stovetop popcorn?”
Nima leaned into the living room, the pot still in his hands. “Would you rather have microwave popcorn?”
She slowly shook her head. “No, no I would not. And if you ever need caregiver references, I’ll give you glowing reviews.”
Smiling, Nima ducked his head and stepped back into the kitchen to transfer the popcorn into a bowl. He wouldn’t be half this attentive to anyone else.
She added, “Would you please sprinkle kelp seasoning on the popcorn? It’s in my spice cabinet, front lower shelf. It’s become a favorite.”
Only in Alaska. Nima found the jar. “Kelp with nutritional yeast?” When Mari confirmed that’s what she wanted, he dusted the popcorn with salt and seasoning and then turned the kitchen light off before joining Mari in the living room.
If they’d never broken up, would they have been doing this every weekend?
“Stovetop popcorn is hardly a resume builder,” Nima countered, handing her the bowl before he settled himself under Mari’s feet and the blanket.
“It’s the entire package,” she said with a wave of her hand. “You prepared a healthy homemade dinner, carried your patient to the bathroom, slept by her bedside, cut and stacked firewood. And you’ll maintain traditions, like eating pizza on a night when most people are enjoying elaborate meals.”
“There’s a time and place for everything.
” He shrugged, trying not to notice how warm he was—must be the blanket he now shared with Mari—or how she braced her good foot against his thigh, just like she had when they’d been dating.
He pushed those memories from his mind as he moved his arm to the back of the couch.
Seemed safer in case his hands took a little .
. . wander, like they would have in the old days.
“Well, I really appreciate your help.” She took up the remote control. “Ready for the gingerbread soldier?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said, fingers flexing as she readjusted her injured leg, pressing it directly against his sensitive sheath.
Since he’d wrapped her ankle in an ice pack and bandage, she couldn’t realize where she touched him.
Nima let out a slow breath, trying to ignore the teasing pressure from Mari’s foot—at least it was cold—and how her intoxicating scent swirled around him.
He reminded himself that she had called him her caregiver. This is not a date.
Tell that to his cock.
Mari couldn’t remember the last time she’d curled up on the couch with a date to watch a movie.
Wait. This is not a date.
Nima was her friend and caretaker. But then why was she more focused on the sexy yeti supporting her injured ankle than on the TV screen?
The gingerbread soldier, an actual prince—no surprise there—had whisked the heroine off to a small, make-believe European country when Mari adjusted her position.
She paused, then slowly wiggled her toes.
Something long and hard pressed against the underside of her foot .
. . near Nima’s sheath. Had his dick dropped?
She shifted again, picking a half-popped kernel from the bowl while surreptitiously watching him.
Her focus was on Nima rather than the movie’s royal Christmas ball preparations.
He’d relaxed one arm on the back of the couch, far enough away that his fingers didn’t touch her.
His other elbow rested on the arm of the couch.
Both hands were safely above the blanket they shared.
Was poor Nima feigning interest in a low-budget holiday movie to please her, all while sporting a raging hard-on?
Was it wrong that she wanted to test her theory?
What if she moved her foot to do a little probing?
She dipped a finger into the bowl, rubbing it in lingering salt before licking it off as she watched him from the corner of her eye.
Yes, of course it was wrong. He’d done so much for her, and she’d be tormenting him only to confirm that he was aroused. She was the one who’d gotten off last night through her damn pants. Plus, it could hurt her ankle to use her foot as an investigative tool.
A moment later, Nima’s nostrils flared, and he glanced in her direction.
Mari’s breath hitched as realization dawned.
She’d become wet thinking about his dick dropping, and he knew it.
Well, fuck. After ten years apart, she’d almost forgotten about the powerful, animalistic sense of smell yeti possessed.
The thought of Nima scenting her now made her even wetter. Great . . . Really, body? Really?