Chapter 15
AUTUMN
My head pops up, and my feet come to a standstill at the sound of my name.
“Coming,” I reply, surprised his ego would allow him to ask for help. Cutting through the bedroom, I stop on the other side of the bathroom door in seconds flat. I fold my hand and knock.
Boredom seemed to flip a switch in his mind earlier when keeping him still was already a challenge.
But I didn’t think he was ready for a shower on his own.
One more strain of his already wounded muscles could set him back, and I can already tell we’re running out of time to get him healed before he returns to work.
It’s safe, Autumn. Let him push himself.
“Come in.” There’s a hint of defeat in his tone, and I take a breath, ready to help him. He did the right thing by calling me when he did.
I tip my head in but keep my eyes closed. “Can I look?”
“You’ve seen it all before, remember?” The sarcasm drips through his voice. He’s not the first of my patients who didn’t enjoy this side of recovery.
Entering the room, I catch one glimpse of him through the glass panel of the door—a body that appears even taller with long muscular legs, water running over his shoulders like in a magazine ad, and his penis more than obvious in size and profound profile.
It was more than a glimpse. I stare. Wonder comes from many things in nature, and he’s no exception.
“Hi.” His hand slides down, breaking my view and snapping me back to reality.
“Oh my God!” I jump so fast I don’t clear the hard door, sending the side of my head into it as I escape the bathroom.
“Ow!” Groaning, I press on the spot where I got hit.
Dammit! That’s what I get for staring into the sun.
I get burned and busted. “Brandon!” I gripe in retaliation through my own mortification for gaping at him.
“What?” The innocence in his voice is ruined by the chuckle that follows. He almost had me convinced . . . Was he toying with me?
My chest is flaming hot when I cross my arms over it. “Did you do that on purpose?”
“Do what? Make you stare at me?”
My head jerks back so fast I think I pull a muscle. The insinuation alone leaves me gasping and glaring at the door in horror. “I would never. I’m a—”
“A professional,” he hums like he’s heard it a million times before. Okay, fine, he has. I need to nix that phrase from my vocabulary. He has clearly gotten the message. “I’m giving you a hard time, Autumn. Now about this shower . . .”
Pressing my hand to the door, I push it open a little more, but don’t dare peek in. “You should be in a swimsuit or at least underwear.”
“How was I supposed to know that?” His deep voice echoes off the tiles of the shower stall, making it so I can hear him just fine in the bedroom.
“Oh man.” He’s all man, alright. “I’m sorry. You wouldn’t have because you didn’t want my help, but I’m here now.” I take the opportunity to pull my hair into a ponytail.
With us still standing in opposite rooms, he says, “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad.”
“It’s okay. I do it to myself. Hey, where can I find your swim trunks?”
“Bottom drawer, left-hand side in the closet.”
Quick to cross the room before the hot water runs out, I stop abruptly as soon as I walk into the closet.
I had a small closet no bigger than a Barbie Dreamhouse for most of my life.
I only moved into Summer’s old room in the past two years, which is a bit larger.
And I thought I’d hit the jackpot with the bigger closet.
But this? I swoon. This huge walk-in is pure goals.
One day, when I have my own place, I’m going to have a fancy closet just like this.
Kneeling, I open the bottom left drawer and pause to stare.
He has an immense number of swim shorts, and they’re so neatly tucked in the drawer that I almost feel bad for disturbing the order.
I grab a black pair of trunks from the top and hurry back to the bathroom.
With my back to the door, I push it open and scoot in, holding the trunks like a surrender flag so he can reach them. “Here.”
I wait after they’re snatched from my fingers, looking around and landing on the mirrors ahead of me. My lips part, guilt riddling my jagged breathing when I catch his reflection in a clearing on the glass. The steam threatens, but as it closes in on it, I’m left with a full view of the man.
Should I have looked again? No. Do I regret it? No. I mean, look at him. Wonders of the world are meant to be admired. It’s actually ridiculous that a man existing in this little town of ours can be that attractive, funny, charming, ugh. He’s all the things. How is that fair?
As if winning all the titles in high school from prom king to athlete of the year wasn’t enough.
Getting a full-ride scholarship to college and winning some fancy architecture award everyone in town was praising him for wasn’t enough.
Nope, he still chooses to put his life on the line to help others and volunteers regularly in the community.
And on top of all that, he gets blessed looking like, well, looking like him, too? Cheez-Its on a cracker.
I thought it was cruel to have the guy who hurt my younger self not even remember me. But it’s a real bite in the ass that he turned out looking like a GQ model. Does his fortune have no bounds, for Pete’s sake?
Salt in the wound.
“All ready for you,” he says, propping open the shower door in a billowing steam cloud of an invitation.
Despite my better judgment, I look his way.
Good gracious . . . Is he serious with this?
He’s been shirtless all day today, just like he was yesterday.
Even at the hospital, he managed to hang around in the gown.
But adding water, rolling over those ab muscles, gives me a whole new perspective on the four, six, eight situation he has going on in his midsection. Is he even human at this point?
Sucking in a breath, I pull the door wide open. “Whoa. It’s huge.”
“I’m a big guy.”
“That you are, but I’m referring to the shower,” I reply, desperate to break this spell he’s put on me and clear my throat. “Okay.” I clasp my hands together, ready to dig into my duties. “How far did you get?”
“Not as far as I would have liked. I think we should bandage my shoulder when I’m dried off.” He steps back under the water, leaving a lot of room in this big area for another person. By design? Probably.
“What happened?”
“It’s just, yeah, I feel more comfortable with it on.”
I start reaching across for the shampoo but stop when my sleeve gets wet.
“Understandable, but it’s good you tried.
Better that you know your limits. Pushing it doesn’t win prizes.
It only sets you back.” I make the hard decision—that’s not really hard at all if we’re comparing it to his abs—to step in with him.
“I’m just going to come in here with you if you don’t mind?
I think it will be less of a mess that way. ”
He takes another step back, but the smirk on his face kind of says it all. “Come on in.”
Some women would probably kill for this chance, and it’s fallen into my lap by happenstance. I kick off my sneakers and socks and roll up the bottoms of my pants. “This isn’t typically how we clean patients.”
“How would you do it?”
The water splashes around my ankles, already soaking the rolls refusing to stay up in the humidity of this stall. “The shower is typically open. At the hospital, I wouldn’t be stepping inside and closing a door.”
“You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”
“No. I’m good.” Checking my own temperature on the situation, I’m oddly okay, like we do this all the time. “How could anyone be claustrophobic in this shower? You have two heads, tons of jets, and even a built-in bench. It’s so big. How are you?”
“Dandy. How do we do this?”
I take the shampoo. “Let’s start at the top. I’m going to need you to sit, though. You’re way too tall for me to reach up to wash your hair.”
He soaks his hair one more time before taking a seat and spreading his knees wide.
Such a guy. Trying hard to take my mind off the fact that I’m about to wash Brandon Culver’s hair, and then his body, I can’t help but wonder at the irony.
After all of these years of life without him in my personal space, I’m now purposely invading his.
How did we even get here? The sputter of the shampoo sends it splattering into the palm of my hand. “Okay, we’re doing this.”
Chuckling, he says, “Let’s do it.”
I freeze, realizing I said that out loud. I really need to work on my silence filter. I move closer to him, rubbing my hands together, and dipping my fingers into his hair to get this job done and dusted. “Is this okay?”
He peeks up at me. “It’s okay. It feels good.”
His response encourages me to start massaging his head, increasing the lather and making it easier to glide through the hair.
His eyes close, giving me seconds to look at him again.
His lashes are darker, making me jealous that I have to wear two layers of mascara to cover the lighter ones I was born with to get the same effect.
Tension slips from the tightened muscles of his shoulders, giving me a note of victory, which has me continuing to massage a little longer.
“Do you use conditioner?”
“I do.”
“Rinse and we’ll do that next.” I can’t say this is anything I’ve ever fantasized about, but it’s definitely not been a hardship either.
I don’t want to think about how much I’m enjoying it.
I get the conditioner and make the mistake of glancing over at him hanging his head back under the water as it pours down over his hair.
The hard lines of his jaw are on full display, and the muscles in his neck are taut. Good lord have mercy. Best job ever.
“Autumn?”
Blinking a few times, I find his eyes. “Huh?”
His gaze runs my length once and then up again. “You’re soaked.”