Page 39 of Trick

It’s a fair point, but I’m still not willing to concede on this.

“I need to shower, Heidi. I’m pretty sure I still have dried blood in my hair.”

The effect those words has on her makes me wish I’d kept my silence. Her throat bobs, even as her gaze slides upward to my hairline, and I don’t like the look on her face.

I grab her hand, running my thumb over her skin. “Hey, I’m good. I promise. I just need to wash my hair.”

Her gaze lifts again before coming back to my eyes. “I’ll wash it for you.”

It’s the last thing I expect her to say, so it takes my brain a moment to understand what she means. By that point, she’s already herding me into the bathroom.

I follow her, mostly because I’m interested to see how this will play out, and when she orders me to sit on the edge of the tub, I do as she commands.

She grabs a showerhead attachment from the cupboard and puts it on the sink taps, letting the water run before testing the temperature with her hand.

“You know, if you need help, all you need to do is ask,” she chastises.

“Babe, I’m a grown man. Should be able to wash my own fucking hair.”

She shakes her head, muttering under her breath about the stubbornness of bikers. I should tell her I feel well enough to do this myself, but the words won’t pass my lips. I want her to wash my fucking hair, and I don’t care how much of a dick that makes me.

Heidi grabs the towel off the rail, our gazes locked together as she wraps it around my shoulders. “Are you able to lean forward over the sink?”

I do as she says, gripping the edge of the basin so I don’t pitch too far forward.

She’s only washing my hair, but the moment that spray hits my scalp, every inch of my body is lit up. This feels intimate in a way it shouldn’t.

I wish I could see her face, but my head is tipped down, the warm water trickling down the side of my neck and face.

It’s not the best position to do this in, but she’s careful to make sure she doesn’t waterboard me as she wets my hair.

“Your bruises look worse,” she remarks as her fingers thread over my scalp.

“Wounds always look worse before they heal.”

“Some wounds don’t heal at all,” she says.

“Is that what happened with you?” Staring at the bottom of the sink, it’s the only thing I can see through my dripping hair. I want to see her face, though. I want to gauge what she’s thinking or feeling.

Her fingers freeze for a second before resuming the soothing motion through my strands.

“I guess so.” She squirts shampoo onto the back of my head and slowly massages it into my scalp. The slow circles she makes with each pass of her fingers feels fucking amazing, but I’m not going to let it distract me.

Dripping wet and covered in soap, I lift my head so I can look at her. She quickly redirects the spray, so she doesn’t get me in the face.

“What are you doing? You still have soap in your hair.”

“I want you to talk to me.”

Her eyes narrow. “What do you think we’re doing right now?”

“What happened back then, Heidi?”

I see the ripple of pain work through her before she lowers her gaze, hiding from me. I don’t like that at all. “Nothing.”

Using my finger, I lift her chin until I get her full attention, and I don’t like the look I see in her eyes. It is such a deep-seated, raw pain that it hurts worse than any bruise on my body.

“Heidi.”

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