Page 67 of Blue Moon Love

31

KENNA

“Love don’t make a lick of sense, but ya know it when ya got it.” ~ Archie “Witty” Whitlock

“Are you sure this is going to be okay?” I asked as I pressed the waterproof bandage over Sam’s sutures. He was sitting on my toilet, shirtless, and I was standing between his legs.

“Yes.” He looked up at me with his big puppy-dog eyes, and I had to stop myself from leaning down and kissing him, so I took a step back.

When I did, he asked, “Have you ever taken a shower with someone?”

I was pretty sure he knew the answer to that, but I responded anyway. “No.”

One corner of his mouth pulled in a bad-boy half-grin. “Do you want to?”

“No,” I lied.

“Why not?”

“I’ve heard it’s not as sexy as it sounds.” That was the truth. The word on the street was that shower sex was awkward and more trouble than it was worth.

A fire lit in his eyes, and I could see that he thought what I was saying was a challenge. It wasn’t.

“Where did you hear that?” He followed up.

“Multiple sources.”

“They could be unreliable sources.” His grin grew wider, and the sight of his dimple had the butterflies in my belly doing backflips. “Only one way to find out.”

The man was still recovering from ACL surgery, had been in a major car accident that was a bloody mess, and had eight stitches in his head, but would that stop him from flirting? No.

Doing my level best to ignore him, I leaned into the shower and turned the water on. As tempting as getting naked with Sam sounded, I would not be joining him. My decision not to test the waters, as it were, was not made out of any misplaced need for self-preservation. I’d tried that route and failed. Miserably.

If tonight had taught me anything, it was that just because someone is here today, that does not mean they will be tomorrow. I was going to tell him how I felt. That I loved him, that I’d been in love with him since I was six. And I was also going to tell him I knew he didn’t feel the same, and that was okay.

I didn’t give a shit about whether or not our relationship was sexual; well, I mean, I did, but I’d get over it. Sam was my person. He was my lobster. He was my soulmate. That didn’t have to have a romantic element to it. Our love was bigger than that.

The reason I was declining to participate in shower time was because I was scared I’d slip or bump into his knee, his elbow, his head, or something. My shower was a good size, and it did have a bench at one end that I used when I shaved my legs, but I just didn’t want to take any chances.

After making sure the temperature was perfect, I stepped around Sam and stood by the door. In the reflection of the mirror, I watched as he stood and slid his sweats and boxer briefs off his legs. I’d already helped him take off his shirt before I bandaged his head.

My mouth watered at the sight of his naked body. From his wide shoulders, broad back, and muscular arms, down to his firm, rounded backside and strong thighs…he was walking perfection.

He glanced over his shoulder. “You sure you don’t want to join me?”

My eyes shot up to his, and I felt my cheeks redden with embarrassment for him catching me drooling over his rounded butt cheeks.

“I’m good. Thanks.”

“Your loss,” he teased as he stepped inside the shower.

I watched from a safe distance as the water poured down his chiseled frame. A tingle ran through me as he squeezed soap into his hand and then lathered it up before slathering it across his chest and down his muscular arms. His body was a work of art—one that I had the pleasure of viewing.

You could do a lot more than view it, a little voice in my head piped up.

It was right. I didn’t have to be a mere bystander. I could participate in the activity.

What was I doing? Sam was alive, and he was in my bathroom, naked, showering, and he had asked me to join him. He didn’t seem to be in that much pain. He was moving a heck of a lot better than he had been after his surgery. Just because I went in there didn’t mean we’d have to do anything. And I’d be careful. Really careful.

---