Page 46 of I Choose You

I ignore the chill spreading atop my damp skin and swipe back my hair again. She flinches in pain when she tugs her second shoe off, and I move them to the side before offering to pull her socks off.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“You had a hard enough time getting your shoes off.”

“You know Luke hates when the bathmats are wet.”

The first week we lived together, Luke lost his head on Mackenzie for waterlogging the bathmat—which wasn’t necessarily accurate—after taking a shower. He went as far as tossing the mat out to buy another because it’s a big pet peeve of his. Something I didn’t even know about my twin brother since we didn’t share a bathroom growing up.

“What does that matter? He’s not here.” Pressure from the fall must ensue around her hip because she unbuttons the top of her jeans and pulls her zipper down to alleviate it.

I follow the movement in my peripheral vision, my dick twitching with the promise of making itself known. I’m fucking doomed and should back out of the bathroom now.

“And if he comes home in the next few minutes, I’m sure he’ll give me a pass since, you know,” she points at her hip, "I’m eighty and frail.”

I grin at her sarcasm but turn the conversation back to the problem at hand. Her jeans are wrapped tight around her thighs and calves. Lowering to the floor, I kneel in front of her. “They’re stuck fast. Can you stand?”

Her gaze flicks from me to her legs. “I think so.” With an exhale, she lifts, putting her weight on her good leg. “See. I told you, I’m fine.” Then, she shifts, causing her leg to wobble, and tilts forward.

I’m quick to catch her by the waist and steady her. Her arms fly out to grab onto the towel bar. “Yeah, looks like you could compete in a hundred-meter dash.”

A sigh comes from her, and she slants her head back.

With care, I pat the side of her uninjured thigh. “Sit back down. You’re going to have to shimmy out of these. The only way for us to check your hip is to get your pants off.”

It sounds bad, but it’s the best way I know how to say it. I’m not going to walk away and let her struggle. That’s not what a friend would do. If things were reversed, she wouldn’t leave me, so there’s no way in hell I’m going to do that to her. I’ll help her get her jeans off while ignoring the snapshots of kissing her that keep popping up in my mind, then I’ll walk out of the bathroom and leave her the hell alone.

“You know, I think I’m feeling a lot better.” A humorless laugh breaks past her lips as she pretends to hold back her grimace. “No more pain. Huh, look at that!”

Her sudden awkwardness is coming from the tension between us and that we have yet to discuss the kiss. Suggesting she strip in front of me doesn’t help either.

I pin her with a look to convey my emotions through my gaze. I’m as calm as always and keep my dirtiest thoughts at bay. Or try like hell, anyway. The windows to her soul are a little less put together. Staring at her, I attempt to silence whatever uneasy thoughts she may be having. “Stop making it weird. I only care you’re okay.”

Which is true. I do care and hope she’s not seriously injured. I also care that my lips aren’t on hers in the way they want to be. I pause for a beat to get the message across, then a smirk traces my mouth. “Besides, I don’t care what color your granny panties are.”

She reaches out to pinch my ear, and I swat her hand away as I chortle. “I do not wear granny panties.”

I chuckle, happy that it lightens the mood enough for us to move on. Before we start, she reaches back to twist the knob for a bath. Water sputters out, lapping at the bottom of the tub.

She twists back with a reluctant but approving nod after testing the temperature.

“Stand, and I’ll help you get them far enough down until you can sit and wiggle the rest of the way out. Then, I’ll leave you to your bath once we know you’re okay.”

Suddenly, hesitation squeezes me. A little voice whispers in my ear, telling me that this may not be the best idea. In a split second, it gets very real that I’ll be undressing Mackenzie’s lower half, and I’ll be too close to parts of her I’ve dreamed about for fucking years.

But there’s no way I can turn back now. I’ve already convinced her I’m only here to help, and I am. I just have to get a handle on my head.

Both of them.

She puts a decent bit of her weight on her right side when she stands. I guide her hands to my shoulders for balance. The faucet gurgles behind us, spitting a healthy stream into the tub, and I try my damnedest to focus on that rather than her undone jeans.

My jaw tenses when I notice her eyelashes are dark and heavy from the rain. My heart punches against my rib cage wildly. I tell it to quiet the hell down and ignore the coolness at the back of my neck. Fingertips bite into my shoulders, nipping at my skin from above when I jostle the denim a little more roughly than intended.

Jesus Christ.

We’ve only just started, and my blood is already traveling south at the speed of a fighter jet ready to drop a bomb. I curve my thumbs through her belt loops and try to keep it together. Dryness coats my throat as I tug them down. I’m glued to the careful movement of her pants dipping down to reveal skin before the edge of pure white lace steals my attention.

On my haunches, I use all my might to drag the adhesive fabric from her skin and watch as her hips reveal themselves. Embarrassment burns my soul from chastising her about her choice of undergarments when my fingers glide over lace. One-inch pieces of fabric curve up high and rest against her hip bone. I’m tempted to lean forward and press my mouth along the edge, my lips half touching her skin. Instead, I adjust my hands, applying more pressure on her good side, so I don’t wreak havoc where she’s hurting. I tug and shimmy the wet denim, moving it down centimeter by centimeter. All while working overtime to make sure I don’t pop a damn hard-on at the sight.

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