Page 24 of The Spark Between Us

“Guess not. I know about Pleasanton. I’ve heard of it. I just don’t know where it is relative to here.”

“One town over. You might want to orient yourself.”

“I’ll do that.” She dropped her voice down an octave, mocking me.

I pointed in the direction of her room. “Go, smartass. Put on a long-sleeved T-shirt and sweatpants. Do you have that?” I prayed she had that. Or better yet, a burka.

If I was going to work on her muscle aches, I wanted the least amount of skin exposed as possible. It would take an iron will not to enjoy putting my hands on her, but I’d prevail.

“I do. It might take me a sec to change since I can’t see my feet.”

I regretted the question as it was leaving my mouth. “Do you need me to help you change? Or carry you up there?”

She practically shrieked. “No! I can walk just fine. And dress myself. It’s just my upper body that’s messed. I’ll manage. Be back in a minute.”

When I heard her door slam, I went to the fridge and dumped a big dollop of creamer into my coffee, added three spoons of sugar, and slurped down the now-lukewarm sludge. It was awful. Finn wasn’t kidding with her not knowing how to cook. How does a person screw up coffee with a French press? There weren’t too many options for how to use the thing.

Now for the bigger problem—the swelling dick in my pants.

I couldn’t fucking touch her, I knew that.

Off. Limits.

She was my roommate, the accident victim who hit our truck, and a visiting physicist so out of my league that it felt ridiculous to consider anything but taking a very cold shower. So I did.

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