Page 13 of My (Not So) Perfect Plan

I place one hand on his arm and slid the other behind his back as he start to sit up. He has some serious muscles and he smelled delicious, all spicy and leather and male. I am furiously trying not to notice because I’m a professional. Professional. Professional, I keep reminding myself.

“Now, I want you to keep this leg bent and here’s where you’re going to need help. I want you to extend your leg, but I don’t want you pushing too hard. You need someone to support your leg while you do it, but I wantyouto do most of the work. Okay?”

Evan nods, sweat beading on his brow just in the effort to lift his leg.

“It’s okay if you can’t lift it very far. Just try for a tiny, fraction of a bit more every day.”

She works with him for several minutes, until his elbows are trembling.

“Now, Claire, help him lay back down.”

I reach out, oh so happy to put my hands on him again even though I know I shouldn’t be, and help him lay down again. His frown is immediate and I withdraw my hands as soon as possible because apparently he hates it when I touch him. Or maybe he’s just hurting, I remind myself. It’s not like everything is about me. I’mjusta therapy assistant.

After five minutes, Joanna and I get him to his feet. I am decently tall, but he still stands a whole head taller than me.

“We’re going to help you practice using those crutches. Hold him steady, Claire, while I grab a different pair of crutches.” She leaves the room. I’m still holding him around the waist, his body warm beneath my hands. My heart races with the contact. I swallow, trying not to notice how his abs are strong, corded, ridges of muscle beneath my fingers. I try not to think about it, but trying to control my breathing is difficult. He leans toward me and breathes in. Is he smelling me? No, can’t be. He’s probably strained with the effort of holding himself upright like this. My eyes flit up to his. He is looking down at me with a pained expression that makes me pull back a little bit.

“You okay?” I ask.

He makes some sort of growly sound low in his throat right before Joanna comes in like a ball of sunshine holding a new set of crutches.

“I didn’t like the feet on those crutches the hospital gave you. These should provide better support.”

He takes them from her and I continue holding on to his waist to make sure he doesn’t fall while he situates himself.

“All right, take some practice steps,” Joanna says, ready to catch him if starts going down.

I look up at him, watching his face as he purses his mouth in concentration. He grunts, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Good, just keep doing that,” Joanna says. “Claire, you stay with him, don’t let go. I’m going to go over some of the exercise handouts with Mrs. Carmichael and make sure she doesn’t have any questions. You good with that?”

“Um, uh…” I tried to object, but she is gone before I can say anything coherent.

“Are you (step)… afraid (step)… to be alone (step)… with me (step)?” he asks.

“N-no?” I look up at him, pleasantly surprised to see his signature smirk directed at me. Looks like his spirits are improving, which is excellent since a positive outlook can only speed recovery. But I realize, we are alone together in a more intimate position than I ever have been with anyone I know outside of family. If I could just get my breathing under control, that would be great. He sways and I step in closer, ready to help him get his balance. That puts our faces within inches of each other and the desire to know what his scruffy chin feels like against my cheek is almost overwhelming. Stupid crush!

I step back, confident he’s found his balance again, though my hands are still at his waist.

“I’m not afraid to be alone with you,” I say quietly and then add in a teasing tone, “If anything, you should be afraid to be alone with me. You’re pretty much at my mercy.”

He does that growly thing again as he steps forward strongly.

“Good job,” I say, coaxing him to take another step. “Why don’t we shoot for the back wall? And then we can turn around and go back the other way.”

I take my eyes off the muscles that his thin t-shirt is pretty much doing nothing to conceal and wet my lips. His eyes watch me with a look in them I’ve never seen before, but it’s intense and I’m like a deer in the headlights.

He swings forward, bringing himself within three inches of me. “Your scrubs are really flattering.”

“They’re too small,” I admit without thinking because I’m too lost in his proximity. “They didn’t have anything else available. I’ve promised myself to buy a different set when I can afford it.”

The sheen of sweat on his brow gathers to trickle down his temple. I pull off the towel I have slung over my shoulder and wipe his brow.

“They are definitely not too small,” Evan says with the charming smile that no doubt has women everywhere offering him their panties.

I gulp. “Do you need a break? I think you could use a break.”Because I sure as heck need a break.

“Maybe a cold shower,” he says, swinging forward two more steps. My eyes glance down involuntarily. He starts snickering.

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