Page 43 of Trailer Trash

After his shower, Jed walked out wearing nothing but a towel, and I got an eyeful of what I’d missed out on.

Jed was solid muscle.

From his pecs to his eight-pack, from his arms to the knotted muscles on his shoulder blades as he bent over his bag and pulled out some clothes and a small toiletry bag. There was so much for my eyes to feast on, they didn’t know where to look. His hand held the towel slung around his hips, and the rise of his butt peeked out under the towel’s edge.

Sweet baby Jesus.

He turned around, and I froze when our gazes met—he’d caught me ogling him. What should I do? Pretend our earlier kiss hadn’t happened? Throw myself at him and try to resume where we’d left off? The latter wasn’t an option because a new tension had filled the room, and it wasn’t sexual. Plus, I got the distinct impression that Jed would prefer to be a million miles away from me at the moment.

“Like I mentioned before,” I said nervously, “I plan to go to the trailer park first. I don’t expect anything dangerous there. If you want, you can stay here, and I can use your car—I promise to come back. I’m not going to drive off and leave you here.” His gaze didn’t waver, and I found myself adding, “Great, now you probably think I’m gonna run off.”

He watched me for another second longer, and then the intensity of his gaze softened slightly. “I know you’re not gonna run off. But we’re sticking together.”

“It’s just that I get the impression you need to be alone. I want to respect that.”

“We stick together.” Then he disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door.

He emerged a few minutes later, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt that clung to his still-damp skin. Jed may have been able to shut down his libido, but mine had just ratcheted up a few more degrees.

He tossed his dirty clothes on top of his bag as he crossed the room to me. His hands landed on my shoulders, and I was sure he was going to kiss me again, instead he spun me around, putting my back to his chest. He lifted his hands into my hair, and I held my breath with anticipation.

One of his hands rested lightly on my shoulder, and he said softly, “I want to look at your stitches. I need to make sure you’re okay. I just slammed your head against the wall a few minutes ago.” The last sentence was full of bitterness, but I knew it was directed inward, not at me.

“You didn’t hurt me, Jed.”

“I could have.”

I glanced over my shoulder at him. “I’m not some fragile flower that’s gonna be crushed.”

Both of his hands turned my head to face in front of me while his fingers gently separated my hair.

“It’s up higher,” I said.

His fingers moved up until he found it. “Are you putting anything on it?”

“I can’t wash my hair for a week. Do you think I’m going to put ointment in there?”

“Sit on the bed.”

Part of me wanted to argue with him, but he was working out some inner demon of his own, and I didn’t want to stand in the way of that. He was being respectful of the way I was handling the skeletons inmycloset. I could be respectful of how he handled his.

He went into the bathroom, only to return seconds later. “Let me know if this hurts.”

“Okay.” I felt a cool salve touch my scalp as Jed’s finger lightly traced my stitches.

“Does that hurt?”

“No, Jed. I’m fine.”

He went into the bathroom again, and I heard water running in the sink. “I need to put that on you twice a day.”

“I’ll be fine.”

The water stopped and he appeared in the doorway, drying his hands with a towel. “I’ve had some experience with stitches.” The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Trust me on this.”

I nearly cried with relief that my Jed was peeking out of the surly man who had replaced him. “Thank you.”

He tossed the towel into the bathroom. “Let’s go.”

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