Page 22 of Worthy

“Sure you don’t want help?” I trail behind him, arms at the ready.

“Pretty sure I can hold my own dick.”

“That’s not—”Is he offering? Wait, no. I’m supposed to be behaving.“I meant do you want to lean on me for balance.”

“I know what you meant. But you’re not obnoxiously flirting and it’s weirding me out, so I had to get you back on track.”

My brows pull together in a silent question before I realize he can’t see that with me trailing behind him. “I thought you hated my flirting?”

“I did, when I thought you just wanted another meaningless notch on your bedpost.”

I’ll probably regret this, but I have this nagging feeling I’ll regret lying to the guy even more. “That is all I wanted.”

Madd stops limping and looks at me over his shoulder. “Wanted. Past tense.”

“You think I don’t want that anymore?”

“I don’t know. But if you do, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be meaningless.” Maddox shuts himself in the bathroom, leaving me to wonder if it’s better or worse that he didn’t tell me it’ll never happen.

***

The room is dimly lit when I wake up, a still image of Ted Lasso on the TV screen. Blinking my mind awake, I recall watching nearly the entire first season, Madd’s foot propped on a pillow in my lap, before sleep claimed us.

My back is stiff from sleeping upright, and I stretch as slowly as possible, so I don’t disturb Maddox, who’s foot is still resting on my lap. He looks younger in sleep—still ruggedly sexy—but also soft. For a brief second, I wish I was lying next to him so I could breathe in his orange scent, but I shake my head to clear the thought before it can stick. I should be thinking about how to keep my distance instead of wishing I could get closer, especially after staying the night.

I look around the room for a clock, curious about the time. The sun is up, but it’s overcast, making it hard to guess the hour. I lean back as far as the couch will allow and fish my phone out of my pocket. Just after seven. I text Deacon to grab me some clothes and the crutches from my garage since there’s no point going home before coming back here to work.

The weight in my lap shifts and I turn my attention to Maddox. His eyes flutter a few times before he winces, telling me his ankle is still tender. I reach out my hand to calm him but think better of it and pull back since I’m not even sure he realizes I’m here, and my touch might startle him.

“Morning,” I say softly. He stiffens, like he’s surprised to hear my voice, then relaxes when his eyes connect with mine.

I like thatfar too much.

“How’s the ankle?” I ask.

“Sore,” he whispers hoarsely.

“Can I take a look?”

He nods.

I gently lift his leg and take off the bandage. The swelling has gone down some, and it’s slightly discolored, but not the nasty shade of purple I was expecting. That’s a good sign.

“Looks like we got some of the swelling down, and it’s not bruised.” I turn his ankle slowly to get a good look while trying not to notice how soft his skin feels beneath the dusting of coarse blonde hairs on his leg. “The sprain itself probably wasn’t that bad but walking on it after didn’t help. You should keep it up when you’re sitting and put some ice on it throughout the day. Overall, though, it looks pretty good.”

I re-wrap his foot, then stand and offer my hands. “Think you can put weight on it?”

He puts his hands in mine and pulls himself to stand, gritting his teeth somewhat when he adds a little weight to his bad foot.

“Looks like we should keep you off it another day or two,” I say more to myself than to him.

“How?”

“There’s an old pair of crutches at my place. I asked Deacon to see if he can find them before he comes over.” Taking a gamble that he’ll be more agreeable to a little help this morning, I wrap one of his arms around my shoulders and slide mine around his waist. “Bathroom or kitchen?”

“Kitchen.”

I help him hobble to one of the barstools before brewing a pot of coffee and scrambling some eggs, doing my best to stay facing the stove instead of ogling him while I cook.

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