Page 28 of Colt
“Colt?” I shout his name, hoping that he’ll answer, but he doesn’t.
I curl my hands into fists, and I press forward. No, I don’t really want to bust in on Colt’s shower. But the reality is, he could be hurt. And privacy and nudity are not the utmost concerns at the moment.
His safety is.
He isn’t allowed to get certain things wet, so he’s been sponge bathing at the hospital, and that’s sort of what he’s supposed to do here, on the bench that they sent home with him, but he’s so stubborn, who knows exactly what he’s trying?
I followed the sound of the running water to the master bedroom, then I open up the door and see the bathroom door ajar. “Colt?”
I still don’t hear an answer.
So, I take a deep breath, and I move forward, pushing the door open. And then I nearly injured myself practically cartwheeling out of the room.
Because he’s in there, just fine, sitting on the bench with water pounding down on his back, completely naked.
And even though I move in and out quickly, he raises his head, turns it, and meets my gaze. That one moment, his blue eyes boring into mine as he sits there naked -completely naked– is going to live in my head rent-free for the rest of my life. So is the vision of his sculpted muscles. His broad, incredible shoulders, his washboard flat midsection. His thick, solid-looking thighs, and…
The whole side view of his ass sitting on that bench is really something.
Thank God he’s so muscular, because those treetrunk thighs disguised the sight of his…
But even still, as I careen back into the bedroom, I see more in my mind’s eye than I should. His flat abs leading down to the hard-cut line of his Adonis belt, and a tuft of hair just above… The problem is I know exactly what’s there.
As much as I don’t want to think about it, I don’t want to know about it… I do.
And I’m never going to be able to get the vision of him out of my head.
“Normally, I expect a tip if I put on a show like that,” he calls out toward the bedroom as the water shuts off.
I grimaced. “I was worried about you,” I shout.
“No need to be worried.”
“I called your name.”
“All I could hear was water.”
I hear heavy movements in the bathroom. And he comes out on his crutches, a towel wrapped around his waist, his brace covered by a waterproof liner. This is the first time I get a real-life view of the injury on his midsection. He’s not stitched back together anymore. But the scar is ugly and deep, fresh and angry-looking.
He’s still way too naked for my peace of mind. And way too hot, even scarred up like this.
I can’t remember ever being immobilized by the sight of a man’s naked body. Colt has managed to do it, even outside of a sexual context. That seems like a superpower. What I really wish my stepbrother didn’t have.
“I’m good,” he says. “I didn’t expect you this morning.”
“I was worried. I brought… Stuff to make your coffee.”
“Thanks.”
I do my best not to look at him. I do my best not to let my eyes linger on his powerful thigh, very exposed with the way he’s holding his towel, and his chest and abs, marred though his abs are by that scar.
Suddenly, much to my horror, I feel tears building in my eyes. He is so beautiful. And this accident has changed that beauty forever.
I swallow hard and turn away from him. I’m being weird, and he doesn’t need to be exposed to that. He doesn’t need to deal with me.
I rush into the kitchen and busy myself making coffee. It takes about twenty minutes for Colt to join me. But when he does, he’s dressed. For him, at the moment, that means wearing jeans that are split up the side, which allow space for his brace.
“How many pairs of jeans did they ruin?”
