Page 91 of Romancing the Grump
Nathan lets out a low moan, and I pause, moving my hands to his side to stabilize him. “You okay?”
He nods, but he grabs my arm, his grip tightening as he drops his head back onto my shoulder, like the small amount of effort it took to walk four steps completely exhausted him.
“Summer?”
Without thinking, I lift a hand to his back, rubbing circles over his bare shoulder blades. I can’t keep myself from touching him, from at leasttryingto comfort him. “Yeah?”
“I don’t…want you to go,” he says, and my hand stills. “I just…think youshouldgo because of how much I want you to stay.”
CHAPTER 21
NATHAN
I can’t sayI’ve thought about what it would be like to actuallysharea shower with Summer Callahan, mostly because I’m not a masochist and I know better than to think about something that’s never going to happen.
And yet, here we are. Sharing a shower in the un-sexiest way possible. Nothing like a little vomit in your hair to really crank up the mood.
I’m not sure if it was the spray of the water or the feel of Summer’s hands moving across my scalp, but at least for the moment, my head is clear. I don’t remember texting Summer, but I don’t remember much about the last two hours. No matter how embarrassing it was to have her see me at my worst, I’m glad she didn’t listen when I asked her to leave. The truth is, I’d still be on the floor without her help.
I’ve never been this sick.
I’ve never beencloseto being this sick. When I basically crawled from my bed to the bathroom to vomit only half-successfully into the toilet, I could have crawled into hell and it would have felt like an improvement.
Behind me, Summer massages her fingers into my scalp, the scent of my shampoo filling the damp air around us. It feels so good, so amazing to be warm, and I recognize keenly that having this woman—of all women—washing my hair for me is an experience I ought to remember forever. Unfortunately, I’m too preoccupied to truly enjoy it because it’s getting harder to hold my head up.
I will never understand how a body can go from feeling fine one day—though I was a little more tired than usual at practice earlier this week—to feeling like death the next. I slump against Summer, and she lets out anoofas she shifts, bracing herself against my weight.
I try to sit up again, but she holds onto me, her free hand reaching over my shoulder and splaying across my chest as she tugs me back against her. “You’re fine,” she says. “I was trying not to get myself soaked, but it’s too late for that now, so just relax. I’ve got you.”
Oh, geez.I didn’t eventhinkabout getting her wet, butshe’sstill fully clothed. Or, mostly fully clothed? I caught a glimpse of a tank top, maybe, when she was helping me into the shower.
I want to tell her she can borrow something of mine.
I want to thank her for showing up.
Apologize for being so rude.
Tell her she can absolutely go as soon as I’m back in bed and there’s no risk of me falling over and injuring myself—something the team trainers and the rest of the Appies would likely appreciate.
Instead, I just slump against her, leaning my head on her chest as she sprays warm water over us both.
After my hair is cleaned and conditioned, she hangs upthe hand sprayer so it’s hitting my chest and gently massages my shoulders. I do not have words for what this feels like. It’s not sexual, which is hard to believe because I’m basically naked under a towel and she’s wet and her hands are on my body. But it issensual.Despite my beleaguered state, I feel every touch, every press of her fingertips against my skin.
“You know,” she says, “It’s okay to let people take care of you.”
I understand what she’s saying, and I don’t disagree. But only when you’re in a position to take care of someone back. Which I’m not. Otherwise, it’s just selfish. It’s taking and taking without giving in return. No one deserves a one-sided relationship.
“It’s okay to…”
Her words trail off, like she’s nervous about saying them, and I lean into her touch, hoping it will encourage her.
“It’s okay to let people in,” she finally says. She slides her hands across my shoulders and down to my biceps, then draws them upward, her thumbs hitting the spots on my trap muscles that are always sore.
Hockey is killer when it comes to backs and shoulders, plus I ache all over from whatever virus has taken over my body, and her hands feel like magic. I let out a low groan, leaning into her touch and closing my eyes.
Finally, after several more minutes, she slides my hair to one side and leans down, her hands on my shoulders as she presses a lingering kiss to the curve of my neck.
We’ve kissed a few times now, but always in front of a crowd. Always when there’s a purpose, some reason bigger than just the two of us. But something about this tender gesture hits like a bolt of lightning right to my heart.
