Page 12 of Nothing To Lose
The silence between us grows awkward. I don't want to ask him to leave his own space, but I don't really want to have to use the toilet in front of him. He seems to realize that I'm waiting and starts moving.
“I’m going to stand outside in case you need help. If you want to shower or anything, you can. There are clean washcloths and towels in that basket over there, dirty stuff can just be tossed in that corner and I'll take care of them later.”
I must be looking at the showers with longing, because he walks over to them and shows me how the faucets work.
“The showers can be temperamental. You have to give it a moment before the water heats up, but then it's hot enough to boil your skin, so be careful. There's a new toothbrush on the counter for you, and you can use anything you need. Once you’re good, I’ll order something to eat and find you something clean to wear. Sound good?"
"Um. Okay. Thanks," I say, unable to think of anything more.
This is all overwhelming. Everything hurts, I’m lightheaded, I just woke up in a strange place after spending the night in the hospital. Now the guy I’ve been daydreaming about for weeks but have been too afraid to even make eye contact with is taking care of me like he knows me.
What am I doing here? I should leave. I should go home, or somewhere else. Anywhere else. I should call for a ride to pick me up and get out of this guy’s house, but I don't have my phone. Where is my phone?
I left it, and my coat, at The Nook.I wasn't anticipating leaving. Oh shit, did they think I walked out without paying?
One thing at a time, Tyler. You can only overthink one thing at a time in your current condition.
And my current condition is a hot mess of epic proportions. One glance in the mirror when I'm washing my hands and brushing my teeth is enough to convince me that I definitely need to shower. A cab driver would probably keep driving if they came to pick me up and saw me in this state. I know I'll have to be careful about my stitches, but they said I could shower after twenty-four hours as long as I don't submerge the stitches for a prolonged period. I'm dead on my feet despite sleeping all day, but I'm desperate to get clean, and I know a hot shower will soothe some of the aches and pains. There's a little voice that says I should still go home, shower there. The truth is, I don't want to go home. I don't want to be alone. And I don't want to be somewherehecan find me. And since my only other option is to continue taking advantage of a hot stranger's kindness, that's what I'll do for now. Because I love torturing myself.
I turn the water on before I get undressed, remembering that he said it takes a while to heat up. I feel a bit exposed in such a large room, but I start to strip out of the oversized clothes I'm wearing. I try to move slowly, my head and body sore and protesting every movement. When I bend down to take off my socks, the blood rushes to my head and my already limited vision goes fuzzy. I over-correct and end up straightening too fast, making the dizziness worse. My knees buckle, and I fall forward on the counter, narrowly avoiding another head injury. I manage to right myself, but knock over several items next to the sink. A glass jar of cotton swabs smashes on the tile.
Isaac steps out from around the corner, startling me enough that I almost reel again. Wincing, I hold a hand up to my head.
"Shit, are you okay?" He's at my side in a second, strong arms steadying me. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone. I just wanted to give you some privacy."
"I'm okay," I assure him. "I just stood up too fast and got a little dizzy." I try to take a step away, but I'm no longer thinking a shower is a good idea, unless there's a chair I can sit in to clean myself.
"Here, let me help you. Hold on to me."
My entire body freezes when Isaac kneels down in front of me to remove my socks. I'm not sure I breathe at all, forgetting how to do more than just stand there with my mouth gaping open like a fish. When he stands again, his body is close enough to radiate body heat, reminding me that I'm shirtless in front of him. I swallow, raking my eyes over his tattooed arms, tracing the patterns of dark ink to the hem of his tank top. Through the thin black fabric, I can tell his chest is curved with hard muscle. Next to him, I'm positively scrawny. My arms are like fleshy toothpicks, and he could probably fit his hands almost entirely around my waist. Would it be too awkward to put my shirt back on?
Realizing I'm gawking at his body, I tear my eyes away from his chest, not sure where to look. I make the mistake of looking up. With the way I'm leaning on the counter, and his proximity, I have to crane my neck to look straight up at him. Even this close, his eyes are too dark to discern what color they really are, or maybe they really are just that black. I get caught in his dark gaze, my fingers digging into the edge of the counter. The rising steam in the room does nothing to help how heavy the air feels, making it near impossible to draw a full breath.
"Is this okay?" He asks, his voice soft and low.
Is what okay?My head is too fuzzy to work out what he’s talking about. I’m not quite out of my mind enough to tell him he could do anything he wants to me and?—
Wait.
Oh my God.
He doesn’t take his eyes off mine, watching me like I might bolt. Which, to be fair, I probably would if I could trust myself not to keel over again. His fingers find the drawstring of the scrubs I'm wearing. They’re so large on me, the drawstring is the only thing holding them around my waist. It only takes a slight tug on one side of the strings, and they're falling down my legs to the floor.
A choking sound escapes my throat. That really should not have been the hottest thing ever to have happened to me. And that really shouldn’t be the first thought in my head. I'm basically an invalid that he is helping out of pity. Nothing about that little move was meant to be sexy. And the already embarrassing half chub that was growing at his mere proximity now has a mind of its own and is rapidly working towards becoming a visible distraction.
This is not good.Not good, not good, not good.
I release my white-knuckled grip from the edge of the counter and bring my hands in front of me. If I'm lucky, he won't notice I'm hiding anything and he'll just think I'm modest. And the heat rising in my face could just be from the humidity in the room.Everything is fine here. It's fine. I'm fine. Everything. Is. Fine.
Jesus, it's really hot in here.
"Tyler?"
"Hmm?"
"I asked if you're good?"
"Good? Uh—yeah. Yup," I say, popping the p and looking anywhere but directly at him. "All good now. Thanks."
