Page 27 of Our Shattered Pieces
I presented the plant to her. “Did someone call for a plant?” Molly smiled, and that shot straight to my dick, too.
She stepped back to let me in. “Thank you, Grayson,” she said. “Really, I appreciate it.”
“Not a problem, Molly,” I replied. “I just started my vacation, so I wasn’t doing much.”
Walking into the condo, I noticed she wasn’t quite limping, but she wasn’t striding smoothly like she usually was. Just inside the foyer, it looked like Molly had done her best to clean up, but have you ever tried to clean up a spilled plant?
I set the plant on the table she must have righted and glanced back at her. “Go take care of that ankle, and I’ll finish cleaning up this mess.”
“Oh, no, Grayson, I can-” I speared her with a look, effectively shutting her up. “Fine,” she relented. “But I’m paying you back for the plant and helping me clean up.”
I almost let out a deep groan.
I could think of several ways she could pay me back, and they all included having her lips wrapped around my cock. Some of them even included unloading on that fucking perfect face of hers.
Thinking it was better to keep those suggestions to myself, I went to work on cleaning up the remaining mess that Molly hadn’t been able to get to. With Molly having just watered the plants, it was a bit of a wet mess.
“How’s your ankle?” I called out.
“It’s fine,” she returned from somewhere on the couch. “I’ve got some ice on it.”
When I finished cleaning up and setting everything back to rights, I went to the kitchen and washed my hands. Though it wasn’t my house, or my place, I knew Rowan wouldn’t care, and I imagined Lorcan wouldn’t mind me grabbing some water from his refrigerator if it was to help his sister. So, grabbing two waters, I headed back to the living room.
Molly was leaning back against the left arm rest, her legs straight along the couch, a plastic bag with ice inside resting on her ankle.
I handed her one of the waters before lifting her legs, sitting down, and placing them back down on my lap. “Let me look.”
She sat up straighter. “Seriously, Grayson,” she said. “It’s just sore. Not sprained or broken.”
Taking the bag of ice off her ankle, I looked for myself. “Last I heard you ran a charity foundation,” I drawled out. “No one told me you had managed to fit in a medical degree in there, too.”
“Ha. Ha,” she deadpanned.
I grinned. “Fine or not, I’m not going to be the one to tell your brother I didn’t check on you, knowing you were hurt.”
“I really am fine, Grayson,” she said, only this time her voice sounded much quieter.
“I concur,” I replied. “Though I don’t have a medical degree to back up my analysis, but then, neither do you.”
Molly laughed. “Thank you, Grayson. Even without your medical degree.”
I just grunted as I pressed around on her ankle, checking for tenderness. I was also doing my best to make sure my dick didn’t harden underneath the machinations of checking on her ankle, but my hands were remembering just exactly what it had felt like to explore every inch of this woman’s skin.
Admittedly, I had thought it’d be a little awkward since it’s been six months, and the last time I saw her, she was getting dressed after an intense bout of sex, but it hadn’t felt awkward at all. At least, not for me. I couldn’t speak for Molly, but she didn’t seem uncomfortable or out of sorts.
Just then, her phone chimed from near her purse on the coffee table in front of us, and when she went to reach for it, I leveled her with a look. “I’ll get it.” With her feet still in my lap, I reached across and grabbed her phone.
Not meaning to invade her privacy, my eyes landed on the screen, and it was a notification alert from Ques?ionable.com, with an incoming message.
Ques?tionable.com?
When I handed Molly her phone, she looked at the screen, I could swear her face flushed a bit. I went back to checking on her ankle, lest I embarrass her or something, and I tried my best to ignore the way her fingers started flying over the screen.
“Maybe no more heels for the rest of the day,” I suggested. Molly was always dressed impeccably whenever I’ve run into her, and today was no different.
Dressed in a cream-colored blouse that looked simple, but I bet was worth hundreds, and a pair of black slacks and the cream-colored heels I saw at the edge of the couch, Molly looked like the Cavanaugh she was.
“Deal,” she easily agreed. “I don’t have any events planned until this weekend anyway.”
