Page 15 of Falcon

He climbs my stairs, still holding me in his arms. “Key?”

Crap.

“It’s uh…right here.” I reach into the front of my sports bra and pull out my spare key with reddened cheeks.

He takes the key and slips it into the lock, letting us inside. “So, I guess this means I’ve touched your boobs by proxy then? And I haven’t even taken you on a date yet.” He laughs and so do I. It’s nice.

“You can take me into the kitchen. I’ll sit at the table.” I nod toward the right to show him where to go.

He eases me down onto one of the chairs. “Easy does it.”

“Thank you.”

“Now,” he rubs his hands together, “ice pack? Frozen veggies work pretty well too, if not better.”

“I don’t have one, but you can take one of my dish towels and put some ice in it. They are in the third drawer by the stove.”

“Third drawer. Coming right up.”

I watch him while he moves with ease through my kitchen, really taking a look at him. He’s wearing black basketball shorts and a white T-shirt. I can see he has an intricate tattoo on his left arm, but I can’t see exactly what it is. Most of it disappears under the fabric of his sleeve. He holds the towel in his hand and fills it with some ice cubes from the freezer.

“Okay, here’s this. Do you have a first aid kit? Or alcohol and a bandage?”

He hands me the makeshift ice pack and I place it on my knee.

“Down in the bathroom. Band-Aids and alcohol are in there. If you go down the hall, it’s the second door on the right.”

“Got it. I’ll be right back.”

When he finally leaves the room, I release a large breath. His presence is large and intimidating, but it doesn’t bother me, not even a little. I just need to process it a little.

I close my eyes and focus on deep, meditative breaths before I hear him come back into the kitchen.

“Are you good?” he asks, and I pop my eyes open.

“Yes, sorry, I was grounding myself.”

“Grounding?”

“Focusing inward. Taking a moment to relax.”

“Interesting.” He smiles a bit then kneels at my feet. “Can I see your hands?”

“It is interesting.” I offer him both of my hands, palms up. “It’s incredibly helpful if you really look into meditative practices.”

“Is that something you do often? Meditate?” He examines my hand closely before using my tweezers to pull out small bits of gravel.

“It is. Meditation and yoga are key parts of my daily routine. It keeps me even.”

“Even?” He opens the rubbing alcohol and pours a little bit onto a cotton round.

“Even, like, well, I guess I mean sane. It keeps me sane—OW!” I hiss out when he begins to clean my left palm with the cotton.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” He leans forward and gently blows on my skin to soothe the sting. It’s an act so tender and thoughtful that it takes me by complete surprise. The air all around us thickens and my heart gallops like a horse fresh out of the gate at the Kentucky Derby. His eyes sweep up to mine when his lips close, ending the soothing stream on my skin. “Better?” he asks.

I nod. “Much. Thank you.”

He places the cotton on the table then carefully lays a bandage on my palm and smooths it over. “There. Good as new.” Then he carefully cleans my right one, which isn’t as bad and doesn’t need to be bandaged.

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