Page 18 of Before We Fell

I sat slowly, smirking as I did it. “What floors?”

“Cute.” He snickered and once I was in the chair, he dropped to a crouch in front of me.

The move tightened his jeans over his thighs, and yeah, I looked.

How could I not? It wasn’t often a man knelt in front of me, especially not one as beautiful as this man, even if he was an angry jerkface.

He undid the clasp on the tackle box next to him and flipped it open. Piles of band-aids and individual ointment packs along with what I assumed were anti-bacterial wipes popped open with the move and spilled all over the floor.

“Are you an EMT in your off-hours?” I asked, unable to help myself. Who had a medical kit this large for their home? It was beyond massive. Probably held more supplies than our nurse’s office at the school and she had an entire room to store them.

He dug through mounds of wipes and rolls of gauze, flipped through different sizes of band-aids and individually sealed packages that looked like the kind of wet wipes they gave out at The Tavern on rib night, making a small pile next to my feet.

He ripped open the first package. “This might sting,” he said, and more gently than I thought humanely possible from him, he curved his hand around the back of my calf and lifted my leg. Pressing the wipe to one of my many scrapes on my shin, he swiped it carefully.

I didn’t know what did it. The sting of the alcohol, the coolness of the cloth. The warmth of his palm holding me so tenderly like I was porcelain, but a shiver rolled up my body, starting at my toes and went straight to my scalp. Goose bumps ignited all over my legs and my thighs trembled. It was impossible to hide, and my breaths turned raspy as he moved from one cut to another, his thumb sliding along my flesh. Chaos erupted all over my skin and his grip tightened.

There was no way he didn’t see my reaction.

Much like the rest of me that was unbloodied, he seemed to ignore it.

Dropping one wipe to the floor, he opened another, this time using his teeth to tear through the foil as he kept a hold of my calf.

“I didn’t know what she’d need,” he said, spitting out the torn off foil and digging through the packet with his free hand. “So I bought this.”

It took me a minute to realize what he meant, and once I realized he was talking about his first-aid kit fit for an ambulance, another tremble rolled through me.

It wasn’t just his words. But it was his voice, so quiet and husky, and for the first time in our short interactions, he wasn’t angry…he was vulnerable?

Tears pricked at my eyes and I blinked them away, lifting my gaze to the ceiling where it was obvious the popcorn finish had been scraped off it. His house was a mess.

I was starting to think Noah was an even bigger one.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” he clipped. He flashed me a glare before dipping back to my leg. “Don’t apologize. Riley is not a burden or something to be apologized for.”

Heat rolled off of him, annoyed. But I didn’t think that was it. I worked with kids who got angry when hurt, annoyed when frustration set in. Furious when disappointed. I wasn’t about to apologize for him for having to take on Riley, but for losing his sister.

I suspected we both knew that, so I pressed my lips together and tried to breathe through the sting of the alcohol wipe as he dropped my one leg and worked on the other. Just like before, when he touched me, his warm, firm hand pressing to the soft flesh just beneath the back of my knee, my body reacted.

It was physical and meant nothing. Except that maybe I’d gone too long without being touched at all.

“Where is Riley?” I asked as he dropped the last wipe and tore open a band-aid. My legs were riddled with scrapes, dozens of them, and I made a mental note to trim back the bushes. I spent a lot of time there in the fall, gathering up cones that fell from the sweet gum trees for my friend, Tinley. She used them in craft projects to sell at her roadside flea market, but blood covered ones wouldn’t be usable.

“Sleeping.”

“She can sleep through all that racket you make?” It wasn’t a tease, more a serious question.

Noah seemed to think it was funny. He lifted his head and a cocky grin curved his lips. It was something about the look, the perfect dip at the top of his pointed lips and the fullness in them, that made me catch my breath. Good Lord, the man was way too good looking to be real.

“She’s never complained,” he said, and his voice had gone arrogant. Like there was something wrong withme,for not enjoying being woken up shortly after the sun rose.

“I like my sleep. And I don’t like it being interrupted by early morning hammers and saws and I also don’t think that’s too much to ask, Mr. Wilkes.”

His hand on my calf tightened, fingertips dug in and the cocky grin vanished into something sinister.

Something I really liked based on the sudden zooming pulse at the center of my thighs. He tugged on my leg and leaned forward. “Noah,” he stated. “My name is Noah.”

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