Page 80 of Everything's Better With You
Leslie sucked in a deep breath and nodded. He crouched behind Joe and slid them carefully down. He lifted Joe’s right foot, pulled it off, and then he tried to lift the left and Joe cried out but he freed his foot.
“I’m so sorry, Joe. I’ve pulled my groin but not the hip flexor. I’d imagine it’s a lot worse.”
“I’d kill for a pulled groin right now,” he gasped.
They hobbled to the bathroom together and Joe leaned on Leslie as he got the shower running. Joe stepped in and reached for the soap, but Leslie cleared his throat.
“How about…can you just hold onto the wall and I’ll… Let me wash you, Joe. I don’t want you to fall.”
Joe put his hands against the wall and laughed. “Bet this wasn’t on your list of perfect nights.”
“Stop it,” Leslie said. He lathered up the soap and ran it over Joe’s neck, shoulders, and arms, making sure to scrub each finger, each joint. “You know nothing about my perfect nights list then. Taking care of you, being needed by you, tops my list every time.”
Joe’s eyes burned and he sucked in a shaky breath, thankful he was facing away from Leslie. “Now,youstop it. I’m tired of crying.”
Leslie chuckled softly and then moved to Joe’s legs. He was so careful and gentle, it wasn’t a sensual act at all, and for that reason Joehad a hard time relaxing. He must have tensed up because Leslie placed a hand on his lower back.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah? It’s just…I’m glad it’s you, but it’s…I’ve never had someone bathe me.” He’d never showered with someone in a sensual way either. It was different like this, different than sex, and he just felt so…exposed.
“Before I met you,” Leslie said, rinsing the soap from Joe’s body. “My first year in the NFL, I had a bad game in Detroit. I ran the ball from the thirty-yard line and when I got hit, I kind of went up and over the two tackles, dropped the ball, and landed on my hands before tumbling over. They rushed me off the field, worried I’d broken both my wrists, and since it had been raining the whole game, I was covered in mud. The trainer had to strip me down and shower me before we could go in for X-Rays. Aw-kward. But honestly, he made it fine, talked to me the whole time about his kids and his husband and the time his husband broke his wrist gardening and how he wished he had a much cooler story to explain his injury. Anyway, I don’t want this to be awkward for you. I just want to take care of you. Always. Whatever you need.”
As Leslie talked, Joe let himself sink into his touch, let Leslie’s voice lull him into a state of relaxation, and finally, he stopped resisting. He was hurt, he was injured, he would get better if he did what the doctor told him to. It would suck, but he would survive this, and his dance career would have to wait. All he could do was focus on the here and now. With Leslie.
“Everything is better with you,” Joe slurred, his limbs growing weak and his head too heavy to hold up. “Wash my hair? Please, baby?”
“Yeah, I can do that.”
Leslie turned him under the spray, giving Joe a chance to get steady on his feet and then he tipped Joe’s head back, supporting him with one arm. Joe stumbled a bit and winced, but he managed to remain upright until Leslie was done.
“Stay there. Let me grab towels.”
Joe pointed to the cabinet where he’d put the ones he’d bought on his trip with Marti and then he sighed as Leslie wrapped him in soft fuzzy towels.
“I got you all wet,” Joe said as Leslie picked him up and carried him to his bed. He was too tired to fight.
“I’ll dry. Here, lay back. Let me stretch this leg.”
Joe held his arms up. “Please, Leslie. Just…please?” He wiggled his fingers. “I can’t keep my eyes open. Can you stay for just a little while?”
“Yeah,” Leslie said, his voice cracking. “Whatever you want.” He looked down at himself and pulled his soaking shirt away from his chest. “I don’t want to get your bed wet.”
Joe groaned. “Just take it off and get in here.” He rolled onto his side and grunted as he tucked his body pillow under his right leg. “Climb in here behind me.”
Twenty-Two
Leslie
Leslie took Joe’s request as consent, stripped down to his boxer briefs, and climbed in behind Joe, keeping space between them. He used a towel to dry Joe’s dripping locks and then ran his fingers through the silky mass. “What else can I do, Joe?”
“Tell me a story,” Joe mumbled into his pillow. “I want to hear your voice. Relaxes me.”
“Okay…what kind of a story?”
“Tell me the story of the night we met.”
Leslie laughed. “You were there, too, you know. You kinda already know what happened.”
