Page 42 of False Start
She gets by far too often with letting others assume her needs. Right now, there’s probably nothing she can do for herself without her dominant hand.
“Everything.” She lifts her cast. “I haven’t showered yet, and I don’t want to get in bed gross from the bout.”
“Oh.” I feign disinterest, my hands in my pockets as I take a step closer to her.
“Nevermind, actually.” She’s all nerves, too anxious to follow through.
“Don’t you think you should ask Kade for help?” This tension between us feels immense, but I need the clarity. Even if K and I aren’t friends, we’re still teammates. I’m not stealing someone’s girl out from underneath them.
She laughs, a summery sound straight from her chest before she speaks again. “Kade’s made it pretty clear they’d rather be dead than see me naked.”
And that’s all I need.
“Their loss,” falls freely from my mouth as she walks past me and heads straight across the hall.
I grab her good wrist, forcing her to turn to face me again. She stumbles back a step into the bathroom, biting her lower lip. Gripping her hips, I lift her up and place her on the marble of the bathroom vanity. Her eyes are wide, alert now, as she waits for me to make the next move.
“Lift your arms up.”
She obeys the command, letting me grab the hem of her tank top and pull it over her head. Her sports bra clasps in the front, and I’m thankful, because it looks too tight to pull over her shoulders with the cast on. Nia’s fully capable of undoing the clasp herself, but she’s not. Instead,she’s fixated on me, her eyes glued to my lips, shifting every few seconds to where my fingers sit.
I drop to one knee and pull at the top of her tube sock, rolling it down her ankles and then sliding it off her foot before repeating on the other side. Standing between her legs, I reach for the first clasp of her bra, and she leans closer. I undo the second, her chest rising with a deep inhale. The third comes undone, and the curve of her cleavage begs my attention. I give a hard tug, sloppy with the final clasp as I yank it free, her breasts spilling out as the bra hangs on her shoulders like an open vest.
She shrugs it off, and I back up, giving her space to hop off the counter. I stand corrected from all previous assumptions. What I had seen as scrawny and weak was a guise for battered and beaten. Her legs are a mapwork of scars, highways edging from one knee down to her ankle bone, some round scars the size of a quarter on the front of her shins. The other leg is not much better, and the work of the week is displayed on her flesh.
Purple, blue, green and orange bruising drapes her hips and knees, the array of colors making it evident that some are from me a few days back, and some are from tonight, already setting in. There’s a bruise on her sternum, bright blue and small, about the size of an elbow.
I suddenly wish Venice hadn’t pulled me off Reese Ender so fast.
She deserved more than what I laid out.
Nia’s eyes are still on me as she stands there, all golden skin with nothing but sheer panties on. She’s not covering up, but I’m only staring at her face now, at the way the brown of her eyes are so dark in this light, it feels like an entire night sky.
She fumbles with her left hand, trying to pull the hairtie off her braid, but it gets stuck on a knot. Stepping closer, I take the bundle of hair from her hand and gently pull the band free from the tangle with minimal breakage. I slip it over my own wrist and run my fingers through the braid, starting from the bottom as I pull apart the strands and detangle.
Her eyes are closed, her head slightly dropped back like she’s appreciating the contact. The “Thank you,” is barely an audible whisper from her moving lips.
“Anything else? Or do you need me to wash you too?” The crooked smirk paints itself on my face too easily with her around.
Her eyes widen, and she brings her arms over her chest to cover herself up. “No.” She shakes her head, and just as I’m about to exit the bathroom, she drops her arms once more. “But I want you to.”
I freeze, half turned with my mouth agape.
Maybe not so meek after all.
“Will you get on your knees for it?” I challenge, my voice sharp as I face her.
She furrows her eyebrows at first, but she doesn’t argue or disobey. She lowers to her knees, using her uncasted arm to support her on the wall. I close the distance between us, my boots practically touching her knees when she tilts her head up to look at me.
Fuck, she’s a sight.
I bend down just slightly to cradle her jaw in between my fingers. “I think Ireallylike you this way, Nia-Death.” She shudders with her exhale, but she doesn’t blink; she just waits for me. “Do you want me to take care of you?”
She nods, slow, but drastic enough that the movement forces my hand loose from her jaw. I use my thumb tocaress the line before I move past her and turn the shower on behind her.
Nia doesn’t move. She waits, like the burden of doing it herself is more than she can bear right now. “It’s warm.”
Her head doesn’t even turn my way. “Get in.” She begins to shift from the command, and I extend my hand to help her up and over the ledge of the tub.
