Page 87 of The Mating Game
“I slipped,” I whine, eyes shut tight and still stinging from shampoo. “I think I might have messed up my ankle.”
“Can you move it?”
I give it a try, and I’m able to move it back and forth, but doing so causes a major ache. “Yeah, but it hurts like hell.”
“Probably just sprained then. Can you stand up?”
“About that…”
“Do you…I mean…I can help. I won’t look.”
Oddly enough, I’m more worried about him seeing me in this clumsy state rather than him seeing me naked.Again, that is. But he doesn’t need to know that.
“I can’t see. I have shampoo in my eyes.”
I hear the handle click before the door squeaks open, a bit of cold air creeping into the warm bathroom. “Yeah, it’s pitch-black in here anyway. No worries.”
“Can you get me a towel or something? My eyes are burning.”
I can sense him rummaging around in the cabinets for a second before I hear the rustle of the shower curtain. I reach above until my fingers collide with terry cloth, and I yank down the little hand towel he’s given me and rub the suds from my eyes. Then I reach up again to grab one of the corner shelves to try to hoist myself up afterward, but my ankle throbs sharply, making me yelp.
“I don’t think I can get up by myself,” I groan. There’s a moment of silence on the other side of the shower curtain. “Hunter?”
“Yeah,” he says finally. “Okay. I’m just—Just raise up your arms, okay? I don’t want to…I just want to make sure I get your hands.”
I do as he says, feeling about as mortified as I possibly can at this point, but after a second I feel his hands curl around mine, and he gently starts to tug me upward. It takes a little maneuvering to get me on my feet, and even then I have to sort of stand on one foot while he supports my weight by holding on to my hands. After that we stand there for a bit, neither of us knowing what to do next.
“I have to get this shampoo out of my hair,” I say resignedly. “Before the water goes cold.”
“Okay,” he says a little roughly. “I’ll just—Maybe I can—Okay. I’m going to keep hold of your hands, okay? Hop a little toyour…right? I think? Just hold on to my hands and lean back to rinse your hair. I’ve got you.”
This too, proves difficult, given that I can’t put a lot of weight on my foot, but I manage to sort of sideways moonwalk under the spray like a hobbling magician and finally feel the warm water pouring over my face. I tilt my head back to let it rinse the lingering shampoo from my hair, keeping my eyes shut tight until I’m almost positive I’ve gotten it all out.
“Okay,” I tell him. “I think I’ve got it. I had a towel on the toilet. Do you think you could…?”
“Yeah,” he answers quickly. “Grab one of my hands with both of yours. Keep steady.”
I do it, gasping a little when I feel the brush of his hand against my hip.
“Shit,” he hisses. “Sorry. I’m just trying to turn the water off.”
“I-it’s fine,” I manage, my skin feeling too warm where he’s touched me. “Hurry up with the towel. It’s cold in here now.”
“Okay, I’ve got it.” He gives my hands a tug. “Can you step out?”
“Maybe? Let me just—Fuck.”
He catches me, because of course he does. I’m fully aware that my naked, wet boobs are pressed to what I think is flannel (let’s be real, of course it’s flannel), and I can feel the bite of a shirt button pressing into one of my nipples. One of his hands is still wrapped in both of mine, but the other—the one that was holding the towel—is now wrapped around my upper arm, holding me steady against him.
God, and hisscent. It’s not a combination that should be mouthwatering, but I find myself wanting to lick him all the same.
Neither of us speaks at first—hell, I might not even be breathing—but it really is getting colder by the second, and a cold, wet ass is one heck of a motivation to not let awkwardness get the best of you.
“Don’t say one word about me being clumsy.”
His hand might flex at my arm, but I’m not sure. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“The towel,” I mumble, my voice still sounding too loud now that the water is off. “Can you wrap it around me?”
