Page 24 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
“It’s fine. Let Joss look at your foot and Wes can clean up the mess. When we’re all done, you’ll be good as new, yeah?”
There’s that word again.Yeah. Why does it only sound that good when he says it?
“Okay.” At my acquiescence, his shoulders relax, like he thought I’d fight him on this. I know myself though, and I reallymight pass out if I look at that blood again. Joss’s gentle hands grip my ankle, rolling the hem of my jeans up. I tense, and Breck’s hand resumes its gentle strokes. I melt into the touch and don’t pay attention to the world around me until I feel Breck’s hands slide along my thighs and underneath me to hoist me up.
“Just moving you to the other counter,” he whispers against my hair when I inhale sharply.
My instinct is to wrap my legs around him, but I don’t need to. He supports my weight fully, and I try not to think about his hands and where they’re gripping me. He rotates us, angling me on the opposite counter so Joss can maneuver my foot into the sink.
I hiss when water hits the cut, my other leg tightening around Breck where he stands in front of me. He doesn’t pull away but brings those big hands back to my spine.
“Almost done,” Joss says quietly. I can hear a smile in her voice when she continues. “And, you made your brother clean your kitchen for you. Well done.”
I chuckle weakly at her joke, as does Wes from somewhere nearby.
“Real nice, Roars. Real nice.” Wes’s voice drips with sarcasm. Then I hear him closer, right next to me. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I say on a shaky exhale.
His hand comes to the back of my neck and he plants a soft kiss on the crown of my head—one I wish was from Breck.Really, Rory?As if he isn’t doing enough, holding me through this whole ordeal. I guess it’s good he was sick of having me around, because after this I won’t have any trouble wanting to avoid him.
“Alright, all done. Good as new,” Joss says. “The cut wasn’t that deep, so you don’t need stitches or anything.”
I lift my head, opening my eyes, and the first thing I see is Breck, his face mere inches from mine. I push away and find my hands fisted in his shirt, over his pecs. I release them, shaking away the feel of cotton and heat.
“Sorry,” I say as I look away, glad that my kitchen no longer looks like a crime scene.
Breck loosens his grip too. When he steps back, I realize my leg is still wrapped around his thigh. I untangle myself, his heat leaving me completely.
I look down and see dark crimson spots smudged along his jeans, and it’s not my queasiness this time that makes me put my head in my hands.
God, could this get any more embarrassing?
I groan. “I’m sorry. I’ll get you new jeans.”
His laugh is low and rumbly. I peek between my fingers to watch him take in the state of his pants. “No worries. They’ll wash. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a situation like this. Willow’s had her fair share of scrapes. Seems to come with the territory of being a dad.”
I cringe and squeeze my eyes shut. There I was gripping his shirt and thinking about how easily he manhandled me, while this was all him leaning intodad mode. I press back against the counter, ready to hoist myself down onto my good foot and hobble straight to bed, or to find a hole to swallow me up.
I don’t make it far before he grabs my elbow. “Hang on, I’ll help you.”
“You don’t have t—” I don’t even finish my sentence before his hands are on my waist. Again. He lifts me off the counter and I slide against him until my feet find the ground. Too close. We’re too close.
“Thanks.” The word is brittle, his presence doing something to me it absolutely shouldn’t be, and I sigh. I’m supposed to bemad at him, or at the very least indifferent at this point. Instead, I’m nearly purring at his proximity.
Willow’s steps are heavier, like she’s put her boots on too, just in case. She pokes her head around her dad’s hip and smiles. “Are you okay?”
Breck steps back, leaving me to lean against the counter instead of him, and pulls Willow into his side.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a small cut. Nothing to worry about. Sorry if I scared you.”
“I wasn’t scared.” She juts her chin out, defiant and cute as a button.
“No, of course you weren’t. I was, though.”
“You were?” she asks, looking me over.
“Oh yeah, I don’t really like blood very much.” I swallow thickly, knowing there was quite a bit of it to clean up. “Sorry I ruined the fun.”
