Page 38 of The Recovery Coach
“Do you want to shower?”Livy asked.
It took far too long for his brain to comprehend the question.She ran the washcloth over his face again, wiping away the last of the residue left by his shaving product, a patient expression on her face.Of their own accord, his eyes drifted over her face and down her chest.He swallowed the lump in his throat.
“No,” his voice came out far too scratchy.He cleared his throat again.“No,” he repeated, shaking his head and once again forcing his eyes to her face.
She raised an eyebrow at him.“You’ll feel better once it’s done.”
Hazy shook his head.“I’ll do it in the morning.”
Livy frowned at him, the endearing little crease between her eyebrows begging to be smoothed away.“I don’t trust you to do it yourself yet.You almost died shaving.If we do it tonight, we can both sleep in.”She leaned past him to turn on the water.
He balled his hands into fists and pulled his head away from where, if he’d left it, her chest would have grazed the side of his face.She was right; staying upright for any length of time on his own was a stretch.But she was half naked and shoving her boobs in his face, and his dick wasnoton board with treating her like a sister.
He’d never been so aware of his lack of familial ties with someone.
“Fine,” he said.“But you have to put some fucking clothes on.”
Livy took stock of her outfit and stepped away.“What’s wrong with my pajamas?”
Hazy closed his eyes and took a deep breath.She shouldn’t have to change for his comfort.He was making it weird.He needed to shake these unsettling thoughts.
Goddamn, he needed to get laid.He couldn’t remember the last time he fucked someone, and that was not like him.His sex life had been robust from the moment he debuted in the NHL.Women and men lined up to sleep with him.A stranger occupied his bed more nights than not.With Livy living in his house and his injury, all that disappeared.He had a few numbers he could utilize, but the broken leg put a damper on things.
He did his best to wrangle his dick into submission.His Grandma.The kidnapping of Popcorn the beagle.How did he never notice how great Livy’s tits were?She filled out every top she wore, her curves soft and plentiful.She’d be more than a handful.
Fuck.No.
Seattle fumbling the World Series.A puck to the back of the knee.Gonorrhea.There.Limp as an over-cooked spaghetti noodle.
“Nothing is wrong with them.Sorry.”
She frowned and grabbed one of his dirty shirts from the floor, tugging it over her tank top.
Livy kneeled at Hazy’s feet and gingerly loosened his brace.Her fingers grazed against his inner thigh as she slid the brace off his leg.
His heart rate skyrocketed and his dick forgot every boner-killing idea he’d forced upon it.She ran steady, soft strokes of her fingers over his bruises.“They’re fading fast,” she said.
He jumped out of his skin at the contact.
Livy’s brow furrowed in confusion as he squirmed away from her.
“Sorry, I’m a little ticklish,” he said.
“No, you aren’t,” Livy called him out.
He’d never been ticklish.
He forced a cocky smile and smolder.“People change, baby girl.”
Livy rolled her eyes.“You’re an idiot.”
Hazy chuckled.“That did tickle, though,” he lied through his teeth.
“Huh.”She tested the water temperature.
He breathed a sigh of relief.Crisis averted.Or so he thought until she said, “Alright, strip.”
“Sorry, what?”he asked.
