Moving toward the kitchen to brew some coffee, I round the back of the couch, and my foot catches on a set of bare feet sticking out from underneath a blanket on the floor. I barely get my hands out in front of me in time as I pitch forward and nearly face plant into the wall. “Ow! Shit!” I shriek.
Startled, Connor jolts upward, hinged at the waist. He groans, loud and long, as he slowly eases himself back into a supine position.
I lean against the wall and clutch a hand to my chest, lungs heaving. Like a beacon, my gaze pans to Connor’s bare chest now fully exposed by the blanket having drifted down his frame. I’ve lost count of his abs when his pained sigh alerts me that I’m being a perv.
I rush to his side, kneeling by his head. “What’s going on? Are you hurt?”
Another low groan pours out of him as he rolls away from me, slowly pushing himself up. The muscles in his back clench with every movement. Too many seconds for comfort later, he finally gets to a seated position and adjusts the blanket over his lap. “You could say that?”
“What happened?”
“That bed”—he gestures to the sofa at his back—“if you can even call it that, was made by a bunch of evil minion elves in the devil’s workshop.”
A snort tumbles out before I can stop it. “That’s oddly specific.”
“I had to move to the floor because it jacked up my back,” he grits through a scowl.
I wince at the recollection of Connor’s career-ending footballinjury back in college. He’s told me how the pain can flare up, but I’ve never seen it firsthand. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine. My back’s just stiff as a board.”
Connor finally meets my gaze, all the pained lines of his face slowly softening as the corner of his mouth ticks up. “Morning, Fish. How’d you sleep?”
“Hell of a lot better than you, apparently.”
After I fetch him some ibuprofen, I return to his side with the medicine and a bottle of water. Through a clenched jaw, he tosses back a few pills.
“I’m taking the couch tonight. You can’t have another night like this.”
“Oh, no. No way. I’ll sleep on the floor before I let you spend an hour on that death trap.”
“And I’ll max out my credit card and reserve a second room before I let you sleep anywhere but on the bed inthere.” I point a disciplinary finger at the bedroom.
He squints at me and I smile in kind as I adjust my glasses. A slow grin unfurls across his face. “I really do like those glasses.”
Before my smile gives me away, I say, “For real though, do you need to lay low today? We don’t have to do the hike. We can stay in and order room service, binge some TV.”
“No, no. I’m fine. I promise. I just need to get up and moving to loosen up.”
His tone may sound final enough, but I’m still uncertain if he’s actually well enough to go or if he’s trying to appease me. “Okay,” I sigh. “Well, we probably need to leave by nine if we wanna beat the heat.”
He nods through another sip of his water. Putting the cap back on, he sets it aside and moves to stand.
“Wait. Let me help you.” I get to my feet and extend my hand. He grabs it while I crook my other arm under his shoulder. Together, we make it a couple inches off the ground before he reverses course and lowers himself back to the floor, tugging the blanket toward his waist. “You know what? I should do this bymyself.” I open my mouth to protest, but he adds, “I’m not wearing any shorts, Gretch.”
“Oh,” I mumble as my traitorous eyeballs hastily—and not discreetly—jump to where the blanket is draped over his hips. His naked hips, I now realize. My skin prickles with heat as I force myself to look…anywhere else. Unfortunately,anywhere elsemeans jack squat to my brain because now I’m staring at his chest. Yup, still shirtless.
I finally meet his gaze, his littlemy eyes are up here, Gretchsmirk right there to embarrass me. I pull my thoughts, and my face, into submission, the picture of a woman unaffected by rock hard abs and nine thread count blankets atop naked lower halves. “Butcanyou actually do it yourself?”
“I’ll be fine. You take the bathroom to get ready and I’ll get myself situated out here.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
“Drew texted me this morning,”Connor says as he settles into the seat across from me after his first pass through the breakfast buffet.
“Yeah, me too. He didn’t tell me anything, though. You?”
He shakes his head. “He mainly just asked about you. I told him everything was fine here.”
