Fuck, I’m an asshole. This meal is not turning out the way I wanted it to. I don’t know what I was expecting when I can barely get myself out of bed, showered, and changed these days. It’s not surprising that I can’t treat Katie to a nice meal. No, I have to sit here instead, having her run around after me all night.
Katie returns with two tall glasses of water and places them on the table between us.
I reach for her hand before she can find another reason to run off. “Katie, I’m sorry. I’m not very good company tonight.” She stares down at where I’m touching her, then back up at me.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No, not at all. I just wanted to apologize for growling at you.”
She smiles sweetly at me. “Funny. I remember your growling being very different.”
I throw my head back and laugh. In the blink of an eye, or really, one short quip, she has brushed aside my bad mood. Maybe having her here in my domain was a good idea after all. It’s allowed me the chance to apologize and explain what happened while also removing any awkwardness from our future business discussions.
Smiling, she looks down at the meal and says, “Come on, let’s eat before it gets cold. This looks delicious, and I’m hungry.”
“Good idea.” I reach for a sachet of malt vinegar, then offer her one. “Do you want vinegar on your chips?”
She looks at me oddly. “Why would I want to put vinegar on my chips?”
“It’s braw.”
She laughs. “Have I mentioned that sometimes I have no idea what you’re saying? What is braw?” She wrinkles her nose cutely when she pronounces the word, and I laugh along with her.
“It means great, fantastic. What I was saying was vinegar on chips tastes great. Do you want to try it? It’s a British tradition.”
“Ah … No thanks, but do you have mayo?”
I shake my head, smiling at the easy, light banter. It’s nice to not be thinking about the accident or my injuries. They’ve been the focus of the last two months—every discussion and every thought. I’m over it.
We settle into a comfortable conversation while we eat our simple meal. It’s an easy sharing of thoughts from favorite foods to places we’ve traveled.
The next morning, Sean digs his thumbs into the back of my right thigh. I’m lying facedown on the portable therapy table in the middle of the living room, my face pushed hard into the hole and my fists gripping so tightly to the sides of the table my knuckles have turned a ghostly white.
Sean chuckles. “Hang in there, mate. I’m nearly done. Just a few more minutes.” Sean is a big Australian dude who could probably become a good friend if he wasn’t also my sadistic torturer. He calls himself a physical therapist, and when he uses acupuncture to ease my pain, I’d be willing to call him that too. But on days like today, when he does these hard muscle manipulation sessions that are the thing of nightmares, I want to fucking beat him to a pulp.
He hits a particularly painful knot of muscle, and I can’t hold back a pained groan. “That fucking hurts like a bitch,” I complain loudly, and he has the nerve to chuckle. I grit my teeth and brace for more pain.
It’s then that the front door squeaks open, and the click of heels on the wooden floorboards give me only a second’s warning before Katie says, “Oh, excuse me. Um, sorry. I can wait outside. I didn’t realize you were … busy.”
I can’t lift my head to see her, but I can imagine the pink blush on her cheeks.
Sean’s hands are no longer inflicting pain, so I’m grateful for the timely interruption. “Katie, this is Sean, my physio,” I mumble through the gap in the table before hearing them greet each other. “We’re nearly finished. Aren’t we, Sean?” I threaten, then grit my teeth as his thumbs return to hit the same painful spot again. I visibly flinch.
“Still, I’ll wait on the deck till you’re finished.” I catch a glimpse of red heels as she walks by, and I’m tempted to lift my head to see what version of Katie I have today. I suspect, based on the shoes, that we’re back to boss lady, which means she’s here for business. It’s a shame that her idea of business is not the kind I’d like to be doing with her.
After a very enjoyable dinner together last night, I’m rethinking my stance on keeping my hands off her. Business never mixes well with pleasure. But thoughts of the beautiful woman kept me awake last night and into the early hours of this morning.
Maybe a repeat of our one-night stand wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
Sean finishes up with a few more sharp pokes and prods, then helps me to standing. I wrap the large white towel around my waist and watch as he quickly packs up his gear. Then, with a cheerful promise to return in two days, he leaves. The dude seems to get way too much pleasure out of inflicting pain on me.
Unsteadily, I make my way slowly over to the glass doors, leaning heavily on furniture and walls where I can. It already feels like I’m moving more freely than I was at the start of the day, but that’s still no better than an octogenarian. My legs are sore and shaky, and I brace my arms against the doorframe leading out to the deck.
Outside, Katie is standing at the edge of the deck, looking out at the ocean. It’s a sunny but breezy day with the deep blue expanse chopped up and dotted with whitecaps. The sound of the waves hitting the rocks is louder, and the air is filled with a salty sea spray. I love these wilder days better than the calm ones. They just have a way of making you feel glad to be alive. And even in my weakened state, I’m glad to be here in this moment, gazing at the back of the truly stunning woman before me.
I quietly admire her kick-ass stance, one hand on her hip, the other holding back a swathe of dark hair from being blown about in the blustery wind. My eyes briefly trail down her body from her narrow waist that flares out into curvy hips to the sweetest peachy butt all encased in her tight black skirt. Then there are those long, shapely legs that end in a pair of traffic-stopping red shoes that should not turn me on but do.
I quickly adjust myself through the thick towel so my admiration is not so embarrassingly obvious, then clear my throat.
