“Elliot.” I stared at the back of his head. “You can’t help me if you’re all the way over there.”
“Right, sorry.”
He put the towels on the hooks on the back of the door, then turned and crossed the room. I was shirtless and had to use his body to pull myself up. He saw how I was struggling to balance myself in order to remove the rest of my clothes.
“You’re making things awkward for yourself. Unstrap your boot first. Sit back down.”
I did as I was told, and sat back while Elliot undid the strap on my boot and removed it. The compression of the boot disappeared and my leg felt so weird without it. It had been taken off a few times over the last week, but I still frowned when I looked at the brand-new scar on my leg. The scabs had fallen off and now it was just a big, chunky, jagged red line.
“My poor leg,” I sighed. “I’ll never be a footballer now.”
Elliot snorted and helped me up. I placed my foot on the ground but didn’t put a whole lot of weight on it. I was awkwardly trying to tug down my shorts and underwear with one hand as I used the other to hold on to Elliot to keep my balance. He helped me without a word.
“This is absolutely mortifying.” My cheeks burned. “I didn’t think you’d have to do this, I’m sorry.”
Elliot didn’t answer nor did he drop his eyes once as he removed my shorts and knickers. He grabbed my top from the ground and then placed my clothes on the far side of the room. When he came back, he put his hands on my waist and said, “Turn the water on.”
“No,” I gasped. “You’ll get soaked.”
“I’ll get a little wet.” He shrugged. “I’ll angle myself away from it as best I can.”
And then he could catch a chill and get sick.
“Or you could just take off your clothes, and that way they won’t get wet?”
Elliot’s eyes locked on mine, and he didn’t blink. I heard how my words sounded, and my cheeks continued to burn. I was making a fool of myself.
“I mean down to your boxer briefs, not na-naked,” I stammered. “I’m not trying to get you naked, I just don’t want you to get all wet and—”
“Noah,” Elliot interrupted with a slow smile. “I know what you meant.”
“I’m sorry.” I looked at my hand on his arm. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”
I wasn’t talking about showering, and I think Elliot knew that.
“I’ll take off my top and jeans.” He helped me lower myself back down on to the seat. “Don’t move.”
He removed his clothes slowly, and I knew he didn’t mean it like this, but Christ, it was like a slow striptease. I swallowed when his torso was exposed. He was so physically fit it was ridiculous; he was incredibly sexy. I always thought he fit the description of a Greek god – I remember being proud that I had someone as gorgeous as him on my arm.
I looked down at my naked body, and humiliation scalded my cheeks. He’d been with me when I was healthy and slim and didn’t have a gut that could rival Buddha’s.
Elliot was down to his boxer briefs and didn’t look below my neckline as he approached me, but I didn’t have that restraint. My eyes lowered to his chest as he helped me back to my feet, and I couldn’t stop myself from lifting my arm and brushing my fingers over the hair on his skin. It was a surprise to see him with chest hair because he normally waxed or shaved it . . . then I remembered why. He knew I loved to sleep with my head on his chest but his chest hair tickled my face, so he’d removed it . . . for me.
I guess since we weren’t together, he didn’t have a reason to remove it any more.
“Noah,” he said, his voice strained.
I didn’t look up at him, I was in a trance staring at the body I was once so familiar with. He had four new scars on his torso – not big ones, just a few lines. I ran my fingertips over each of them.
“What happened?”
“Little knocks I picked up on a few watches over the years, nothin’ major.”
Elliot was breathing heavily and his body was so incredibly tense that his veins stood out