back to the couch again. Goddamn. I hate being injured.
I’m stretched out on the couch watching an old episode of Sons of Anarchy when I hear the front door lock turning. Only Kyle has a key so I assume it’s him. My attention remains on my large flat screen until I hear the sweet sound of Kenna’s voice.
“Hi. How are you feeling?” She walks over to me, stopping next to the couch. My head cranes around to catch a glimpse of her. My eyes needing to see her as soon as they can. They’re drawn to her like a magnet to metal. No matter how hard I fight it; they’re going to drink their fill.
“I’ve been better; I’ve been worse.” I shrug my shoulders.
She smiles at me and places a small grocery bag down on my coffee table. My gaze runs over her. She has on black yoga pants, black chucks and a white, long sleeve K.D. Investigations tee shirt. Seeing her in that shirt makes me feel proud of all that Kyle and I have accomplished. Her hair is down today and the way it ripples in waves down past her shoulders has me wanting to bury my fingers in it.
"I came over to check on you. I hope you don’t mind, but I had Kyle give me his key so you wouldn’t have to get up to let me in.”
How can I be mad at her for being thoughtful? I wouldn’t expect any less from her, though. It’s why she makes such a good nurse. She’s a natural caregiver. I’ve just never had the opportunity to experience it first-hand.
“You didn’t have to do that. I’m fine.” I don’t want her to see me like this. I don’t want someone hovering. I don’t like to be around people when I’m in pain.
“Of course, I did.” She moves closer until she’s standing between the coffee table and the couch. She reaches in the bag and begins removing items; setting them on the table one at a time. First is a bottle of hand sanitizer, then a new package of large gauze pads and finally an unopened roll of white medical tape.
“I’m going to look at your wound and change your bandage for you. Can you sit up and put your leg on the coffee table?”
“Yeah I can do that.” I sit up and swing my leg over to the glass table, supporting it with both hands. I grimace from the burning pain that tears through my thigh.
“When was the last time you took pain meds?” she asks. I lift my head, looking up at her. Her eyebrows are drawn together while she studies me.
“I haven’t taken any since I left the hospital early this morning.” I run my hand over my hair. “I don’t like taking them.” I don’t want to talk about why I won’t take them. “It’s just a cut. I don’t need pain meds.” Don’t ask.
“You need to take ibuprofen at least. Can you do that?” I nod my head, relieved she didn’t ask for details. I’m not proud of my past. There are a lot of things I’ve done that I’m ashamed of. I’d rather she not know about that side of me.
She moves closer, now standing between me and the coffee table. I’m fighting off the images my mind is conjuring of her dropping to her knees and asking me if she can suck my cock. Fuck.
“I’m going to have to push these up so I can change the bandage.” She tugs on the bottom of the basketball shorts.
“Okay, gotcha.” I hold my breath and will my dick to stay down. I know that when I feel her hands on my skin it’s going to be almost impossible to remain unaffected. She reaches down, pumps some hand sanitizer in her palm and then rubs her hands together. If only that were lube. I laugh and she looks at me, a confused expression on her face.
“What’s so funny about hand sanitizer?” she asks confused.
"Not a thing.” I smirk.
Her hands go to the bottom of my shorts, pushing the material up until most of my thigh is exposed. Her fingers gently tug on the outer edges of the tape along one side, until it loosens enough for her to lift it up. She peels the bandage back and I get a look at the wound for the first time. They kept me lying down at the hospital and had a drape around it so I never got