I circle a particularly angry-looking bruise on the inside of her thigh lightly with my finger. “You hardly got off lightly.”
“I landed on my feet instead of my head, Nate. It could have been so much worse.” Her entire body is shaking on top of me and I don’t know how to fix it. “He got my feet on the ground, told me to keep skating, and we managed to finish.”
“Then what happened?”
“I threw up and cried.” She scoffs. “We waited for our score and by some miracle, we just managed to qualify. We’d been perfection until that moment, and I don’t know.” She laughs, but it’s humorless. Bit by bit, it morphs into tears until she’s half laughing, half crying. She shrugs at me because I don’t think she knows what’s happening either.
Tugging her body to mine, I rub her back as she sobs again. She wraps her arms around my neck and rests her head on my shoulders. Her sniffs and sighs tickle my neck, and I feel so out of my depth.
Her cheek presses against mine, and her breathing deepens. Then she presses her nose to my nose, and her hands settle at each side of my face, where they stay until she presses her lips against mine.
Everything is so much slower than usual. There isn’t the usual urgent, sexually frustrated rush or the drunken, horny haze. It’s just me and her, sober, her soft body underneath my hands and her tongue gently moving against mine.
She breaks us apart, hand brushing across my stubble affectionately as I watch a thousand questions swirl around her pretty, blue eyes. “Nathan, will you play house with me?”
“Always.”
* * *
I suspectwashing women’s hair usually doesn’t take this long, but I don’t have the heart to stop.
I tried not to gasp or stare when she pulled her T-shirt off and stepped under the running water. I could see deep purple bruises across her ribs and stomach from the impact of Aaron catching her, making me feel sick.
I’m used to seeing people battered and bruised. It comes with the territory of being both a hockey player and having a friendship group filled with clowns. But never this. She gave me a sad smile, holding out her hand for me to step into the shower with her. “It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise.”
Playing house, essentially forgetting real life for a few hours, was the best thing she could have come up with. Thinking back to what Sabrina said about control, I asked Anastasia what she wanted to do. Immediately she wanted to wash her hair, claiming she couldn’t face the tangles herself.
I’m good at massaging the stuff into her scalp. At first, I was a little rough, but I’ve got it right now, and I get all the suds out.
Being in her shower is fascinating; there’s tons more smelly stuff than I knew existed. Found out body exfoliator is a thing and it’s blown my mind. “Is that why you’re always so soft?”
It feels really fucking good to hear her laugh. “Uh, yeah, maybe.”
After we were both under the spray, her body relaxed into mine, where it’s stayed. There’s nothing sexual about this shower and I don’t want there to be. I want to look after her and I feel grateful she wants me to.
Spinning around to face me, she creeps onto her tiptoes and rubs my head. “Can I wash your hair?”
Her eyes are brighter now, cheeks flushed, bringing the color back to her face. I’ve been trying to get her hair to stand up straight for the past five minutes, determined to give her a punk rock hairstyle. It’s too long, and every time I get enough shampoo foam into it, it flops over and smacks her in the face. I get an elbow in the stomach and she gets a mouth full of shampoo.
“You can’t even reach my head properly,” I tease, linking my fingers with her grabby hands. “Do you want some help?”
She looks like she’s about to be stubborn, but she must realize she doesn’t have another choice because she nods.
Lifting her as gently as I can, she winds her legs around my waist. I keep my hands under her to keep her supported; well, it’s actually to keep her away from my boner. My dick doesn’t understand the naked, wet woman wrapped around us giggling, doesn’t want to sit on him.
She lathers the shampoo between her hands and sinks them both into my hair, and I swear I moan.
“Thank you, Nathan. I needed this.”
“I needed it too.”
TWENTY-THREE | ANASTASIA
When I wokeup this morning, I promised myself I would not cry this week.
I meant it too. It felt achievable at the time; I even postednew week, new start. That’s how positive I was things were going to be great. I’ve cried so much over the past two weeks I’m surprised our building didn’t flood. But last night was the mark of the end of all the crying.
So I thought, anyway.