He frowned. “For what? I mean, the list is long.”
“For being an ass to you last week. Said some things that hurt you.”
He looked away. “You didn’t hurt me.”
“I’m pretty sure I did, but regardless. What I said about you being lazy and irresponsible was a low blow, and I shouldn’t have said it.”
A myriad of emotions played over his face. I hoped to god he never played poker because he had the worst poker face ever. I could literally read every emotion off his face. “Thank you,” he said finally. “I wasn’t expecting an apology, so thank you.”
There, done. Now we could go back to ignoring each other.
I turned my back toward him and whipped my tank top over my head, dropping it carelessly on the floor. It had to be washed anyway. When my hands reached the waistband of my shorts, I stopped.
Crap. I hadn’t thought this through. Showering meant getting naked in front of Heath. And while I’d been naked in front of my Army buddies hundreds of times, this felt different. They couldn’t possibly care less, first of all, and second…
I couldn’t come up with a second reason except that itwasdifferent. Heath wasn’t the same as my fellow soldiers, my brothers-in-arms. I’d never seen anyone break the unspoken rule of not staring at someone else when they were undressing or naked. Hell, I’d literally been in a shower with fifty other guys, and I’d barely registered the naked bodies. We all had the same basic anatomy, no? Even if our dicks were maybe an inch longer or shorter or whatever.
But I wasn’t the same as I’d always been. My body was different now, covered in scars and with that angry stump where I still expected to see a leg. Showing someone else that wasn’t quite so easy, not even when they had similar wounds. It made me feel vulnerable, and I didn’t like that one bit.
I didn’t see a way out, though. If I got dressed again now, Heath would know I’d chickened out on showering, and hell if I gave him that satisfaction.
When I heard Heath’s crutches on the floor, I glanced over my shoulder. He was on his way to the showers, naked, apparently not sparing the whole thing even a thought. And here I stood, debating it and making a much bigger deal out of it than necessary. In this case, I should take my cue from him and treat it like it was no biggie because it wasn’t.
I finished undressing, grabbed my shower gel and shampoo from my locker, then turned around…and stared at my crutches. How the hell was I going to do this? I couldn’t carry the two bottles and use my crutches. The floors here all had anti-slip mats on them, including in the showers, but did I feel stable enough to hop? I’d have to because I didn’t see any other way.
And so I left my crutches there, wrapped my towel around my neck, and hopped on one foot to the showers, holding the two bottles. Oh, fuck, I’d forgotten about one thing in my plan. When you were naked and hopped like that, it did really weird things to your dick and balls. As in, they awkwardly flopped around like you were a teenager who had discovered he could play with himself.
My cheeks heated up at the thought Heath would see me like this. He’d laugh his ass off. But again, what alternative did I have? I’d have to hope he stood with his back toward me, which he should according to locker-shower etiquette, and I’d just pick the first stall.
Of course, he had already picked the first stall, the fucker, and he was facing front, watching me as I hopped past him, his lips pressed together and his eyes sparkling. “Not one word,” I warned him, and he made the universal zipping-my-lips gesture.
I chose the last stall so I’d be as far away from him as possible. As I soaped my hair, I glanced in his direction. He stood under the spray as if he had not a care in the world, his head leaned back and his eyes closed as the water slid down his body, rinsing off the soap.
He was in nice shape, objectively speaking. His build was different from mine, less bulky and leaner muscle, but his body was tight and sleek. He had the classic tanning pattern of someone who spent a lot of time on the water, his arms and legs super tanned, the lines of his wet suit clearly visible, and his ass as pale as the moon. It fit his blond hair, which was just a tad too long, his blue eyes, and those almost phony white teeth. Like he’d walked straight out of an ad for Bondi Beach.
I looked away just as he turned his face my way, avoiding him catching me checking him out, and I deliberately turned my ass toward him as I rinsed out my hair. The funny thing was that I could feel the weight of his stare. He was checking me out, I knew it, and when I casually glanced over my shoulder, I all but grinned in delight. I’d been right. But when I looked again, he’d turned away from me. Had I imagined it?
Not that it mattered. I didn’t want him checking me out. Not that I minded on principle. Hell, I was proud enough to appreciate someone admiring my body, even when I wasn’t too confident of my physical appeal anymore. But Heath checking me out was…different, and not because he was gay.
I was way too aware of him already, like he was this constant blip on my radar that I kept checking. This whole rivalry between us had somehow gotten under my skin, and I didn’t like it. I needed to keep my distance from him, simply pretend he wasn’t there. I could do that.
But as I casually hopped and repositioned myself, I couldn’t help but steal another glance. He was toweling off, bending over as he dabbed his leg, providing me with a prime view of his ass. It was a nice ass, I couldn’t deny. Just because I was straight didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate a man with a full, round ass. Surprisingly bouncy, in fact, considering the rest of his build. That had to get him attention from men for sure.
Would he prefer topping or bottoming? With an ass like that, men would line up to fuck him. Though I’d learned not to go by stereotypes—Nash had explained how harmful those stereotypes could be and that they often had misogyny at the core…who knew?—I kinda got the vibe he would like bottoming. Not that I knew anything about it.
And why the hell was I thinking about Heath having sex? Jesus, I needed to get laid. I hadn’t had a hookup since my accident, and it was about damn time I got back on that particular horse. That would prevent me from spending way too much time checking out Heath’s ass and ruminating about him having sex. I’d go on Tinder tonight and see if I could score. Surely some women wouldn’t mind fucking a guy with one leg, right?
CHAPTER SIX
HEATH
“Five. Four. Three. Two. Switch!” I clapped my hands, and the students’ shoes squeaked on the court as they moved stations. It was Wednesday, which was conditioning. The students always loved me when I told them I never made anyone run the mile. Until they learned about Conditioning Wednesday.
But I had fruit salad drizzled in chocolate shell and ice-cold Gatorade waiting for them, so my position as Best Teacher Ever in this year’s yearbook was still secure.
Coming back to teaching had been…an adventure, to say the least. I’d gone from wanting to shit my pants over the fear of what students might say to not being quite sure how to coach PE when I was in a damn wheelchair. Now that I was up on my prosthesis, having graduated to a cane, I was feeling better, but it was hard not to feel weird about how much my world had shifted.
“Mr. Moyer?”
