“You actually might be the first person ever to use it.” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder to gesture down the hall. “My bathroom has a nice shower. Plus, most of the time I take cold showers or do a cold plunge.”
I shudder at the thought of that. “You like to do cold plunges?”
“God, no. I hate it. I’ve been taking an ice shower every morning for the last twelve years, and I still hate every second of it.”
“Colt,” I say through a laugh as I unzip my fleece coat now that the steam from the water has begun to fill the bathroom. “If you hate it so much, why do you force yourself through it? Life is too short to punish yourself with cold showers.” I peel off my scrub top, fixing the hem of the tank top I wear underneath as I do.
When I turn back to Colt, he’s staring, and I suddenly feel insecure like I’m standing stark naked in front of him. “It’s a tank top,” I say, obviously, gesturing to the cotton very modestly covering my torso.
He clears his throat and nods. “No shit, Princess. I just didn’t expect you to strip right in front of me.”
His words are teasing but they’re laced with something else. Something that has his tone dropping. Something that has him staring at me and me staring right back, even though I feel like absolute shit and just want to watch TV while lying in the tub. Which, if the flat screen in the corner means anything, I can do just that.
But his eyes don’t leave my body. They follow the length of my slender arms before rising to my chest. I feel him burn a path across my collar bones, and a flutter low in my belly dares me to rip off my tank top, and maybe my bra.
I shake the thought away and turn to notice the tub has filled, the water stopping automatically.
“Well, I’ll just let you … get to it,” Colt says awkwardly as he moves past me. He points to a cabinet between the dual sinks. “There are heated towels in here for when you’re done.”
His head tilts when I cock a brow at the term “heated towel” and shakes the embarrassment away as he goes to leave. With his hand on the knob, he turns back to look at me. “Can you leave the door unlocked? Just in case you need anything. I won’t open it unless it’s an emergency. I swear. I just…”
“I’ll leave it unlocked.”
He nods, turning to leave again when I stop him. “And Colt?”
I take a few steps closer then pause as I run my toes over the intricate design in the heated floor tiles. “I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for finding me, and helping, and taking me here.” I gesture around me. “This helps a lot, thank you.”
When Colt first suggested—no, demanded—I come home with him, I was mortified. The last thing I would have wanted him to see was me sick and at my weakest. It’s hard to ask for help. I don’t like the vulnerability that comes with not being able to take care of myself, or having to ask someone to get you something to drink because your body aches and every movement makes you want to cry.
But it’s not feeling that way with Colt. Not anymore.
“We’ll get you back to normal, Sparky.”
We.
I know he means that in a friendly way, or as coworkers, or as the daughter of his close friend who he sort of, inadvertently nearly killed today. But I like hearing those words come from his mouth. I like it a lot.
Chapter Thirteen
Colter
WhenIclosethebathroom door behind me, I rest the back of my head against the wooden frame and shut my eyes. My body slides down the wall until I hit the floor, willing the adrenaline that’s been racing through my veins to fizzle.
I listen to the soft thumps of her clothing as each piece hits the floor and the gentle swish of the water as she tests the temperature before climbing in. I imagine the bubbles washing over her perfectly toned body, and my dick threatens to twitch in my pants.
My head falls into my hands as I force the sexual thoughts away and remind myself that the girl nearly died today. Because of me. Because of the pressure her father put on me to do this to her. It’s all so fucked up I can barely wrap my mind around it.
Why didn’t Richard tell me? In a way, I understand that she didn’t tell me herself. Our relationship has only recently turned the corner from sterile professionalism to friendship. My feelings about her are a hell of a lot stronger than I’ve ever felt for a friend, but there’s no way I could ever let us be more than that. Maybe I was foolish to think that I had reigned in my asshole attitude enough that she felt somewhat comfortable around me. The fact that she was so sure I’d see her diabetes as a weakness that she hid such an important part of herself has my stomach in knots.
When I hear her turn on the TV that’s in the corner wall, I smile to myself. She must be feeling slightly better if she’s making herself at home, which gives me a sense of relief. I push myself back up to standing and make my way down the hall to my room.
I strip off my scrubs and toss them in a heap by the shower door. Flipping the handle, I stand outside the door as the steam rises and stare at the water pellets beating along the tile. I’m mesmerized by the motion, and now that the stressful part of the evening is over, I feel the adrenaline melting from my body and exhaustion settling in.
I step in the shower, letting the hot water spray over my neck and shoulders as I lean forward to rest my palms on the tile. I quickly go through the motions of washing my hair and body before I reach for the handle, ready for the dreaded ice-cold shower.
But Annaliese’s words echo through my mind. “Life is too short to take cold showers.”
Yes, there are health benefits to cold plunges. But I have the cold plunge system in the gym. I can’t remember the last time I let myself decompress in a hot shower after a stressful day. It’s always felt like a reward I didn’t earn. Another way to punish myself for the minute mistakes that are so often made.
