Teddy only chuckles. My cheeks redden as I fiddle with the dimmer switch. “Clothes off. I’ll help steady you if needed.”
He pushes off the frame. I step back to give him space, my eyes carefully fixed on the wall—anywhere but him—as he begins undressing. He’s cautious with each movement, dropping his clothes on the floor when he’s done.
Turning to face where he is, I do my best to stay clinical about the situation. All professional and focused. But when he steps under the stream, I can’t unsee his backside.
What an amazing, firm ass it is. The man in front of me could be a sculpture with those muscles and fine lines. I catch myself staring for far too long and whip my gaze away, focusing on the safety instruction poster on the door like it's the new Mona Lisa.
Don’t be weird, Ivy. You’re a nurse. This is normal. You’ve seen what must be hundreds of people naked, so one more shouldn’t be such a big deal.
Teddy groans softly as the warm water hits him. “God, that feels amazing.”
“Give me your hand for shampoo,” I wait and squeeze the liquid into his offered palm. “You’re lucky your nurse is awesome, helping you shower.”
“Next time I’ll do it myself.”
The only sounds in the bathroom are falling water and low sighs escaping him as he washes himself. When he’s done, I grab one of the standard hospital towels and hold it out. “Here.”
Steam curls off his skin as he turns toward the sound of my voice. His hand fumbles through the air until it lands on my wrist again. The touch is warm and damp. It lingers a moment longer than it needs to before he coughs.
“I got it,” he mumbles.
That’s when I realize he’s facing me, uncovered, and my brain short circuits.Don’t look down, Ivy. Don’t fucking look down.On my nonna, I swear I try my best, keeping my gaze locked on his face for exactly 3.8 seconds before it happens.
When my gaze drops, my vision is nothing but abs. Each line is taut and glistening with water, adding contrast to the ink of histattoos that cover his arms fully and some other areas. My eyes wander lower, beyond my control. And then—oh.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Not even a full medical vocabulary could prepare me for what I’m seeing. His cock is long, thick and veiny. Heavy where it hangs, soft yet undeniably impressive. It makes me question every past experience I’ve ever had. When he moves, a glint of metal catches the overhead light.Oh, shit.Theodore Bancroft Seaborn IV has a pierced dick. Let me repeat that: Teddy has a freaking Prince Albert. I freeze in place; not because it’s intimidating, but because I can imagine how amazing it would feel touching my inner walls.
Stop right now. He’s your patient!
I snap my head up so fast I nearly get whiplash. Heat climbs my neck and blooms in my cheeks, moving all the way to the tops of my ears. Turning quickly, I grab the second towel from the shelf and force myself to breathe evenly. Teddy is toweling off, blissfully unaware of the internal meltdown he caused.
By the time I hand him another towel, I’ve gathered enough chill to function. “Here,” I manage, my voice higher than usual. “Dry your hair.”
He smiles faintly as he takes it. “Thanks. Everything okay?”
Totally. Just saw the most perfect dick of my entire life and now I have to help you get dressed while pretending I’m not dying inside.
“Yup,” I squeak. “All good.”
He nods and rubs the towel over his head carefully. I stand there, breathing deep through my nose, trying not to imagine things I absolutely shouldn’t be about a man who’s currentlyrecovering from a brain injury. Too late.God help me.This man is going to kill me. Not literally, but in all the other ways.
Teddy’s towel sits low on his hips as we step out of the bathroom, and I let myself take in ink curling over his skin. His tattoos tell stories that are tied to hard-earned victories. The one that catches my eye is on his upper right arm. It's a simple design that shows the Cup every hockey player dreams of winning even once. Beneath it, the years—2014, 2019, 2022—are etched in script.
“Nice ink,” I comment, my voice too high to sound casual. “What’s your favorite?”
He doesn’t seem to notice the slight tension in my voice and touches the tattoo I was admiring. “I got this one after winning my first Cup with the Woodpeckers.” Nostalgia is clear in his voice and evident pride in his expression.
“You were on fire that year—the whole team was. I’ll never forget your overtime goal in the final game. That was a work of art,” I comment and pass him clean underwear.
Teddy chuckles, the sound tinged with agreement. “Yeah, we were. It was such a good season. I remember thinking I’m finally where I belong.”
Turning sideways as he starts to pull on the briefs, I try not to notice how the motion causes him pain. His grunts prove my observation, the discomfort evident in every sound. He takes the pants when I hand them over, gritting his teeth as he pulls them over his long, muscular legs.
“You’ve been through a lot to get to where you are,” I remark,trying to focus on the conversation instead of his every movement.
His expression grows thoughtful as he adjusts his pants to fit better. He doesn’t answer immediately.
