Since I was already naked, I started toward the bathroom. Micah's voice stopped me.
“Hang on. I’d better take off the prosthesis first.”
“Oh.”
I followed him through the door and he lifted his chin toward the bench built into the outside of the tub. I stayed out of his way, not sure where to go or stand, or if I should look.
When he peeled off his shirt to reveal those hard-packed muscles, scattered with hair and dark freckles, I stopped questioning things and watched, blatantly fascinated by this man’s body, his face, the way he moved. The way he lived.
He yanked his pants down the rest of the way, drawing my eyes to his penis, soft now, but still attractive.
Weird. I’d never thought that before.
I blinked when he sat on the bench, and stepped out of his pants, then went to work taking off the prosthesis. He pressed what looked like a little button at the ankle, slid it off to reveal his leg, covered in layers of what appeared to be cotton tights. A black pin stuck down from the end, a few inches below his knee.
“The pin sticks into the prosthetic leg.”
“Oh.” I lifted my eyes to his and flushed hard, feeling caught out. “I’m sorry to stare.”
“S’fine. I’d be curious, too.”
“Does it hurt?”
He shook his head. “Worst pain is at night. Ghost limb pain.”
“So…the pain’s not real?”
“Brain thinks it’s real. Feels real.”
“Seems unfair.”
He shrugged and focused back on his hands pulling off the black stocking thing. “Compression sock.” Under it was a thicker layer, attached to the leg mechanism. “Liner.” The liner looked like it was be made from thick, stretchy silicone. “To put it back on, I put on the liner, the sock, then click this into the prosthetic’s socket.” He ran his hand down the thick, sturdy-looking muscles of his thigh. My eyes flew up to his face, unsure. Did he want me to look at him? I took a slow step forward, hesitated, and then rested my fingers on the shiny red scar that dug a jagged trench into his thigh. The muscle here was hard, but more textured than the other side, the hair sparser in areas. When he didn’t protest, I followed the thick, ridged knot of muscle and tissue over his knee—slighter than the right one—to where his leg thinned and ended a few inches below it.
He put his hand on mine, stopping the downward movement before I reached the end.
“Must be a pain, doing that every time you get up and go out or bathe or whatever.”
He frowned, stroking my knuckles for a few seconds before setting my hand away. “Don’t mind. Small price to pay for being alive. Walking, running. Climbing trees.” He pushed up and slid into the bath, which raised the water level to an alarming degree.
“I can’t fit in there.”
“Sure you can.” He reached forward to let some water out, then lifted his right leg and set his foot on the rim of the tub. “Plenty of room.”
I’m not sure what it was about that moment—after all the hugging and massaging, the sex and orgasms, the saving of my actual freaking life—that felt different from the rest. It could have been the sight of him naked, strong and proud, or the unexpected intimacy of watching him pull off his leg, unabashed on the surface, but with a near-hidden tinge of insecurity I’d never have expected him to show. Had he opened this much of himself up to another woman?
“You getting in?”
I nodded, out of words, grabbed onto the side of the tub and sank in, with my back against his front. The heat made me shiver and sigh and helped cover up the uncomfortable knowledge that, whatever this was for him, for me, it could never be just any old encounter.
28
Micah
Christa’s body fit mine like a glove. Or maybe the other way around, with me surrounding her. A fantasy come true, only so real that it hurt to hold her now, knowing that soon she’d be gone. Nothing but a short, sweet interlude in my life.
I opened my mouth to say something I’d probably regret, but she beat me to the punch.
“So, you climb trees for living?”
