He nodded. “That’s it, though. I only brought two shirts and an extra pair of pants. They’re all dirty.”
“Okay. I’ll find you something to wear over your underwear. Bring what you have on out with you, and we’ll do a load of laundry.
It was his turn to raise an eyebrow and stay silent.
“You’re not putting those back on.” I gestured to his filthy shirt and pants.
“I agree they’re dirty, but what could you possibly have that will even come close to covering me? I’m not sure I could get one leg into a pair of your sweatpants.”
My mind cycled through the contents of my closet. Only one thing came to mind that might work. I held up a finger.“Hold that thought.” Spinning on my heel, I walked out of the bathroom, then into my closet.
Three years ago, my mom gave me one of those thick, high-quality, hotel-style bathrobes for Christmas. On me, it came to about mid-calf and had a decent amount of overlap. It would be significantly smaller on Toren, but it should cover all the important parts.
Yanking it off its hanger, I returned to the bedroom. Toren stood in the doorway to the bathroom, hunched over on his crutches.
“How about this?” I held up the lavender robe.
That dark eyebrow winged upward again. “Really?”
“Hey, it’s this or nothing, buddy. I’m fresh out of size Godzilla clothes.”
He chuckled. “Fine.” Reaching out, he took it and slung it over his shoulder.
I led him back down the hallway to the guest bath and put the soap in the shower. “Let me go grab your bag for you.” Hurrying away, I retrieved his pack and returned to the bathroom.
Toren had the water running in the shower, heating up.
“Don’t lock the door,” I said, backing out. “Just in case you need help.”
He glanced down at his foot, then raised his injured hand. “Do you have something we can wrap around this? My ankle I can unwrap if you’re willing to help me rewrap it.”
“Oh.” I bit my lip. “Sure. Give me a minute.”
Once again, I retreated from the bathroom, this time to the kitchen. I opened the pantry and grabbed a small trash bag from the box, then went to the junk drawer and found several rolls of tape, all different kinds.
“Okay,” I said, returning to the bathroom. I held up my bounty. “Which kind of tape do you want me to use?”
His nose wrinkled in distaste. “None.”
I snickered. “Well, we need to use something to seal the bag.” I waved the white trash bag.
Toren sighed. “Fine. Probably the masking tape. It’s the most flexible, isn’t it? Other than the painter’s tape, but I don’t think that’ll stick when it’s wet.”
I set all but the masking tape on the counter next to the clean black boxer briefs he’d set out. “I agree.”
“Well, hang on. Let me get some layers off before you take away my fingers on that hand.” Balancing on one foot, he leaned his crutches against the wall, then deftly removed his long-sleeved thermal shirt. He’d long ago lost the flannel he had on before we left the floodplain. The nurses helped him out of that when they bandaged his hand.
All the moisture fled my mouth. My eyes tracked over the wide, hair-roughened expanse of Toren’s chest.
My original impression of him still stood. He looked like some sort of devilish Greek god.
When his hands dropped to his waistband, I turned away, busying myself with getting a towel and washcloth out for him.
I chanced a glance over my shoulder a few moments later. He’d left his pants on but had unfastened them.
Oh, thank goodness.I didn’t think I could stop myself from becoming a blithering idiot if he took his pants off. The man’s physique was magnificent.
“Do you need help with the ankle wrap?” I asked.
