Page 149 of Property of Bob

Then she’d asked me if I was okay. And asked me again. And again.

I understood why, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t been ready to prove my point by the third time.

I stretched my legs beneath the blankets.

Nothing hurt.

My muscles felt a little tired, but that was normal now. Every day, I pushed a little further, and every day, my body reminded me I’d spent weeks lying in a hospital bed.

But I was getting stronger.

Yesterday I’d gone through Ron’s office, spent the rest of the day at the clubhouse, and then spent a good portion of last night proving to Ramona that I wasn’t going to drop dead if she touched me.

I’d call that progress.

The shower shut off.

I rolled out of bed and stood.

No waiting for the room to stop moving. No grabbing the edge of the mattress.

I just stood. That felt almost as fucking good as last night.

Almost.

I grabbed my boxers from the floor and pulled them on. By the time the bathroom door opened, I was standing beside the dresser looking for a clean shirt.

Ramona stepped out wearing nothing but a towel. Her hair was wet, and little drops of water ran down her shoulders. The towel was wrapped around her chest and ended high enough on her thighs that I immediately forgot what the fuck I’d been doing.

She stopped.

Her eyes moved over me. “Morning.”

“Morning,” I replied.

Neither one of us moved.

Ramona tightened the towel slightly. “Why are you staring at me?”

“You’re wearing a towel.”

“You’ve seen me naked.”

“Yeah.”

“Very recently.”

“Yeah.”

“So the towel shouldn’t be that exciting.”

“It is.”

She laughed and walked toward her bag.

I watched her.

“You know,” she said, “most people try to pretend they’re not staring.”