Center of Gravity

by Neve Wilder

He muttered another curse as I rose to my knees. “Let’s start with trying to stand first. We’ll go easy.”

  He rolled onto his side with a grimace and then, with my arms beneath his shoulders, we levered him into a sitting position, resting a few beats before we tackled getting him upright and on his feet. He took a few shuffling steps and I darted forward as his face paled. I slid his arm around my shoulder and reached for the keys. “I’m driving.”

  I bore the brunt of his weight and irritated curses as I eased him into his car and carefully adjusted the seat to lie back. I drove to the hospital so far below the speed limit that we got honked at, and he still groaned at every pothole.

  His back wasn’t broken, but it was strained. The ER doctor examined him, took some X-rays, then wrote him some prescriptions for pain meds and muscle relaxers, instructing him to stay in bed for the rest of the day and, as needed, the next. He’d also sprained his ankle, which neither of us had even noticed, so he got an air cast for that. Funnily enough, that was the thing he bitched about the most as I gathered up his clothes and handed them over to him so I could take him home after being discharged.

  We’d gotten him standing up at the end of the bed, muscle relaxers and pain meds loosening him up. He scowled at the black air cast on his ankle as I tried to maneuver his boxers over the bulky plastic boot.

  “This is…cumbersome,” he said. What he meant was a pain in the ass.

  “Better than a real cast or one of those scooters people wheel around on.” His thighs were strong and muscular under my hands as I tugged the boxers over them, pausing to look up at him only to find his eyes already on me. I wanted to make a joke about our positioning, but the expression on his face melted the words away.

  “I’m not incompetent,” he said, pushing my hands from the waistband of the boxers and tugging them the rest of the way up with a wince. Putting on his shorts went the same way.

  “You’re injured and you’re grumpy is what you are and I’m just trying to help. So chew on that.”

  “I don’t want to chew on anything right now except maybe a pillow case.” But his expression softened and we finished getting him dressed in silence, no more mouthiness from him when I helped slip his T-shirt on, or smoothed the hem of it across his abdomen.

  We made the drive back to Rob’s house at the same slow and steady clip. He groaned at every pothole again, though it was quieter and he did seem exhausted, not even bothering to complain when I slung his arm around my shoulder, pulled him from the car, bearing most of his weight, and helped him up the walk and into the house.

  Winslow circled around us until I gave him a pet and cooed in his ear. Rob eyed the stairs.

  “Don’t even think about it, dude. Stairs are a no go, at least for today. How about your parents’ old room down the hall?”

  Rob curled his lip, then acquiesced with a nod, so we got him set up in there, Winslow dancing at the edge of the bed until Rob was reclined in it, then he hopped up and molded himself to Rob’s side.

  “Man, he’s really taken to you,” I said as Rob stretched out his hand to the dog. Winslow licked at his hand, then sniffed him up and down as if in assessment.

  “That’s because he’s off in the head. Glutton for punishment.” His words came slurred from the meds.

  “I think it’s more a case of birds of a feather.” I grinned.

  Rob grunted, probably meaning to disagree.

  “I’ll take the guest bedroom again and give my boss a call.”

  Rob had been drifting toward sleep, but his eyes snapped open. “Absolutely not. Go home, kid. I’m fine.”

  I bristled at the word choice, but remained where I was, arms firming as I folded them across my chest.

  “Don’t be stupid. There’s nobody else here to help you. What if you’ve got to take a piss, need a drink of water, the house catches on fire?”

  “Fine, fine.” He waved his hand lazily then let it drop back to his side. “I think I’m going to just—” Another sluggish nod toward his pillow and he didn’t even finish the sentence before his eyelids drooped and he was asleep.

  I dug around in his fridge, then called my mom, who was concerned, although relieved to have final proof that her roast hadn’t caused any problems. Franklin was harder to read, a little clipped when I explained a family friend had been hurt in an accident. At last he sighed and said he’d pull a guy from one of the other crews for the rest of the day.

  I hung up, made a sandwich, and ate it at the kitchen table, trawling the Internet on the computer Rob had left open on the table. His email account was open, as well. I stared at it, chewing on my lip, a tiny thrill running through my body that was half composed of guilt as I considered the invasion of privacy. And for what? Just because I was bored? Just because I had a stupid crush and wanted to know more about his life, what he was like back in what I’d come to think of as his “real” world in Savannah? I’d almost convinced myself that Rob was right, that what was casual interest was inflamed by his denial. That what I was really interested in was the conquest.

  Sighing, I pushed the computer away and rummaged around until I found Winslow’s dog food. I filled his bowl, freshened his water bowl then went down the hall to peek into the bedroom and confirm Rob was still passed out. His head was tilted to one side, his mouth closed, breaths coming easily, and even in his sleep, there was a certain sternness to his expression that had me smiling to myself. He’d been about to kiss me even after he’d fallen, the prickly fucker.

  I set a fresh glass of water by his bed and moved his pill bottles within reach. In the guest room, the sheets had been laundered and the bed remade since the night I’d spent in it. Not that I’d expected any differently. Rob was nothing if not methodical and organized.

  I tucked myself under the covers and listened to the faint music of distant waves breaking. When I fell asleep, I dreamed in nonsensical fragments of him.

  17

  Rob

  I woke at ten. I hadn’t slept that late in as many years, but my back was grateful; when I arched my spine experimentally, the pain volume had lowered from a calamitous train-whistle shriek to a muted growl that only spiked if I shifted too fast. I eyed the pill bottles on the nightstand, the glass of water Alex must have set out when I was sleeping. Winslow stirred with a groggy snort, then nudged his wet nose against the inside of my arm, looking up at me beseechingly with the corner of his lip stuck to his gum. I laughed softly and gave him a belly rub until he shook me off and stood. Another shake and he leapt from the bed, the clack of his nails on the hardwood fading as he moved down the hallway.

  I wondered if Alex had gone, but a few moments later came the quiet padding of bare feet. Alex’s head appeared in the doorway, hair askew, half of it plastered to his cheek, fingers catching on the edge of the doorframe as he stretched his back. His mouth curled into a sexy smile.

  “Morning,” he said, then his eyes drifted below my chin, down the length of me. “And hello.”

  I put my hand over the tented sheet. “That’s nature. Don’t take it as a compliment.”

  “Thanks for the clarification. Not sure if you remember, but I do in fact possess a dick. I know how it works. But I appreciate your concern that my self-esteem stay on the level. I’m seriously rethinking this five-star breakfast I was about to make you.”

  “Are you always so feisty to the infirm?”

  “I haven’t even started.” Alex scoffed. “You need to eat.”

  He disappeared and reappeared twenty minutes later with scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon that he nestled in my lap on top of an old issue of Dad’s civil war magazine. I ate while he watched me like a hawk, as if I was a laid-up old man. Setting my fork down, I glared at him.

  “Are you counting every bite?”

  He gave me a sly smile and shrugged. “Maybe I’m just watching your mouth.”

  “My mouth doesn’t need watching.”

  “Maybe you should watch your own mouth and remember who made you break
fast, who drove you to and from the hospital, who sacrificed their weekend to take care of—”

  He ducked the balled-up napkin I threw at him and laughed.

  “I need to take a piss.”

  We did that very carefully. The pain had eased up but I still moved as if through molasses.

  “If you offer to hold my dick for me, I swear to God you’ll regret it,” I said, nudging open the bathroom door with my toe.

  “I’d never offer to do that. Way too tame.” Alex gave me a lascivious grin and leaned back against the outer wall as I shuffled into the bathroom. “Isn’t it about time for you to take some more happy pills? You’re like an animal when you get hurt. Eager to gnaw off the limb of anything that gets too close.”

  “Consider yourself warned, then.” I managed to splash a bit of water on my face and brush my teeth while I was at it, then we shuffled back to the bed. Once I’d gotten settled, he sat at the end, watching as I swallowed a few pills, then laid his hand atop the air cast, lightly stroking my calf. “Do you want this off for a little while?”

  “God, yes.” My foot felt like a sausage in a casing in the damn thing.

  Alex released the Velcro and slipped off the cast, drawing his fingertips over the tendons on top of my foot, circling my ankle. “You have nice feet,” he murmured.

  “Don’t tell me you have a foot fetish.”

  “You’re safe from that. I’m just saying artistically speaking, they’re nice.” One shoulder rose and fell. “See all the curves and swoops of tendons, how your big toe kind of flutes out? And the arch?” He traced said arch until I shivered under the caress and narrowed my eyes at him.

  “I think you’re enjoying this.”

  “Which part, you being in pain or having a captive audience?”

  “Both.”

  He chuckled and released my foot, rising. “One more than the other.” He twisted his back side to side, sending up a series of pops and snaps that made me cringe. “I got the rest of your furniture back in place, touched up a couple more places. I think it’s officially done. So congrats, you’re almost finished with Nook Island, ready to go back to life in the city.” He lingered in the doorway. “I have to go, but I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

  I wasn’t sure what Alex would qualify as stupid, relatively speaking, but I stayed in bed most of the day, flicking through TV stations, checking in on a few work projects. I also called my boss and told him I’d be out another day and though he wasn’t excited about that, he didn’t give me a hard time. “Sean’s holding down the fort wonderfully. Whatever you said must have set him straight,” he’d said. I tamped down the snark that leapt up inside me and ended the call.

  After popping a few more pills, I took some hobbling steps, enough to assure myself that my back was improving and I should be good to go tomorrow. I let Winslow out into the backyard and while he was doing his business, I lumbered into the living room. It was pristine, the trim and walls fresh and inviting, the color perfect surrounding the big picture window.

  Was I going to regret leaving this place behind? It had only been weeks and yet it seemed like an age from start to finish. I was invested. More than I ever meant to be. And not just in the house, but in Alex too. That would fade though, wouldn’t it? The same way vacation flings tended to. The few I’d had on family trips to the Jersey shore had seemed so important, had occupied my headspace for the entire time we were there and then weeks later, like a match snuffed out, only the lingering scent of smoke remained.

  I dozed, surfing back into consciousness on the wave of a laugh track spilling from the TV. Afternoon light receded into the horizon beyond the window, a soft, hazy glow filtering through the curtains. The front door opened and shut. Footsteps sounded into the kitchen. I flicked on the bedside lamp. In the moment, I was content, despite my back and my ankle. Rarely in my life had I slowed down long enough to relax and do nothing. Now it was all I could do.

  Alex appeared in the doorway. “I brought some meatloaf and mashed potatoes from my mom. How are you feeling?” His gaze was shrewd and assessing.

  “Better,” I said, eyeing the backpack slung over his shoulder. “What’s with the bag? Don’t tell me you’re planning—”

  Alex cut me off, “Save your breath. You can use it for a future complaint.”

  I stifled a smile. “I pity the guy that ever tries to fire you from a job.”

  “It’ll never happen because I’m an excellent employee.” He arched a brow at me. “And hopefully I’ll never have a boss. Just an agent who’s bossy.”

  Alex spread a towel over the bed and we ate dinner there, watching Antiques Road Show, which Alex was a huge fan of. I had to admit it was compelling, and by the third episode, we were both throwing guesses at the TV.

  “No way that thing’s worth more than what that guy paid for it.” On screen, the assessor inspected a butter dish purportedly from the twenties.

  “I’ll bet it’s worth three times as much,” Alex said. “They’re going to make us think it’s a piece of garbage, then stick a three thousand dollar price tag on it.”

  “It’s a piece of garbage.”

  We were both wrong, but Alex was closer to the mark. He grinned. “Want to put a wager on the next one?”

  “I have an idea that’s a dangerous game to play with you.”

  “It is.”

  “Then, no.”

  “I didn’t say we had to put money on it,” he teased, giving me one of those devilish winks as he slid off the bed to clear our dishes.

  “I know.” I tried to ignore the electricity that wink had sent barreling through my extremities.

  My pain meds had all but worn off and I thought my back was on the mend enough to stick with Tylenol and Motrin from then on. I was in a nice place of drowsy relaxation when Alex returned from cleaning up and crawled back to his spot on the bed. I flipped through a book of crosswords that I had no intention of tackling.

  “You were going to kiss me,” he said out of nowhere, breaking the silence. “After you fell. I kept going back and forth doing the was-he-or-wasn’t-he thing. But you were.”

  I inhaled, exhaled, and stared hard at the crossword until it blurred into nonsense. “Yeah, well, fate intervened.”

  “I don’t believe in fate.”

  “No?” I found this rather surprising of him, more so if he wasn’t a blazing distraction suddenly kneeling beside me. His fingers landed in a light caress along my jaw as he angled my face into his. When he spoke, it was in a low, silky drawl, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to mine.

  “I’ve figured you out. A while ago, really, but now you’re a captive audience and I don’t know if you ever will be again.” I could feel his breath on my lips. A shiver ran over my shoulders, my chest rising and falling faster beneath his hand as it dropped from my jaw and splayed over my pecs. “It’s control. Self-control.”

  I groaned as his tongue flicked against my lower lip, slow and soft and wet. As soon as I leaned in for more, he retreated, backing off the bed to stand at the end and peel off his T-shirt under the directness of my hungry gaze. Still golden bronze with the touches of silver at his nipples, still the lean line of abdominals, the shadowy cut of inguinals that traced down his sides and disappeared behind his shorts. The devil was in the details, and I was lost to the minutiae that made up Alex. The sincere, green-amber blaze of his eyes, the ropey knots of muscle on his thighs and calves as he slipped off his shorts. The barest hint of stubble dusting his jaw like flecks of gold, and the perfect cupid-bow mouth fish-hooking up in a puckish smile.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered, even though it was obvious.

  “Taking control. Or testing your limits, depending on your perspective.”

  I could move. Not quickly, but I could in theory get up and walk away.

  We both knew I wasn’t going to.

  Alex hitched his thumbs beneath the elastic of his boxers and I watched, rapt, as he shove
d them down and kicked them off, thick cock bobbing as he moved. He grasped the base, squeezed until he gasped and a drop of moisture pearled the crown of his cock. My breath hitched and I tried not to become a panting cliché, but it was hard. In so many, many ways.

  Alex slid his hand along his shaft, teasing his arousal, drifting his fingers over his nipples until they went hard and goosebumps feathered across his stomach, stirring the coarse hair below his navel.

  “You like this.”

  It wasn’t a question and it didn’t require verbal confirmation when heat blazed across my own cheeks, my cock painfully hard and obvious.

  He put one knee on the bed and looked down at himself, giving his attention to the stroke of his hand and his cock as it strained forward into his grip. Strands of blond hair sliced sickle-sharp across his cheekbones with every soft, short inhale he took as his pace quickened and eased up again, rhythm rising and falling like the amplitude of a wave. It was mesmerizing. He was mesmerizing. He glanced up at me from beneath his lashes.

  “I like being watched, and I especially like being watched by you. You don’t have to participate, but you’ll be gone in a couple of days, so what does it matter if you do?”

  Desire saturated me. I swear I felt it oozing from every pore, sizzling against the backs of my eyelids when I closed them and took in a deep breath. Even my goddamn back could tell the difference in the fires that ran through me. One quelled the other. I could hardly breathe.

  “Keep going,” I whispered.

  His strokes slowed, became languid and sensual. I got an illicit thrill from watching him, as if I were on the other side of a window pane, a surreptitious voyeur as he concentrated on building his own pleasure. I was fixated by the way he worked himself over, how his grip tightened at the root, loosened at the head, circled over his crown and rubbed at the piercing there. He gave it a slight tug and made a quiet rumble of sound that I echoed as if it were me he had touched. I thought I might come at that moment and inhaled a sharp, shuddering breath.