by J. Daniels
Seriously?
Good job, Riley. Strip a man against his will. Real professional.
The water sloshes behind me as I grab two white fluffy towels off the shelf.
“Jesus. You got enough bubbles in here?” CJ asks with laughter in his voice. “I’m going to smell like a goddamn fruit salad for the rest of my life.”
“Promotes healing, remember?” I remind him. “The more bubbles, the better.”
At least for me, anyway.
As I carry the towels over, set them down on the bath mat and snatch my loofah from the shower, CJ relaxes in the tub.
His head back, arms out of the water, bent and draped over the curved lip, and his left foot propped up on the opposite end, keeping his boot dry. I laugh when the bubbles reach his chin and stick to the stubble dotting his jaw.
Maybe I went a little overboard with the shower gel.
“Here.” Smiling, I claim a seat on the tiled edge, push my sleeve up to my elbow again and cut off the water. Then I swipe the bubbles away from CJ’s neck. Our eyes lock—his so close to mine . . . “Um,” I quickly lean away. “Do you want to sit up?” I ask. “I can start with your back.”
CJ smiles slowly, keeping my gaze as he leans forward. He slides his grip along the edge of the tub and bends his left knee so his boot turns on its side.
I dip the loofah into the water beside his hip, then I squeeze more of the shower gel onto it and work it into a lather.
“I appreciate you helping me out,” he says. His voice sounding deeper, fuller now that it’s not competing with the noise from the running water.
“Of course. That's why I'm here.” I give him a smile, our eyes holding onto each other's, and I think maybe CJ wants to say something in response to that—his jaw ticks and his mouth hardens. He looks conflicted all of a sudden and ready to argue, but then he closes his eyes and with a heavy exhale, drops his head forward.
I take that as my cue, place my hand on his shoulder for balance, and begin working the loofah in small circles across his broad, muscled back.
Minutes pass with neither of us saying a word as I wash from shoulder to shoulder and down his spine. I cover the wide planes with suds and the sides of his ribs, leaning over to reach, then I move back up, dragging the loofah down his thick arm. I look at his profile as my hand moves idly over his bicep.
Eyes closed and lips parted, CJ pulls in a deep, relaxing breath and exhales it slowly.
I stare at his high cheekbone and the cut in his jawline. At his lips as they press together, twitch and curl up a second before he’s turning his head to peer at me.
“I think my elbow is clean, babe,” he shares, mouth twisting into a full smile.
I blink, looking down at my hand that’s moving in lazy circles over his elbow and the lather spilling onto the tiled edge.
Oh, crap.
“So, what does the CJ stand for anyway?” I ask, playing off my distraction as I scoop the bubbles into the tub. I quickly wash his wrist and drag the loofah underneath his arm to his pec where I lather there, meeting his eyes when he doesn’t answer. “What? Is it that bad?” I wrinkle my nose. “Is it a girl’s name? Were you named after an aunt or something, Charlotte Jean Tully?”
Hmm. That's actually a really cute name.
A laugh shakes his chest. “I might actually prefer that,” he says before leaning back to rest against the tub, pulling me with him in the process.
My hand stills against his sternum. “Tell me,” I request, looking into his eyes. “Is it a secret? I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
The muscle in his jaw jumps. I watch his nostrils flare with the breath he inhales, and I wonder if the same words are whispering inside his head, the ones we both pleaded to each other and pressed against skin.
Tell me a secret.
“You first.”
I lift my eyes after he speaks. My brow furrows. Me first? “What do you mean?” I question.
“The only people who know the name I was born with are my family,” he shares. “I never went by it in school and got it legally changed to CJ when I was sixteen. Nobody calls me anything else anymore, except my mom, and she’s in Tennessee. Nobody here knows it. I wasn’t planning on anyone finding out either. I like going by CJ. I don’t want people calling me anything different. So if I’m going to share that with you, you gotta give me something.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Why were you with him?”
CJ doesn’t miss a beat, throwing his question out as if he can’t wait to get it off his tongue and hear my explanation and the reasoning I did with myself.
I sit up tall and drop my arm to my knee, letting the loofah hang over the edge of the tub. “Because I loved him,” I reply, nothing but truth in my voice.
“Yeah, babe, I know, and I’m going to be straight with you. I don’t get that,” he says, and CJ either hears his own harsh honesty or finds the need to explain himself after watching my face tighten. “Look, Riley,” he begins, voice softer now. “I know I didn’t see you two together aside from that one time, but from what I’ve been picking up on, I’m thinking he wasn’t all that good to you.”
“He was good to me.”
“Yeah? He tell you that you can kick some serious fucking ass in the kitchen or show any interest in what you’re working towards for a career? `Cause I did, and darlin', you lit up for me like you’d never heard those words before.”
I feel my shoulders sag.
He has a point. And CJ's right too—Richard didn’t show much interest in my schooling or throw out compliments over every meal I made him. Not because he didn’t think those things, I don’t believe, it just wasn’t him.
“He bought me that laptop when I first got accepted into the nursing program,” I defend, feeling myself grow taller and my muscles stiffen. “He didn’t need to do that, but he did. He cared about me. And I cared about him. I was with Richard because I wanted to be with him. It wasn’t like he was forcing me or anything.”
“I didn’t say that,” CJ replies.
“Well, it kinda feels like that’s what you’re saying, and it’s not true. I loved him.”
“Riley—”
“I didn’t know there was different, okay?”
CJ blinks. His eyes soften and his lips press together. He looks regretful.
I sigh and look down at the bend in my knee. “I loved what I had and what he gave me. But it was all I knew,” I explain. “I didn’t know there was different, and when you don’t have different to compare to, you don’t question what you have. You don't know better until you're with better.”
My truth tastes bitter on my tongue, but it is the truth. I didn’t know men like CJ. And then I did, and still, I chose to stay with Richard.
Because we had history. Because CJ was mistake. We were never meant to happen.
Right?
I pinch my lips together, because I don’t know which word will come out of my mouth, yes or no, and I’m a little scared of both answers.
“Cannon.”
CJ’s voice lifts my head and our eyes meet.
“Huh?”
Cannon? What?
He clears his throat, then cocks his head with a surrendering smile. “Cannon Jake Tully. That’s what the CJ stands for,” he reveals. “And before you ask, yes, my mom gave my brother my middle name. She liked it too much to not use it as a first, so she says.”
I feel myself leaning closer as excitement quickens my breath. “Cannon. Really? Like . . . cannonball?” I ask.
“Yep.”
“Your birth name is Cannon Tully?”
“Now you see why I changed it.”
“What?” I sputter. “No way. I love it. That might be the coolest name I’ve ever heard.”
CJ lifts his brows and stares at me for a beat. “You love it,” he echoes back, looking and sounding unconvinced.
He doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.
I nod quickly, smiling at him. “It’s different
,” I explain. “I don’t know anyone else with that name. And cannonballs are so fun. Your mom did good.” I hold up my free hand between us.
Cannon Jake Tully.
Seriously cool.
CJ’s eyes jump from my palm to my face. “You want to high five this?” he asks.
I shrug. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“We high five things that are awesome, babe. Things worth celebrating. Not my shitty name.”
“It’s not shitty. It’s totally badass.”
“Badass?” CJ breathes a laugh, shaking his head. “Right.”
“It is, Officer Cannon Tully. Kicking ass and taking names, one small town at a time.” I stick my tongue out at him when he makes a face like he can't decide whether to be disagreeable or amused with me. Then I tilt forward, getting closer and leaning around my hand.
We lock eyes. His narrow. My smile stretches wider.
I get my high five.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say after letting my hand drop. “I feel special knowing something most people don’t know about you.”
CJ’s eyes shine with meaning. He gives me a warm smile, replying, “Same, darlin’,” in that smooth, charming voice, the kind of charm that’s hard to unhear and even harder to wash off.
My cheeks grow hot. I clear my throat and get through the rest of the bath at lightning speed, forcing CJ to do some of the washing because . . . well, penis, and asking him to towel himself off. Then I retire to my room, declining his offers of open door policies and free morning cuddles.
I find myself smiling until I fall asleep.
“Mr. Tully, hi, I’m Andrea. I’m one of the therapists here who will be working with you.”
CJ gives the woman a friendly smile, gets to his feet with help from his crutches, and takes the hand she’s offering, shaking it. “Nice to meet you,” he says. He releases her hand and tips his head to where I’m sitting. “I brought my lady with me. Do you mind if she comes back and sees what all I’ll be doing? She’ll be making sure I keep up with it at home.”
My eyes go round. I press my lips together and trap a giggle inside my mouth.
His lady? He did not just say that.
CJ looks over at me, mischievous smirk in place.
He totally said that.
I scrunch my nose up and make a face at him.
It’s been two weeks of sponge baths, sharing meals I’ve prepared, and late night conversations that leave me with sore sides and cheeks from laughing so much. I know CJ pretty well at this point. I know he likes to joke around, it’s part of his charm, and calling me his lady is just another example of that.
I think . . .
“Sure. She can come back. We have chairs back there,” the therapist says, offering me her smile.
I stand and gently nudge CJ’s ribs after the woman turns away to lead us. He feigns injury and I laugh.
“Are you coming?” he asks me, gesturing with his head toward the therapy room.
I nod and slip out my phone. “Yeah. I just want to make a call first,” I tell him. “You go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”
CJ lifts his chin at me, accepting that. Then he follows behind the therapist and leaves me in the waiting room.
I sit back down and scroll through my contacts until I land on Beth.
I haven’t seen or spoken to her since I moved in with CJ. She was out of town for some wedding in Chicago the one weekend and sick this past one, keeping her from making it to Holy Cross—the soup kitchen we both volunteer at. And lately, I’ve been slammed with school and busy doing other things. I just haven’t found the time to return any of her calls.
And I need to speak to her. I need to tell someone what I’m doing—just one person so I don’t feel like I’m lying to everyone—and she’s a good someone to tell. A great person.
She’s my sister. She’ll understand. She always does.
“Hey you,” Beth answers with a smile in her voice. “I was beginning to worry. I told Reed we might have to hunt you down on campus if we didn’t hear from you soon.”
“I’m living with CJ,” I blurt out, skipping pleasantries for hand-to-heart honesty, and when Beth doesn’t say anything for what feels like a solid minute, I look down at the fraying on my shorts and twist pieces of string around my finger. “So, how are you feeling?” I softly add.
Maybe my confession is enough. Maybe we don’t even need to talk about this . . .
“You’re living with CJ?” Her voice is a whisper now.
I flinch, hearing footsteps, then the creak of a door. I picture Beth hiding behind it.
“Um, yep. Mmhmm,” I reply.
“Why?” she asks, sounding stunned. “And how? How did this even happen?”
“He needed someone to help him around the house since he’s laid up, and I needed a place to live,” I explain. “I couldn’t stay at Richard’s anymore. I needed to move out, and I didn’t want to cramp your newlywed style. CJ offered, so I took it. I’m helping him out.”
And I’m having the best time doing it, I think.
“You wouldn’t have cramped our style, Riley. You’re always welcome here,” Beth informs me.
My mouth twitches.
Seriously the best sister ever. Reed did so good.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “But, you know, this is better. I’m able to give CJ a hand.”
“Is that all you’re doing?”
My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“Riley . . .” Her voice trails off.
“What?” I ask. “I’m helping him.”
“Are you sure nothing else is going on? You’re just helping him? That’s it?”
He makes me laugh. We can talk for hours. I’m smiling constantly.
I close my eyes and take in a deep breath, then I resume looking down at my shorts. “That’s it,” I answer, because nothing else is going on. We’re talking and laughing. That’s not stuff going on. That’s just talking and laughing. And besides, nothing else should be going on. I’m CJ’s nurse. He needs me—that’s why he offered me a place to stay. The entire reason for us living together, and I want to do this right. I want to help him heal.
Speaking of which, I need to get in there and see what all exercises they have him doing. It’s my job to make sure he continues with his PT at home.
“Riley,” Beth speaks soothingly as I stand and take hold of the sketchpad I brought along to take notes in.
“Seriously. Nothing else is going on. I promise,” I assure her. “But, still, can you do me a favor and not say anything to Reed? I’ll deal with him when I’m ready.”
Which might be never.
Beth exhales tensely in my ear, but gives me a promising, “I won’t say anything.”
“Thank you,” I reply, feeling relieved and breathe-easy-good about this phone call. “Oh, and you never answered me. How are you feeling? Better, I hope.” I hold the notepad against my chest and start moving toward the therapy room.
“Thanks. I will in eight months or so.”
“Eight months?” I make a face. “What? Why eight months?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“This is amazing! I’m so excited for them. Oh, my God, I’m going to be an aunt!” Riley does a little dance in the driver’s seat after starting up her car, wiggling her hips and smacking the steering wheel in celebration. Her tits bounce under the tight black sleeveless top she’s wearing.
Jesus.
Never in my life have I hated an article of clothing as much as I do right fucking now. She couldn't have worn my hoodie today?
“Yeah, that’s great,” I mumble, wincing as I relax back against the seat. My ankle is throbbing from the PT. I’m regretting not taking any pain meds before we left the house. “I should give Reed a call and congratulate him.”
“What? No, you can't!” Riley’s head snaps in my direction and she looks at me with wide, panicked eyes. “You can't act like you know. Beth said she was only telling me right now. She's not t
elling anyone else until she gets a blood test done. You know, just to be sure.” Riley frowns. Her brow furrows as her hands slide off the wheel. “I'm sorry,” she adds, looking on the verge of giving me a couple hundred more apologies.
“It’s cool. I hear you,” I reply, understanding why Beth would feel that way. It would suck going back and telling everyone you weren’t pregnant after sharing news like that.
“I just don’t want Reed questioning why I would tell you, you know?” Riley adds.
“Babe.” I give her a look, making sure this sticks with her. “I hear you,” I repeat.
Her explanation isn't needed. And we sure as hell aren't doing any more sorrys.
Riley offers me a soft smile and drops her head with a nod, accepting this. “Are you in a lot of pain right now?” she asks.
“`Cause I can’t call Reed? Crushed. But I think I’ll get over it.” I grin when she shoves at my arm. “Yeah, I’m a little sore. Those calf raises she had me doing sucked. I wasn't expecting to do all that on my first day. Figured I'd just get iced and rubbed down for an hour.” I cock an eyebrow at her. “I'm still up for that, if you're offering.”
Riley rolls her eyes but her smile grows. She likes when I joke with her.
Although, if I'm being honest, I'm not sure I'm ever really joking when it comes to Riley.
I want her. God . . . fuck, I want her. All the time. That hasn't changed.
“How about a special treat instead? You up for it?” She puts the car into reverse and backs us out of the space.
I watch her profile as we clear the lot and get out onto the main road. I stare at the curve in her mouth and the freckles dotting her lifted cheek. I want to tuck her hair behind her ear so I can see the delicate, tanned line of her neck, but I don't.
“My lady has prepared a special treat for me?” I tease, smiling with intrigue heavy on my tongue. “Fuck yeah, I'm up for it.”
All kidding aside though, what the fuck could she have planned?