Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Even with the doctor’s reassurance echoing in my mind, I’m still on edge.
That hit was brutal.
Once we make it into his penthouse, I steer him gently down the hall toward his bedroom. Waffles trails behind us like a tiny bodyguard, meowing once before hopping onto the bed and settling at the foot, her big green eyes locked on Steele like she knows something’s off.
I ease him onto the edge of the bed and grab a bottle of water from his nightstand, placing it next to the painkillers I find in the bathroom.
“You should rest,” I say, brushing my hand lightly against his arm.
He leans forward and braces his hands on his thighs. “I want to take a shower first. I feel gross.”
We were in such a rush to leave the arena, he didn’t get the chance.
“Okay, I’ll help you.”
His brows pull together. “I’m fine. I don’t need any help.”
“You have a concussion, Steele. Your coordination’s crap right now. I’d rather not pick your giant ass up off the floor because you slipped.”
He frowns and then pouts.
My lips twitch as I fight back a smile. “Come on, big guy. Trust me, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”
The second the words are out of my mouth, a vivid image of when he stepped out of the shower in all his naked glory flashes through my brain. I wince and shove the memory away.
He doesn’t respond, just allows me to loop my arm around his waist and steer him toward the bathroom. The second we step inside the luxurious marble space, he grips the doorframe as his balance wobbles.
“See?” I huff. “This is exactly why you need my help.”
He arches a brow. “Do you really think you’d be able to stop me from falling?”
I glance at the sheer wall of muscle beside me, and snort. “Not a chance. I’d end up crushed beneath you like a bug.”
A smirk tugs at his lips. “That’s the last thing I want to happen.”
Without a word of warning, he grips the hem of his T-shirt and pulls it over his head before tossing it to the floor. I freeze, my gaze catching on the bruises that bloom across his ribs and the defined lines of his chest.
Before I can process anything else, his sweatpants hit the tile.
Then his boxers.
“Steele!” I choke, whipping around to face the towel rack. “You could’ve given me a little bit of warning!”
He laughs, completely unfazed. “What? I thought I didn’t have anything you haven’t seen before,” he teases. “Come to think of it, you have seen the goods.”
A strangled sound catches in my throat as my gaze stays glued to the brushed nickel towel rack in front of me. I press my lips together, refusing to touch that comment with a ten-foot pole.
The shower sputters to life behind me, the sound of rushing water filling the space. Within seconds, steam begins to curl through the air, fogging the edges of the mirror and softening the lines of the room.
I ground myself, forcing the emotion to settle.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of his reflection before the glass completely clouds over.
Broad shoulders.
Tapered waist.
Muscles that ripple beneath sun-kissed skin.
And that damn V-cut that disappears into a place I am definitely not going to peek at.
Eyes up, Monroe.
Steele is absolutely stunning. The man is built like he was carved from stone, but in this moment, as he braces a hand on the tile, his body unsteady, he looks vulnerable.
Human.
Still infuriatingly sexy, but not untouchable.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Okay, maybe I need a little more help than I thought.”
I let out a shaky exhale and glance toward the glass enclosure. His head is tilted as his other hand joins the first on the wall for balance and his legs tremble beneath him.
“You’re lucky I love you,” I mutter, stepping closer before my brain can catch up with my mouth.
His lips curve into a lazy grin. It’s the one that’s been known to cause minor hysteria across the league. “Yes, I am.”
My heart stumbles, then slams back into rhythm.
He’s not making this easy.
I inch closer, toeing off my shoes and socks. The tile is cool beneath my feet as the steam rises around me.
“What are you doing?” he asks, voice rough from the hot water and whatever’s simmering beneath the surface of this moment.
“Helping you.”
His gaze slides down my body and then back up again. “With all your clothes on?”
I blink. “Um… yes?”
He cocks his head. “You’ll get soaked. At the very least, take off the jersey and jeans.”
I glance down at the oversized shirt and the cling of denim that’s already sticking to my legs from the humidity.
I mean, he’s not wrong.
But stripping down to my underwear?
In front of Steele?
That feels dangerous.
Then again, is it any different than wearing a swimsuit?
Still…
For some reason, it feels like more.