When she tried to shoo the cats off of him, Cash mumbled to leave them, that they were warm.
Cash didn’t need her help for bathroom things, but she did hang around the cracked-open bathroom door that afternoon when he took his first shower after getting home from the hospital, just in case he slipped or something.
She didn’t peek. Not even a little. Honest.
But she did hold onto the wall outside, digging her fingernails into the creamy drywall, so that she wouldn’t.
The girls at work had extolled his virtues, his many virtues, so to speak, from one that she saw every time that he turned his back and bent over his desk, his well-tailored suit slacks clinging to every curve of his hips and thighs, to the one she had never personally seen.
She really wanted to peek. She’d heard that it was spectacular.
The cats had followed him into the bathroom and were sprawled on their backs like three furry little rugs, basking in the steam and the heating lamp above, when Cash finally called to Rox that she could come in.
His master suite bathroom looked like a Roman bath, with a huge glassed-in shower, a Jacuzzi that he called a “soaking tub,” and double sinks.
The weirdest thing was that paintings occupied the spaces above the sinks where mirrors ought to have been. Both pieces of art were still lifes of broken Mayan pottery. A small mirror, like a magnifying make-up mirror, stood on the counter, pushed over to the side.
A couple days rest from the gym hadn’t atrophied any of Cash’s muscles, even though bruises bloomed under his skin all over his body. He was just as ripped as a couple weeks before when he and three other guys who worked in the office had had an impromptu basketball match on the roof of the parking structure, shirts versus skins. It was Los Angeles, and the four guys were muscular and tanned and sweating.
Cash had been on the skins team, and when that news had spread, all the women and two of the guys came out to cheer them on. Everyone had seen his tattoos before, but like most art, they bore further examination.
Everyone regretted objectifying the four guys for about five seconds.
After that, it was just admiration for hours of hard work in the gym.
But now, even though Rox continued to respect that kind of dedication, Cash was sitting on the side of the tub, holding his hand over the deep wound on his side, his bruised eyes closed, and panting. When he moved his hand, she could see the silver staples that pinched closed the surgical incision slicing just under his ribs on his left side.
A fresh bandage blazed white on his bruised, scraped cheek. He had gotten that much done before he had sat down and called her in.
Rox crouched beside him and gestured to the incision on his side. “Do you want help putting a bandage on that?”
“I’m okay. Thanks.” He sounded out of breath. “I just need a minute.”
His voice was better than it had been a few days ago. The nurse said that his vocal cords might have been bruised from intubating him for the surgery to take out his spleen, but the rich tones were coming back. He still sounded so tired.
Rox said, “Just lay down on the bed out there. I’ll just tape you up. I got a merit badge in first aid when I was in the Girl Scouts.”
He looked up at her, and his green eyes were a little more visible behind his swollen lids than they had been the last few days. “You were a Girl Scout?”
“Absolutely. I had a whole sash of badges. I can start a fire with twigs and tinder, and I trained one of our dogs to do the obstacle course. I was a champion cookie-seller, too. My daddy fronted me the money, and I set up a table at the big store in town and sold boxes and boxes of them. Come on. Let’s go.” She held out her hand.
He stared at her hand for a blink before he slid his fingers into hers. His palm was warm and moist from the shower, and Rox’s hand warmed under his. A vision of his fingers trailing up her wrist distracted her for just a moment, but her wedding rings pinched her fingers where he held onto her.
Cash Amsberg was her friend and her boss, and dear God, he could not be anything more.
Rox leaned back, bracing herself as she pulled him to his feet. He was so tall, and it seemed like he unfurled himself as he stood, growing bigger while he held onto her.
Dang, but he was a tall drink of water.
Once he was steady, he opened his hand, and Rox let go of him.
She cleared her throat. “I brought bandages from the hospital.”
He nodded. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I’m good at first aid. You just lie down out there.” She looked far up at his battered face, and her eyes felt too wide, like she was lying her patoot off. “It’s just a bandage.”
“I can do it myself. I just need to rest a minute.”