Tristan releases the shower bar, then calmly wraps the towel around his waist as he stands on one foot. It’s then I see a prosthesis outside the shower, and he must’ve been in the process of putting it on when I barged in.
“Yes, I am,” he says. “If you want to get technical, I’m a right BKA, which stands for below the knee amputee.”
I blink, staring at half his leg. “How can you balance on one foot like that?”
“Years of practice, it’s normal for me.”
I swallow hard, feeling my body heat with embarrassment for the way I reacted.
Finally, I meet his eyes. “How didn’t I know this whole time? You walk and do everything completely normal.”
“That’s kind of the point of having a prosthetic. I did months of therapy and rehab to get to this point. It wasn’t always this easy.”
“When did you lose it?”
“Ten years ago.”
“When you were overseas?” I ask.
He doesn’t respond, just nods, which tells me he doesn’t want to talk about it.
“Would you mind giving me some privacy?”
I step back, blinking out of my trance. “Of course, sorry.” I shut the door behind me.
As I walk to my room, I think about the dozens of times he’s had to push people away from me who got too close, or how he’s had to run to keep up with me in crowds, and at my sister’s wedding when he drew a gun and confronted my stalker. I have no doubt he would’ve been able to catch him had people not been in his way. The other security couldn’t even keep up with him.
I don’t know why I’m so shocked, but I guess I had this idea of what someone with a prosthetic would look like or how they’d walk, and Tristan doesn’t fit any of those images. He’s stood for hours at a time when we’ve been in public, sits normally, and moves around the kitchen flawlessly as he cooks. I literally had no clue.
Along with that revelation, I have a million questions. Does it hurt wearing it? Can he keep it on twenty-four hours a day? He obviously doesn’t shower with it, but…does he have sex with it on?
Obviously, he’d never answer that last question, so I won’t bother asking, but it’s definitely in the back of my mind. Call me curious.
Truthfully, I don’t know much about amputees, so I probably looked stupid as hell as I gawked at his leg.
It took me off guard because I had no idea and never got the impression he had a setback. Perhaps that’s proof I haven’t been paying much attention to him, and his disdain toward me is actually valid.
“Piper.” I hear his booming voice outside my room.
I open the door and stare at a fully-clothed Tristan, but this time, I gaze my eyes down his body and wonder what his prosthetic looks like on him.
“Are you hungry?” he asks calmly.
“Sure, but can I pick what we eat this time?”
He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, then cautiously agrees. “Fine. But nothing over the top.”
“Over the top is my middle name. Thought you knew that by now,” I muse, walking past him, leading the way to the kitchen.
First, I pull out the sourdough bread, cheddar cheese, and the fresh tomato Easton actually brought. As soon as Tristan sees the ingredients, he shakes his head with a knowing smirk.
“It’s so easy, even you can’t screw it up,” I tease him.
“If it’s so easy, then why don’t you make it?” He waves his arm, gesturing for me to go ahead.
I square my shoulders and stand tall. “Fine, I will.”
It’s not that I don’t cook for myself. I’m just not the best at it. I usually get distracted and end up burning something.
“You might want to turn the burner down, or your bread is gonna burn in seconds,” Tristan says before I’ve even buttered it.
“Are you going to be a back-seat cook? Because I’d rather you go sit somewhere and stop watching me.”
“Watching you is my job.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, you can watch me from the living room.”
“I have a feeling I should be near just in case a fire breaks out.”
“Wow, you really have no faith in me.” I slap the bread down in the pan and place the cheese and tomato on it before setting the other piece on top.
“I have faith that you’re not very skilled in the kitchen.”
I look over my shoulder to scowl at him as he gives me a cocky smirk. I meet it with a devilish grin of my own.
“That’s fine. I’m skilled in other areas to make up for it,” I taunt.
Our eyes lock together, and for a moment, I think he might ask me to elaborate, but before he can, the smoke detector blares, and my attention is brought back to the stove where smoke has taken over.