Or unfriendly.
He transferred the towel to her and dropped down onto his haunches, gently tugging on her ankle. Off balance, she rested a hand on his shoulder and lifted obediently so he could slide the first fin off.
He looked up at her, a slow grin tugging at his mouth. “Long fish with dark scales and a little shark-fin thing at the back?”
He moved his hands apart to indicate size. Close.
“Keep going. Fantasy Island stocks monster fish.”
He nodded and pulled the second fin off. “Barracuda. He’ll chase you off. Be a little aggressive because you’re swimming in his territory. Next time you see Mason, ask him about the barracuda that chased him in the Indian Ocean. He never saw it coming until it tried to take a chunk out of his ass. He caught it and barbecued it.”
Typical. “That fish must be a male.”
“Do I want to know?” Gray stood up and grabbed her fins. Was that the equivalent of carrying her books home from school? Damn it. She needed an instruction manual or a dating guide. Something.
Since he’d asked for it, she should tell him. She’d be doing the future women in his life a favor. “He got himself a piece of ass and ran.” She shrugged when Gray stared at her. “What? That fits your story and mine.”
“Don’t be difficult.” He started walking down the dock, oblivious to the rain. Since she wasn’t about to let him have the last word, she followed him. Plus, he had her fins and she had to return them to the water sports hut.
“I can be difficult if I want,” she muttered and he shook his head. Maybe it was time for a change of subject. She eyed his wet T-shirt, but couldn’t tell if he was still in pain.
“How’s the side?”
“Fine.” He shrugged, but she was a trained professional. She’d dealt with more than her fair share of grown men pretending their injuries were mere scratches.
“Let me see.”
He gave her a look. The one that said even if I’m impaled by half the dock, I’m not admitting to any discomfort. Men! “On a scale of one to ten, it’s not even a whole number.”
“I’m still looking. Welcome to the tropics. A little bacteria, a little sepsis...and boom, you’re dead.”
Losing Gray would be a waste.
“Cheerful.” He shook his head. “And things go boom all the time in my line of work.”
“My room. Your room. A third party, neutral space. Pick a spot, because I’m looking at your side.”
“Bossy.”
“Doctor,” she countered. Never mind that she was soaked to the skin, in a bikini and barefoot. Her outfit wasn’t exactly white coat material, but he didn’t seem to mind. There. The towel hut was a little cabana thing with a thatched roof and a wide-open door. It appeared to be mostly shelves of white towels, but there was also a decent overhead light. She could make do and it would be far less depressing than dragging him back to her bungalow and having nothing happen besides a medical checkup. “Pit stop.”
To her surprise, he let her steer him into the towel hut. Of course, he didn’t seem in any hurry to get naked, which just brought her back to her original problem. They’d done it and now he was done. She swallowed her disappointment, reminding herself that right now it didn’t matter. Even if he didn’t want a lover, he still got the doctor.
She pointed to his T-shirt. Despite his best attempts to shield them with the towel, Gray was soaked, which was not ideal. Bullet wounds liked to stay dry. “Off.”
With a sigh, he stripped off his shirt. Mother Nature liked him, too. Water drops trickled down his taut abdomen and just begged her to lick him clean. Or dirty. She really wasn’t picky when it came to Gray.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Sam’s been checking me out.”
“I went to med school for approximately a thousand years to do this. I’m better.” Carefully, she peeled back the dressing. There were no signs of infection, and he actually hadn’t ripped out his stitches. Which was probably a miracle, because she doubted Mr. SEAL had really been taking it easy.
“You’re also mad at me,” he pointed out drolly. “I’m not sure that guarantees a sympathetic bedside manner.”
“Two words. Hippocratic Oath.”
“Good to know.”
His side looked good. Since he was undoubtedly doing macho manly SEAL things, rather than engaging in bed rest, that was a small miracle. And damn it, she had to stop thinking of beds and Gray at the same time.
“Is Mason really a cook?” she asked, to take her mind off sex.
Gray grinned. “He’s cooking. Does that count?”