Pulling the dark curl out, he released it and smiled as it sprung back into place. “How long is it when it’s wet?”
“About two inches above the curve of my spine. I have to brush it while I’ve got conditioner in it, otherwise, it takes forever when I get out of the shower.”
This time, he looked pained. “I’ve bought some stuff to help you out in the shower, but I’ll help you with doing your hair. I’m glad you mentioned brushing it with conditioner in it because I probably would have screwed it all up.”
This news shocked me.
“You’re going to help me?” When he nodded, I asked, “You’ve bought me stuff to help me out in the shower?”
Two light pink stripes appeared on his cheeks like he was embarrassed by this. “I went to a store that sells stuff to help people with disabilities. The guy there, Ted, helped me out with shit he thought you’d find useful.”
I didn’t know what to make of this.
Jackson had been irritating as a kid, and when I’d seen him the other day, yeah, he was attractive, but he was still Jackson. I’d even given Milkshake extra treats for clawing his balls. Sue me, I was proud of the kitty for doing it.
If you’d asked me a month ago if I’d be able to survive spending time with Jackson Townsend-Rossi, with him helping me out because one side of my body was broken, I’d have laughed in your face then prayed for it never to happen.
So, this act of thoughtfulness shook me slightly.
“That’s… Thank you.”
Shrugging a shoulder, he kept his eyes on the curl and the way his fingers were still fiddling with it.
“It’s my fault you’re in here and that you’re gonna have Captain America and Chewbacca issues when they take the casts off.”
“It’s not your fault,” I argued softly, but my focus was on what he’d just said.
Why did it sound so familiar?
And then I remembered my drug induced breakdown about it all. “Oh, shit. I said all of that, didn’t I?”
His eyes flicked from the curl to mine. “You really need to get your superheroes right.”
“Oh, God,” I cried, dropping my face back down onto his chest. “I’m such a loser.”
I was mortified. I’d admitted to not shaving my legs, freaked out over having shrunken limbs, compared myself to the wrong superheroes, cried about having ‘stilton feet’…
“You didn’t mention stilton feet.”
Blue cheese was stilton. My dads loved the stuff and imported it from a British supplier in ceramic jars. I hated it when they had the shit in the fridge because the second that wax seal was lifted, the whole fridge stank of it. It also made the food absorb it, so even when you lifted butter out, you had an essence of stilton infused in it. Hell, the last time I’d had to spit out a chunk of cucumber because of it.
How was I going to be able to face the person who took the cast off in six weeks? They’d need to get industrial strength cutters for the hair, and their faces would melt off with the smell.
“That was before you arrived, I think. Do you think they’d let me cut the cast off at home to save the poor person who has to remove it?”
I was already thinking of things I had that I could use. My bread knife was sharp, and it also cut through things well, thanks to the serrated blade.
“You’re not cutting it off yourself. What if you slip?”
At least the poor person wouldn’t have their face melted off.
“What if the person who has to do it has kids? Or they’re pregnant? What if they’re about to get married?”
“It won’t be that bad,” he patted the top of my head.
“You ever break your leg?”
He stilled the patting at my question but answered it honestly. “No, I’ve broken both my arms and two fingers, but never my leg. Marcus has, so has his best friend, Remy. And I’m fairly certain my other brothers, Webb and Jesse, have, too.”
“Do me a favor and ask them what it was like.”
“I doubt they’d be worried about the amount of hair that grew under it,” he snickered, and I pinched him in the side.
“I meant about the smell. I’ll have a look online about hair growth and if I can pour hair removal cream or something down it.” Then a thought occurred to me, and I lifted my head excitedly. “Do you think they’ll let me wear a moon boot instead of a cast?”
“No,” a voice said from the doorway, making me squeak and Jackson jump. “You have to wear the cast. The moon boot’s for different types of injuries and breaks,” the nurse I recognized from earlier explained as she walked farther into the room.
“By the way, you two are too cute. We took this photo earlier, and as soon as I heard you talking, I had to come in to show you.”