After a quick and sharp inhale, she narrowed her eyes in confusion. Then she blinked. "Sorry I scared you."
And just like that, the moment was over. I could see it in the smoothing of her face.
I stood and tossed the paper towel into the trash. "No, you're not."
"You're right," she said around another grin. "I'm totally not. That was the highlight of my week." Her hands waved in the direction of my face and hair. "You've still got a little … everywhere."
Sighing, I grabbed more paper towel and wet it in the sink. "I'm sure I do."
"I didn't think you'd actually make me a smoothie."
Lifting my eyebrow as best as I could while trying to scrub the drying liquid out of it, I gave her a look.
Joss held up her hands. "Okay, fine, I figured you'd make me one. I just didn't think you'd jump like a bobcat was standing behind you."
"Oh no," I drawled, "not a bobcat. Just a sneaky little hedgehog."
She smirked. "You might as well go take a shower."
"Another shower," I clarified with a mock glare, which made her chuckle. I glanced down at my chest, the shirt I decided to don at the last moment splattered with the mess. With one hand, I yanked at my T-shirt behind my head and tore it off.
Joss was looking at her phone when the shirt cleared my head, but the tops of her cheeks had reddened. Disrobing in front of each other wasn't exactly our norm.
"What about you?" I asked her.
Her eyes trekked up the front of my chest slowly, but her face was blank when it met mine. "What about me what?"
"Do you need a shower?"
The sides of her lips twitched. "Do you happen to have a shower chair just lying around in case of emergency?"
Embarrassment had my face heating. Of all the accommodations I'd made for Joss so she could be in our home easily, showering was not one of the things I'd had to think about. But it made sense that she wouldn't be able to hold herself steady long enough to shower.
"Ahh, no, I don't."
Briefly, I wondered if my parents would think it strange if I ripped out my current shower and put it in a brand new one just for her.
Nope. Probably not.
They'd probably rejoice if Joss and I finally got to the "shower stage" of our relationship.
"And unless you're going to help me out of the bathtub, I think I'd rather just splash some water on my face if you don't mind."
The woman was officially killing me. I didn't even have a bathtub in my apartment, but holy shit could I imagine her in one if I did.
Thoughts of Joss and showers and baths were not a good combination with mesh gym shorts. I turned to face the sink. Fast.
With rough movements and while reciting the Pledge of Allegiance in my head, I cleaned any remaining smoothie residue from my neck, face and hands while I fought to control my burgeoning hard-on.
Joss was quiet, and I could feel her watching me.
"What is it?" I asked, not meeting her eyes.
"Who says I'm thinking something?"
The look I gave her over my shoulder while I washed my hands was quick and loaded. "Who do you think you're dealing with here?"
Her eyes rolled, a facial expression I was so familiar with, I smiled.
"Do you ever wonder why I don't work my legs more when you and I work out together?"
My hands slowed under the water, which was getting colder by the second. Probably good for me to douse any part of my body in cold water, but her words had an equal ardor-dousing effect. I'd noticed it, especially over the past year and a half. Number one, she didn't take me up on my offer to work out as much as she used to, and number two, she'd become really skilled at deflecting my offers to work on her legs and focused on her upper body instead.
Before answering, I took my time turning the water off and drying my hands, using the damp towel to make sure my face was clean.
"I've wondered," I said, leaning my hip against the island and facing her with my arms crossed over my chest. "But I think I know why, if that's really what you're asking."
Not that I'd obsessed over it, but I knew she'd had a PT appointment before she texted me.
Which meant she saw PT guy.
Which meant something happened.
Because Joss was overthinking that something.
Just as she was currently overthinking whether she wanted to ask me what my opinions were on why—despite mastering so many challenges in her life—I thought she was pulling back on the one area that common sense would assume she'd want the most.
"What happened at PT?" I asked when she still didn't open her mouth.
Her eyes never left my face. "I had to crawl like a dog."
Anger had me straightening from the counter, my fingers curling into tight fists at my sides. "He made you do what?"
When her lips twitched, I sank back against the counter and gave her a deadpan look. Oh sure, it was so fun to ignite the jealous instincts of your best friend—the man who would jump in front of a Mack truck for you—who possibly felt a smidge overprotective of you because he'd loved you for five years even though you didn't know it.
"Not that your overreaction isn't fun, but it was just a little embarrassing, you know?" She shrugged one shoulder. "It's like he's determined to shine the world's brightest spotlight on every single place that I'm the weakest." Before I could point out that her legs would always be the area she'd be the weakest, she held up a hand. "Shut up, you know what I mean."
"I do." I scratched the side of my face. "So what's with the crawling?"
"Ugh. It was this ramp going up to the wall, and I had to crawl forward and backward, then do different balance exercises. Almost like inverted planks."
The wheels in
