Page 10 of My Ex-Military Biker

The water is cold. I let it run over my hands longer than necessary.

"That should hold," I manage.

My voice sounds steadier than I feel.

"You'll need to check it tomorrow. Change the dressing. Watch for infection."

"I will."

Of course he will. He's the one who put the field dressing on in the first place while bleeding. He doesn't need me to tell him basic wound care.

I dry my hands. Take my time with it.

When I turn back around, he's still sitting there. Still shirtless. Still looking at me with that same steady attention that makes me feel like I'm the only thing in the room that matters.

"Thank you," he says.

Two words. But the way he says them makes them feel like more than courtesy. Like he's actually grateful rather than just being polite.

I nod, not trusting my voice for anything more complicated.

The bathroom is too small. The air is too warm. I need space. Need to not be this close to him while he's half-naked and looking at me like that.

"I should get out of your way," I say.

He doesn't respond immediately, just looks at me for another two seconds that feel longer.

Then he stands.

The movement brings him closer to me in the small space. We're maybe a foot apart.

I can see the fresh dressing I just applied. Can see the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. Can smell him even more strongly now.

He reaches past me for his shirt on the counter.

His arm brushes mine.

The contact is brief. Accidental. But I feel it like an electric shock.

He pulls his shirt on. The wound disappears beneath dark fabric.

"Come on," he says.

He leaves the bathroom. I follow because staying alone in here feels more dangerous than whatever happens next.

I sit on the couch before my legs decide sitting is optional. The wedding dress makes this complicated. All that fabric bunching and catching.

I give up trying to arrange it gracefully and just let it settle however it wants.

He's still standing. Looking at me sitting on his couch in a wedding dress like he's trying to figure out how this became his afternoon.

"You hungry?" he asks.

The question is so practical, so utterly normal, that I almost laugh.

"I don't know," I say honestly.

I haven't thought about food since breakfast. Breakfast was a protein bar eaten standing up in a hotel bathroom while someone else curled my hair in the mirror behind me.