It felt so liberating to be able to let loose with him.

Chopper wandered farther down the hallway to what I assumed was the bedroom, given the small square footage of this place. “You better watch out; he might think he’s found a permanent place to live.”

Jude sobered up quickly by straightening himself on the couch. I saw a quick flash of gloominess behind his eyes and I wondered what I had made him remember or think about. I instantly wanted to return the smile to his face.

He got back to the task at hand by reaching for the antibiotic ointment. His torso hunched over my knees and I felt hot under the collar. Adjusting my position, I realized how stiff my muscles felt after lounging in this position for so many minutes straight.

When I winced, he looked up at me and began working faster. Using the smooth pads of his fingers, he gently dabbed on the ointment and I pictured what it might feel like to have his hands doing other things to me. That was exactly the wrong thing to be fantasizing about at this moment.

I could feel his breath on my legs and I needed to get far away from him before I did something crazy like slide my fingers behind his neck and draw his beautiful face toward mine.

I was suddenly so turned on, I needed to adjust myself in my shorts. My stomach was quivering and I noticed how his fingers shook opening the Band-Aid container. Was he having the same problem? And if so, why not do something about it?

But wasn’t it obvious—something huge was holding him back.

And suddenly I wanted to know so much more about him. Like exactly where he’d lived in the States and whether that was the reason why he spoke with a strange mix of English and American vernacular.

But I knew this was a short-lived thing—being here at his house was unplanned. He was just helping me out of a jam and probably was counting the minutes until he could get me the hell out of here. If I started asking questions now, it would be even sooner.

Besides, my back was beginning to spasm. Being so still, so on guard, was causing it to cramp up.

I continued to have issues from that accident three years ago, the one that changed everything. I had gone to months of physical therapy and still it acted up. Usually I didn’t notice it because I was always on the move, keeping myself so busy until I crashed at night.

He must have felt me studying his face because his gaze slid up my body painstakingly slowly and goose bumps broke out all over my arms. We stared at each other for the longest time, and I could tell just how labored his breathing had become.

“Thank you,” I whispered and that seemed to break the spell. I didn’t want to leave but I knew Chopper and I should get out of his space and his business.

All at once his gaze jerked to my ankle. His warm fingers slid delicately around the bone and I cringed because even the slight pressure made me remember that it hurt.

“Let me get you some ice,” he said, and his voice startled me again. It was like living for years without the sound of the rain. That first downpour was noisier and more breathtaking than you ever imagined.

“No,” I said. “You’ve done enough for me already.”

I struggled to sit up but he kept his fingers on my leg. He saw how I was arching my back and I could tell he knew that my discomfort was about more than my ankle.

His eyebrow arched. “Or the ice could be for your back.”

And unexpectedly it hit me that I was in this stranger’s house. This stranger who could probably be a friend—except that he never shared anything with me. And I’ll be damned if he knew anything about my past. About David and how lost I felt without him. It was the one sacred memory that I needed most to hold on to.

I shut my eyes and shook my head. “I need to go.”

He stood abruptly. “I didn’t mean . . . just ice your ankle for ten minutes and then you can be on your way.”

He had already pulled a pack from his freezer and was walking it toward me. First the guy was a mute and now he was Mr. Bossy. Such a fucking contradiction.

I allowed my back to resettle against the cushion as he carefully placed the ice on my ankle. What was an additional ten minutes anyway? We were silent for a while, the tension between us palpable. Now he knew there was a topic I didn’t want to discuss and I was pretty sure it had piqued his interest. But if he wanted to develop any kind of friendship between us, it would need to be a two-way street.

Chopper had found his way back into the room and had settled near Jude’s lap. He patted him almost hypnotically as the dog nuzzled farther into his hands. I reached out to scratch him behind the ears and at one point our fingers intersected. We looked away at the same time.

After ten minutes more, he removed the ice as if he didn’t want to disappoint me any longer or keep me from where I needed to go. But I had settled back into the couch so easily, I no longer had the drive to leave.

He picked up my ankle, rolled it and asked me if it hurt when he moved it this way or that. “I’m good.”

“Ice on and off for the next twenty-four hours,” he said, as if he was he was an orthopedic doctor instead of a skateboard daredevil who’d had one too many injuries.

“Okay, Doc,” I said. “Maybe you should’ve gone into medicine.”

Sadness filtered through his eyes and again I seemed to have said the wrong thing. This entire situation was so frustrating. Yet so alluring. Or maybe it was just him.

I stood on shaky legs and then looked down at myself. My shin was bandaged, my ankle was swollen, and my shorts were spotted with splotches of blood.