After the Fall

were still raw.
    So what the fuck did I do now?

    When I awoke, Ryan was gone. In my half-conscious state, I almost panicked, but then I heard the distinctive swish of someone rinsing a razor in water across the hall.
    I sat up, grumbling and cursing as I maneuvered my non-bendy leg from bed to floor.
    Ryan leaned in through the bedroom doorway, one side of his face still white with shaving foam. “Oh, hey. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
    “No, not at all.” I sat up slowly. Man, I missed being able to stumble out of bed without navigating around a bunch of plaster. Soon, though. Very soon.
    “Okay. Good.” He gestured with the razor in his hand. “Let me finish up. I’ll be back in a second.”
    “Take your time,” I said as he disappeared into the bathroom. Pity I couldn’t see him from here. Nothing quite like watching a man shave.
    I shook my head and reached for my crutch.
    “Need a hand?” he called from the bathroom.
    “Not yet, but in a minute.”
    “Be right there.” The faucet turned on and the razor swished in the water again.
    We’d gotten this morning routine down pat. Ryan helped me with anything I couldn’t do, and he patiently waited while everything else—brushing my teeth, getting dressed—took twice as long as it normally would have. We’d probably be confused and wouldn’t know what to do with ourselves when next week came along, the casts came off, and I could handle mundane tasks at my usual speed.
    And none of that helped unwind this knot in my stomach. Getting into a comfortable, domestic routine, not batting an eye at my constant dependence—that wasn’t how things were supposed to be between us. When the hell had this happened? I had to figure out how to take us back a few steps. Back to what we were supposed to be, not . . . not this.
    Dressed, shaved, ready for work, we stood in the bedroom.
    “I guess we should get going,” he said.
    “Yeah. Bosses might not be happy if we’re late.”
    But we didn’t move. And the way he looked at me right then was unsettling, especially the way it roused the butterflies in my stomach and made my heart beat in a way it only had a few times in my life. The way it had last night while we’d made—
    Fucked. While we’d fucked .
    He cupped my face tenderly. I shivered, knowing damn well a kiss would be a bad idea right now because his eyes didn’t say I guess we should get going.
    “We should . . .” I let my gaze flick toward his lips, then back up to his eyes. “We . . .”
    Ryan kissed me. His kisses had lost that tentative uncertainty from the beginning—he was completely confident now, totally sure of himself as he took us from a soft good-bye kiss to something that was definitely . . . not. Not soft. Not good-bye.
    “You’re going to be late for work,” I said, though I made no move to separate myself from him.
    “I’m always on time.” His hand drifted down my waist. “I can be a few minutes late this one time.”
    He’d be more than a few minutes late. A few minutes would have accounted for a feverish half-dressed quickie, a promise of more, and a kiss good-bye. Not a long, languid fuck, clothes on the floor and Ryan on top of me, taking me with perfect slow strokes until I came inside him. Not me lying on the edge of the bed and finishing him off with a long, drawn-out blowjob while he stood gripping the bedpost for balance. Not him reminding me with every touch why making love was even hotter than an all-out fuck.
    And definitely not the long, gentle kiss. Or the longer, blissful look before a whispered “we should get out of bed” led to one more—just one more—kiss. And then one more.
    It was sensual. It was perfect.
    It fucking terrified me.
    “Let me guess: if he comes along at the wrong time, he can’t possibly be Mr. Right?”
    “Something like that.”
    And besides, how could I fall for someone who couldn’t see a horizon without seeing something he needed to keep on chasing? That was a recipe for disaster.
    “Mark my words, kid.” Brad’s comments echoed in the back of my mind like an ominous prophecy. “You don’t want him, which is exactly why he’s going to show up .”
    Oh, I wanted him all right, except it wasn’t only the timing that was wrong. Even if Ryan had showed up a year from now, or five years from now, the fact remained that I couldn’t let myself fall in love with a flight risk.
    And right now, I can’t fall in love with anyone.
    Something had to give. Maybe we