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God He really is a

My thoughts cut out as I watch CJ stu He puts weight on his injured leg

I gasp

"Fuck!" CJ roars, tossing the crutch, sending it sailing across the roo over to hold onto the ar his blood-red face

I leave the box on the floor and rush over "It’s okay I got it Really," I say, ducking under his arhten up, holding onto his wrist and wrapping et you back on the couch"

He hesitates, but eventually lets ed ru at thedown atsnarky, or tease how he’ll probably be stuain, but I don’t

"Thank you for wanting to help rin soften "That’s really nice of you"

"Nothing nice about it It’s the right thing to do," he argues, stating thatabout the day Ihi, and hohen he sawwith a box as heavy as the one I just carried inside, he laughed and said I needed to lift with my knees That was the only help he offered that day

My eyes fall to a spot on CJ’s shirt

"You all right?" he asks me

No Not at all, I think, but I don’t tell hiive it to hiet CJ re-situated on his back, boosting his ankle up with a pillow and handing him the remote, then I empty out the box a couple of items at a time and carry the in

Later that night after a quick dinner of sandwiches and chips--CJ had luncherator or cabinets, leaving us with little choice that didn’t include takeout--I slip on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, handle my bathroom routine, secure my hair up into messy bun, and climb into bed

I draw the sheets around me as cold air blows out of the vent on the wall directly above my head

CJ’s s my skin His summer meadow soap and that clean, masculine scent I took ho