I pointedly ignore the large Mission-style paneled bed, plump with rumpled linen covers as if he’s just rolled out of it. Macon leans against the wall by the bathroom. His skin is ashen, pinched lines framing his mouth and pulling at the corners of his eyes. He gives me a protracted smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Despite our text exchange a moment before, now that we’re facing, our awkwardness is at stellar heights. I try not to think about his mouth, how he tastes, those soft greedy noises he makes. God, I try, but it’s just there, floating over my skin and making me hot. His eyes hold the same knowledge, a flicker of lust going through them. But a shadow of pain overrides that, and I snap out of my haze.

“What’s wrong?”

A grimace tightens his mouth. “Here’s the thing. And this in no way makes you right about my going down to the beach . . .”

“Sure,” I drawl.

His nostrils flare on a shallow breath. “I might have pulled something when we fell.”

“Might have?” I notice how gingerly he’s holding himself. “Where?”

“My sides, back, shit . . . I don’t know. My torso. The whole area is not good.” He swallows thickly and closes his eyes for a second.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” I snap, wanting to touch him if only to provide comfort but fearing it will hurt him worse, fearing I won’t stop at one touch.

Macon’s brows knit as he glares. “My mind was on other things.”

I refrain from blushing. Which is a feat, considering my mind can’t seem to get away from those “other things.”

Macon makes a noise of stifled pain. “It wasn’t an issue until I reached over to turn on the taps, and everything seized up.”

Two years ago, I decided to try one of those boot camp, “We’ll make you feel the pain until you cry” workouts. I went home and moved the wrong way while pulling out my house keys, my back clenched, and I ended up on my floor for an hour until my mother arrived to help me. The agony was real.

“Okay,” I say softly. “Have you taken anything for the pain?”

“I’m already on meds for my leg,” he grits out, his expression slightly sullen as if he doesn’t want to admit it. “I’ve taken all I can.”

“You should be lying down. On the floor. Really, it’ll help.”

His lip quirks with tight discomfort. “I need to soak in the tub first.”

Only then do I realize he’s still sandy, tiny bits of ocean detritus sticking to his temple and on his neck.

“Jesus, why didn’t you clean off before?”

“Because I couldn’t fucking move?” A small sound leaves him. “North usually helps with this, but he’s out.”

“Is it wrong that I find that kind of hot?”