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Not much made him nervous, but something about his dad and Naomie watching his every move made him wonder if they saw something he didn’t. He’d busted his butt the last two weeks since he first put on the new prosthesis.
Initially, he found the lack of tactility a hindrance. He smiled as he remembered talking about that issue with Georgie. She’d snuck him out of the hospital and gone to a place she swore had the best milkshakes in the city.
They sat on a bench outside the shop, drinking and talking. “You’re right, this is a damn good milkshake.”
She smiled. “Want to trade?”
“Permanently?” He pulled his cup closer. “Girl, this is a next-level chocolate shake.”
“And this is a next-level good strawberry shake. But…” she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “if you take a drink of the chocolate and then one of the strawberries…”
“What happens?”
“Magic.”
“Magic, huh?”
She nodded, and he smiled. “Okay, first we drink, then trade. On three. Ready?”
“Yep.”
“One. Two. Three.”
They both sucked a mouthful of shake from their cups, then swapped. Riggs swallowed and immediately took in some of the strawberry. He saw Georgie’s eyes widen and the smile that lit her face.
“Magic, right?”
“Without a doubt,” he agreed and added, without thinking, “but maybe you’re the magic.”
He saw the surprise on her face. They’d shared kisses that set his libido aflame, flirted around, shared glances, and used every opportunity to press against one another, blaming the contact on therapy.
Riggs couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman the way he did Georgie. She was amazing. Intelligent and courageous, determined, and gorgeous. He no longer saw her prosthetic limb as something that detracted or made her less. She was someone he admired.
And liked a whole lot more than was smart, he’d wager. But smart or not, he was falling for his therapist.
“Hey, can I ask you a personal question,” he turned his mind in another direction since he had no solution to that dilemma.
“Sure,” she agreed and held out the cup. “Swap back.”
“Oh, yeah,” he traded cups, took a drink, and continued. “How did you learn to deal with the lack of tactility? It kind of drives me nuts when we put on the training prosthesis, and I can’t feel anything past my skin.”
“Give your body and mind time to catalog the sensations and impulses, and that will change.”
“You want to expand for the non-medical folks in the audience?”
Georgie gave a short chuckle. “Sure. There is tactility; it’s just not what you’re accustomed to. Think about it. When you walk, you swing one leg forward, letting the back foot act as a means of propulsion, pushing you. The leg straightens, the foot bends at the ankle, pointing the foot downward at the same time the toes are pulling back so that when the ball of the foot plants onto the surface, the weight of the body propelling it forward, coupled with the push off from that back leg and foot, and tada, you’re walking.”
“And what about tactility?”
“Well, if you pay attention only to the propelling leg, you can easily identify it. The feel of your clothing loosening and tightening as muscles relax or tense. Tactile sensations, right?”
“And what about the limb with the prosthesis?”
“That’s a horse of a different color, isn’t it? But there are workarounds. Let’s look at it this way. No, better yet, let’s do it. Take my hand, and when I tell you, stand.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.” She took his hand, stood, and looked down at him. “Stand.”