Crybaby

by K. Webster

  Unknown: Nice try, crybaby. Get your swimsuit and your cane and your unfuckinghappy attitude out here. Don’t make me come in and drag you out by your hair.

  The nerve of this guy! I add him to my contacts under “Ass” because it’s fitting.

  Me: I’m not going. How the hell do you know where I live anyway?

  Sure, he knows where my sister and her husband live, but he’s never been to my house before. Maybe he’s bluffing.

  Ass: I have your file, Soph. I know everything about you.

  Dammit, he’s not bluffing. And something feels cryptic about those words. I hate how it makes me feel weak and exposed. I’m reminded of a time—one of the many weekends I got to spend with my sister when that big dumbass was there messing with me. He always has a way of seeing right through the bullshit wall I put up for everyone. My mind drifts to about four months ago when he saw past my façade and made it known for the first time.

  “Everything okay?” Olivia asks, her brows knitted together in concern.

  I flash her a bright—albeit fake—smile. “Of course. Peachy keen.”

  She hugs me before scampering off to find Miles. As soon as she’s gone, my shoulders hunch and I hobble over to where my purse sits on the counter. With shaking hands, I rummage through it until I find my much-needed pain pills. I swallow two dry before tossing the bottle back in my bag. Tears are stinging my eyes. I want to go home but I promised my sister I’d stay the night and help her decorate one of her guest rooms tomorrow. A tear from the pain radiating down my leg escapes and rolls down my cheek before dripping from my jaw. I hastily swipe away the wet trail.

  “You don’t look very peachy keen to me. In fact, you look more sour grapes,” a deep, familiar voice rumbles from behind me.

  I jolt at his presence and turn to pin him with a hateful glare. “You caught me,” I deadpan.

  Drew smirks and dammit if it doesn’t look good on the asshole. Every time I see him, I hate the stupid way my flesh heats up. A dumb girlish crush on a guy who doesn’t have a nice bone in his body. “Are you hurting?”

  “What do you think?” I snap back.

  He stalks over to me and invades my personal space. “Well, I think you’re a good actress.”

  I don’t have the patience to deal with his accusations of my faking it this evening. Instead of jabbing him with the usual barb, I lower my gaze to the floor and shrug. The stupid tears threaten once more. “Just go. I’m tired,” I murmur.

  His fingers find my chin and he lifts my head. Our bodies aren’t touching but I can feel the heat burning from his. Navy blue eyes bore into mine as if he’s trying to see inside my head. “It is past your bed time, little girl.” I can smell the liquor on his breath and I wonder what it would taste like if I licked his tongue. More heat floods through me at that thought. The pills are kicking in because the pain is no longer my primary thought. Right now, it’s him.

  “I’m headed that way, old man,” I snip out.

  He flashes me a half-grin that turns my insides to mush. “Want Daddy to tuck you in?”

  “He’s not even here,” I snap. But then my cheeks burn bright with embarrassment as I consider another meaning.

  His nostrils flare as he looks over my features. “For the record,” he mutters as he licks his lips that I desperately want to lick too. “I didn’t think you were faking tonight.”

  My body relaxes at his words. I’m tired of him giving me shit about my injury and my pain level. “Oh.”

  “You’re a good actress for them. Your daddy. Your sister. Them.” He releases his grip on my chin and takes a step back. “But I can’t be fooled. I see right through you.”

  I’m tense again. “There’s nothing to see,” I spit out in disgust. And that’s the truth. I’m a hollowed shell of my former self.

  He clenches his jaw before shrugging. “I see a whole lot more than you think I do.” With that, he strides out of the kitchen without a backward glance.

  God, I hate this guy.

  Unfortunately, he’s the only person who’s made my heart burn simultaneously with need and fury all at once. He makes me feel when all I want to do is go numb.

  Damn you, Drew Hamilton.

  I’m pulled from my memory when my phone buzzes again.

  Ass: I know you’re reading this. You can’t ignore me…

  Me: No. Leave me alone.

  Ass: Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Ready or not, here I come.

  I shriek in horror when I hear a key pushing into the front door and then it swings open. How the hell does he have a key to my house?!

  “Get up,” he barks as he strides over, a murderous look on his handsome face. And I hate the fact that I’ve always thought he was good looking. Since the day I met him. But then the little prick opened his big mouth. I’ve hated him ever since…even if he is a sexy little asshole.

  “No,” I snap. “Get out of my house before I call the cops.”

  He puts his hands on his hips and glares at me. The fancy watch on his wrist shimmers under the overhead lights. His light brown hair is cropped short on the sides and styled immaculately on top of his head in a “just-fucked” kind of way. A dark eyebrow is arched in challenge and his full lips are quirked up on one side. Even though he’s wearing a pink polo shirt, of all colors, it looks good on him. It hugs his muscled body well. The shirt is tucked into a pair of crisp khakis. Everything about him reeks of poise and success. But then he always opens his mouth, ruining it.

  “You do not want me to carry you out of here, Soph. For one, it’ll hurt. But mainly, your neighbors would be in for a show. I’m not playing with you. Pack a bag and let’s go.”

  Defeated, I attempt to stand up from the couch. My hip screams in agony from earlier and I let out a sharp gasp. I clench my eyes closed until the pain passes. When I reopen them, Drew’s standing before me with his hand extended.

  “I can do it myself,” I huff, my stubbornness winning out.

  He ignores me and grabs my wrist. His touch is warm, just like his hands were on my hips earlier. If he hadn’t been torturing me, I’d have thought it was erotic. Nobody has touched me sexually before. Even though he was strictly professional, it was still the hottest moment of my life.

  I’m pulled to my feet but when a ripple of fire burns from my hip down my hamstring, I let out a cry of defeat and fall against him. His body is hard—exactly as I imagined it to be. But his grip is soft. He holds me to him until the moment of pain passes.

  “I’m going to help you through this,” he murmurs, his breath tickling the hair on top of my head. “Stop fighting it.”

  Once I’m composed, I pull from his grip and hobble away with my cane. His pity burns my back and I hate it. I wish he’d look elsewhere. As much as he wants to fix me, I’m unfixable. I’ll be broken forever. This is who I am now.

  The drive to his house was quiet. Neither of us spoke. I took two pain pills in my room as I packed a bag knowing he was going to hurt me worse. Now, as the garage door closes behind us, a sense of dread washes over me. He’s all business as he takes my bag from the trunk and shoulders it before helping me out of the car. I want to tell him I don’t need his help but I’m so worn out from earlier that I allow it.

  We’ve just walked inside when a dog starts barking. A little black yappy thing. Big grumpy Drew has a Chihuahua? The dog starts jumping as high as my waist as it begs for attention. I can’t help but laugh at the cute little guy.

  Drew jerks his gaze my way and studies me for a moment. “Beauty,” he teases with a grin, “meet Beast.”

  I suppress a shudder at him calling me Beauty. I’m the hunchback ogre of this story. “He doesn’t seem so beastly to me.”

  Beast yaps as his tail wags wildly. Drew scoops him up and kisses him. The dog seems so tiny in his master’s grip but Drew spoils the thing with love. It melts even my frigid heart for a moment.

  “Put your suit on and meet me out back. I’m going to work those hips,” he tells me over his shoulder

as he strides away from me. He slaps a door on his way down the hallway. “Bathroom.”

  I’m irritated that I’m here to do therapy. I could be in my bed at home or in the bath. Anywhere but here. Defeat washes through me as I hobble toward the bathroom, my cane making thwacking sounds on his fancy hardwood floor. I cringe but then decide I don’t care. Maybe if I’m annoying enough, he’ll find some other pet project.

  After spending too much time in the bathroom, I come out in my simple two-piece black swimsuit which I haven’t worn in probably a year. Because of my lack of exercise, my stomach is pudgier than normal and my thighs have thickened. I’m embarrassed that Mr. Perfect will see me looking my worst.

  Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

  I eventually make it outside. It’s dark out but the pool is illuminated with lights. The night is surprisingly warm for October and it really is a good evening for a swim. Too bad it’s going to hurt like hell.

  “Stop dragging your feet,” Drew says from the edge of the pool. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of navy swim trunks. His biceps are as big and sculpted as ever. It makes me even more self-conscious about my body.

  “Don’t try to hide,” he barks out. “I’m not looking anyway.”

  It’s then I realized I’ve curled my arm around my middle. He ignores me to yank his shirt off. My mouth goes dry once all his lean muscle is on display. When he turns my way once more, I wobble on my feet. He’s got the “V” the girls at school are always going stupid for. Now I get it. I can’t form thoughts or words because all I can do is stare at the way his muscles dip down below the band of his trunks with a promise of more beautiful things below. Heat floods my cheeks and I look away.

  He strides over to me and plucks the cane from my grip before tossing it in the grass. “Get in.”

  “How?” I snap and point to my cane.

  He rolls his eyes and it frustrates me. “Should I carry you?”

  I tense and shake my head. “That will hurt. J-Just let me hold on to you.”

  His blue eyes are dark as he regards me. He offers his arm though and I try not to shiver when my fingers clasp around his rock-hard bicep. Slowly, he walks me over to the stairs. I dip my toes into the warm water. Going down stairs is always much harder than going up. I mentally begin to freak out because the handrail is on the other side of him.

  “This is going to take all damn day,” he snarls before moving behind me. I let out a shriek when his strong arms wrap around my middle and he carries me out into the water. Instead of letting me go, he takes me into the deep end where I can’t touch but he still can.

  He starts to let go but then I panic, my fingernails digging into his toned forearms.

  “Don’t let me go! I’ll drown!”

  His chuckle is warm against my back and it vibrates through me. “Don’t be such a drama queen, crybaby. I’m not going to let you drown.”

  I shiver in his arms. “Okay.”

  He keeps one arm firmly wrapped around my soft middle and uses his other hand to slide under the back of my thigh. Gently, he begins urging my knee up. Between being in the water and him holding me up, I’m practically weightless. It allows me to focus on the movements. The pain pills are kicking in so it doesn’t hurt as much.

  “That’s it,” he breathes, his hot breath tickles my ear and makes my nerves tingle with anticipation. “Just relax and let me manipulate your joint for you.”

  My breath hisses out when he pulls my leg up as far as it will go without pain. Instead of taking it further, he holds it in this position and counts to five. His words are soft and calm. I relax some and nearly cry out in relief when he lets my thigh down. But then he’s pulling it outward which also hurts. A loud groan rattles through me. Again, he listens to my clues and backs off. It hurts and I’m sweating but I don’t wuss out.

  We do three sets of each of those two exercises, alternating them. I’ll admit by the last one, things feel looser. Tomorrow is going to hurt like hell though.

  “I want you to swim over to the back side of the pool,” he says, his voice husky. “Don’t drown.”

  I grumble but I’m feeling more confident. With a huff, I push away from him and rely heavily on my arms to do the work. I soon realize though that I need my legs too. When my head dips below the surface, my natural reaction is to kick hard with both legs. I let out a horrified cry as pain sears down my thigh. But all that manages to do is have me suck in a lungful of pool water.

  Holy shit!

  I can’t do this.

  My lungs burn as I desperately try to one-leg kick myself back to the surface. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m going to drown when someone yanks me to the surface by my hair. I choke and sputter out water as a sob wrenches from my throat. Drew’s dark blue eyes aren’t panicked but he’s frowning.

  “Come here, crybaby,” he mutters as he drags me into his arms.

  I latch onto his neck and cry hard. I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself all the time. It’s too much. Sometimes I wish this wasn’t my life. Maybe he should have let me drown.

  His strong arms are warm wrapped around my middle. He doesn’t hold me like a therapist holds his patient. Instead, he holds me as if he has the power to fix me. Maybe he does.

  “I’m sorry.” His words are quiet enough I almost don’t hear them. I’m not sure what he’s sorry for.

  “I don’t want to be like this anymore,” I whimper.

  “I know, Soph.”

  I soon relax and my sobbing subsides. Neither of us make any moves to let go. My breasts suddenly seem aware that they’re pressed against his naked chest because my nipples harden in response. His breath is steady and even. Of course he wouldn’t get turned on holding a teenager. But this teenager is completely turned on holding this man. When his palm slides to my ass, I let out a choked sound of surprise. The fucker just laughs.

  “I’m not trying to cop a feel,” he snorts. “I’m positioning you for a different exercise that I think will help.”

  Heat burns across my skin. And when he guides my leg to wrap around his waist, I stop breathing altogether. My hip protests but I can manage. He does this with both legs so that I’m wrapped around him in an intimate way. I can’t look him in the eyes. I’m making this awkward because he’s hot.

  “Hold on with your legs. Take my hands and I want you to rock from side to side. All we’re doing is getting you to do some motions. Just do what feels right and not too much,” he instructs, his voice gruff.

  He grips my hands and I relax into the water. With my eyes closed so he doesn’t have to see my embarrassment, I begin moving slowly. At first, it’s difficult. I whimper and groan but then, like earlier, I feel myself loosening up. It’s hard not to focus on the fact that I’m open to him. My tiny scrap of a swimsuit and his thin swim trunks aren’t much of a barrier. A stupid fantasy of him shoving down his trunks and pulling my swimsuit aside before he fucks me plays over and over again in my head. I want to shout at myself for being so stupid. For thinking a man like Drew could ever want a girl like me.

  And then it happens.

  I rub against a very hard part of him. I’m so shocked that I rub against it again to be sure. His cock is erect and bulging against his swimsuit as my ass grinds into him. When I peek open my eyes, his gaze is fixated on my breasts. I stare down and am embarrassed to see that the strings have come loose and my nipples are peeking out of the fabric.

  “Oh,” I whisper. My movements halt and I attempt to right myself but his grip on my hands is unyielding. “Drew?”

  He blinks away his daze and shakes his head. Furious dark blue eyes meet mine as he jerks me to him. For one brief moment—based on the way he eyeballs my lips—I think he might kiss me. Instead, he releases my hands and move his to my waist. He closes his eyes so that I can have the privacy to fix my suit.

  “What now?” I utter, my words barely trickling past my lips.

  He starts toward the shallow end with me still in his grip. “Now, I take you home.”

  I’m still reeling from the sensations flooding through me. I’ve been angry and sad for so long that I forgot what it’s like to feel good. Like really good. My skin buzzes, my heart races, and my sex aches.

  Oh, God.

  I have a crush on my much older physical therapist.

  Crap.

  Me: Do your exercises.

  Crybaby: I’ll get right on top of that.

  Me: Now.

  Crybaby: Yes, Dad.

  Me: If I were your dad, I’d give you a spanking for being a little brat.

  Crybaby: It’s a good thing you’re not him.

  Me: Do your exercises.

  Crybaby: Don’t you have more important patients to fuss over?

  Me: Do your exercises.

  Crybaby: This is stalking. I should report you.

  Me: Boo. Fucking. Hoo. Do them.

  Crybaby: I’m doing them right now. Happy?

  Me: You better not be lying.

  Crybaby: I guess you’ll never know.

  The clock ticks on and dread washes over me. She’ll be here at any moment for her Wednesday appointment. Last night, I spent most of my evening trying to get her via text to do her goddamned exercises, which I’m pretty sure she didn’t. It’s been two days since I last saw her. Two days since I got a hard-on when I’d seen her perfect nipples.

  Fuck.

  She’s young.

  And my patient.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration and wonder if I should call Miles. He, if anyone, knows what it’s like to be attracted to someone unattainable. Sure, I could probably have Sophia Rowe if I wanted. The lust that swam in her gaze was hypnotic. I was thirsty to lap it up from her. But the reason she’s unattainable is because she’s still in high school and it’s unethical as shit.

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