by Cathryn Fox
I gesture to the door. “No outside steps, and with your boot, I thought it would be easier. You were hobbling when you left your place.”
“I’ve been on it too long. I need to get it elevated.”
She exits the vehicle and I gather up her bags. I follow her, and open the door. She steps inside. “This is a really nice frat house,” she says.
“I’d give you a tour, but you need to be off your feet.” I gesture to the back steps leading upstairs. “How about I take your things to my room, and I’ll come back for you.”
“I can walk.”
I drop her bags and put my hands on her shoulders. “Any more pressure on your foot today is just going to slow recovery. Wait here, and I’ll be right back for you and help you up the stairs, Okay?”
“What if…someone comes along and thinks I’m breaking in the back door or something?”
I grin. “It’s funny where your mind goes.”
“I watch too many legal thrillers. Must be the lawyer-wannabe in me.”
“Wait here.”
She sits on the steps as I hurry up the stairs and drop her bags in my room. When I return to her, she’s sitting in the exact same position.
“Excuse me,” I say in a deep voice as I descend the stairs. “Do you have permission to be here?”
Her shoulders stiffen and she stands, spinning to face me. My God, if looks could kill. “Christian, that’s not funny.”
“I’m sorry.” I quickly put my hands on her shoulders. She relaxes beneath my touch. “I thought that would be funny, but it’s not.”
“Then why are you smirking?” she challenges.
“Not smirking. This is just my serious face.” Before she can say anything, I scoop her up and a little yelp catches in her throat. Her hands go around my neck, her thumbs right at the base of my hairline.
“You could have given me a warning.”
“Knowing you, you’d probably protest.”
She opens her mouth, but as I start to carry her, she falls silent, her body soft and pliable against mine while I carry her up the long flight of stairs and into my room. I quietly kick the door shut behind us and set her on my bed. I sink down to the floor in front of her, going to one knee as I take her boot and set it on my thigh.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice low and breathy.
“You’ve been in this too long. How about we take it off and get this ankle elevated.”
She nods and reaches down, but I capture her hand. Her gaze flies to mine as I put her hand on the bed. “I got this.”
“You don’t know—”
I laugh. “I’m a baller, Maize. Trust me, I’ve been injured before and know how a boot works.” I deflate the balloon inside, and release the straps. She exhales as the pressure is released. I set the boot aside, and she exhales.
“That feels so much better.”
“Good, now lay back, and let’s get some pillows under it.”
She shimmies back on my king-sized bed, positioning herself in the middle, and I prop one pillow behind her and grab the others to get her leg up. I carefully cup her long, strong calf and lift, sliding the pillows under. She releases her hair from the ponytail and it fans out as her eyes fall shut.
“That feels so good,” she murmurs, and my cock stands up to take notice. I’d do almost anything to hear her say those exact words while I was moving inside her. I scrub my face as my stupid brain takes a moment to visualize it.
“Christian.”
My head jerks up. “Yeah.”
“You look like you’re in agony too. Do you need to elevate something?” As soon as the words leave her mouth, a pink flush crawling into her cheeks. “I mean…it’s just…does something hurt?” She lifts her arms and lets them fall, hitting the bed with a thump. “You had a game the other day, did you get hurt, is something swollen?” A garbled sound of agony comes out of her throat, as she covers her face with one hand, and I stand there and grin at her, enjoying her babbling way too much. “None of this is coming out right.” My heart pinches, I move around the bed, and take her palm from her face. She blinks up at me. “I’m going to shut up now.”
“It’s okay,” I tease, to ease her worries and cut her some slack. “I know what you mean and I’m fine. I wasn’t hurt in the game.” I don’t tell her nothing is swollen; that would be a big fucking lie. “How about you rest, and I’ll get some ice.”
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as I hand over the remote. “You’re right. I need this ankle to be better before Thanksgiving.”
“Why is that?”
She looks at the remote and for a second I think she’s not going to tell me but then she says, “I don’t want my mother to know.”
I stare at her, recall the things Kaitlyn said to me back at the hospital when I asked if we should call someone. She straight up said no.
“Would this upset her?” I ask, and sit on the bed as she runs her fingers over the buttons on the remote.
“One, she’s a mom and nurse’s assistant, so she’d be putting me to bed and fussing all over me.” She glances at me, and the corners of her mouth twitch. “Kind of like you’re doing.”
“And you don’t like that, I get it. What’s number two?”
Confusion moves over her face for a second, then she blinks and answers with, “I don’t want her to worry about me.”
“It’s what mothers do, but you mean financially, don’t you?”
She curls into herself. “Yeah, I’m an adult. I need to be responsible for myself and find my own way to pay my hospital bill.”
I nudge her chin. “I have faith in you. You found a way to pay your tuition, didn’t you?”
“I honestly still can’t believe that I allowed Kaitlyn to talk me into going to the auction, or that I’m with you right now.”
“With the right motivation, a person will do just about anything. I had an English teacher say that to me once when we were reading an assigned novel. It really stuck with me.”
“And now I’m stuck with you because I had the right motivation.”
“It’s not so bad though, right?” I question.
She gives a humorless laugh. “You’re right not so bad. I could have gone back home with my tail between my legs.”
“That’s not your style.” I push from the bed, rather pleased with myself. “I’ll be right back with that ice. Don’t go anywhere.”
Air leaves her lungs as she huffs. “It’s not like I can escape, Christian. Not with this ankle.”
It’s really insane how much I love hearing my name on her lips. I reach out and lightly trace my finger down her warm calf, stopping when I reach the support sock she wears under her boot.
“Even if it wasn’t broken,” I begin. “I wouldn’t let you escape, and if you tried, I might just tie you to the bed.”
What the fuck am I saying?
I don’t know, but from the way a quiver just traveled the length of her body, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, I’m not sure she’s so opposed to the idea.
Get it together, Christian. You can’t touch her. You’ve done enough already.
Right?
9
Maize
I flick through the stations as doors bang and guys shuffle in the hall. I guess they’d all slept in on this rainy Sunday. With my body still tingling from the way Christian had touched me, I sink further into his cushiony mattress. What the hell is his bed made out of? I’d never get up if I had this kind of luxury.
A yawn pulls at me as I aimlessly go through the channels. I don’t normally watch TV and especially not on a Sunday. Sundays are for running hard and studying even harder. I turn my gaze and it lands on my backpack as a yawn pulls at me. My God, why am I so tired? Probably because I’ve not been exercising, and last night, I had a hard time falling asleep, even after touching myself while I thought about Mr. Quarterback. Star player, and star of my dreams.
You are so screwed, girl.
I’m not and that could be the problem. Maybe if I did sleep with Christian, I’d get over this crazy infatuation. Sex is sex and what I experienced with Ryan is probably what it’s like with all guys. I think girls just make stuff up, to make themselves and the jocks look good. I’d probably be disappointed if he touched me in a sexual way, although every single innocent caress feels erotic when it comes from him.
I shut my eyes as the rain once again picks up outside, the drone against the window pulling me under—that and the monotone delivery on the news station I settled for. The cozy mattress shapes my body and I reach down and pull up a blanket from the end of the bed. My heart slows and I swear I’ve never been so warm or comfortable in my life.
The next thing I know, my eyes are opening, and I glance around. Where the hell am I? I blink, trying to orient myself, and go up on my elbows as my vision clears. “What’s going on?” I ask when I find Christian sitting in a big comfy recliner, tapping away on his laptop. As soon as I speak, he shuts it and jumps to his feet.
“Hey,” he whispers, and the soft sound goes through me, awakens a deep need inside me and in that instant, I want Christian to touch me, I want to feel his hands and mouth on my body. I want…him. “How did you sleep?”
I give a slow shake of my head, and note the stack of blankets on me. Did Christian tuck me in? “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was so tired.”
“It’s okay, I was just working on my assignment.”
He sits next to me, and as the bed dips, I slightly roll toward him. I try to remove my foot from the stack of pillows so I can sit up, but he puts his hand on my stomach, fingers splayed, and holds me down.
Dear God, I wish I didn’t like that so much.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I blink. “Home.”
His grin does incredibly strange things to me. “You’re staying here now, remember?”
My brain fills in all the missing pieces as it wakes. “Oh, right.”
“And we didn’t ice your ankle. I didn’t want to do it while you were asleep. You looked adorable, and the snoring…” He holds up his phone. “It’s blackmail.”
He recorded me snoring! “Christian—”
“Kidding. Kidding. Relax, Maize.” He sets the phone on his nightstand, and holds his hands up in surrender. “It’s all good. I would never do that to you.”
I give him a look that suggests he’s done worse, and instead of commenting, he glances at the clock and frowns.
“Am I keeping you from something?”
He gives a slow nod. “Yeah, sort of.”
“I can leave.”
His nod turns to a fast shake. “No, I want you to stay put. Consider my room your room now. I just have to run out, but before I do, I want to ice your ankle. Give me a second.” Before I can say anything, he rushes from the room, tightly closing the door behind him and the sound of his boots pounding on the wooden stairs reverberate through me. I sit in silence, noting the house is quiet now. I guess the guys are up and gone, or in their rooms studying…or doing something maybe a little more pleasurable.
I touch the bedding. God, how many women have been in this bed and spread their legs for Christian? He might have bought and paid for me, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be with other girls, even if I’m not putting out.
Oh, but how I want to.
I quickly shut that thought down as he comes back into the room, a cloth covered plastic bag filled with ice in his hands. His smile is soft and warm as he sits at the foot of the bed, puts my leg on his lap, and removes the sock.
He puts the cloth on my ankle. “This okay?” he asks, those piercing blue eyes gazing at me with a hint of worry.
“Fine.”
He lightly runs his fingers over my scar. “Does it hurt a lot?”
Oh, something is hurting. A lot. Right now, however, it’s not my damn ankle.
“It’s getting better.”
“Warrior wounds,” he says. “Something to tell the grandkids about.”
I laugh. “No kids or grandkids in my future.”
He nods, like he understands. “Ditto. But why don’t you want kids?”
I look at him like he might be insane. “This world is too cruel to bring kids into it.” But as I look at him, take in the frown on his face, I realize I might sound bitter. I’m not, it’s just that I know firsthand how unaccepting people are if you’re different.
“Maybe one day you’ll fall in love, get married, and see things differently.”
“Maybe. What about you, though?”
He moves the ice to another spot on my ankle and I wince a little. He glances up to check in on me, and I really appreciate the gesture. I nod to let him know I’m good. He falls silent for a long time and I don’t think he’s going to answer me when he finally breaks the quiet.
“I don’t know, Maize. I guess I’m influenced by my past.”
I stare at him, completely dumfounded. “What happened in your past?”
“When I said we had more in common than you think, I wasn’t kidding.” He glances down and shakes his head. “Never mind. Let’s talk about something else. What do you do in your spare time?” He chuckles. “What am I saying? You don’t have spare time. I barely have any. But now you have spare time.” Sadness invades his eyes as he moves the ice along my ankle, and for the first time, I wish he didn’t feel so guilty. “Are you going to take up any hobbies?”
“I’ll just study harder.”
I take in his posture, the tenseness in his shoulders, and while I wasn’t interested in getting to know him better, I really can’t help but want to know what it was he was going to say—what’s so painful for him to tell me. I want to ask, I actually open my mouth to ask, but he cuts me off.
“Shit, I have to go.” He takes my hand in his, his big palm practically swallowing mine whole, and puts it over the bag of ice. “I’ll be gone for a couple of hours. Just dump this in the sink when you’re done.” He jerks his head toward a closed door.
“You have a sink in your closet?”
His bark of laughter trickles through me. “No, there’s a bathroom in there.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course, there is.”
“Feel free to use it.” He pushes to his feet, snatches up a backpack, and stands over me. “You’ll be okay?”
“I’m a big girl, Christian.” I tug the blankets tighter around me, feeling oddly exposed, and aroused, and dizzy, and aroused. Oh wait, did I say that already? His gaze moves down my body, sending sparks through me. “Been taking care of myself for a long time.”
“Now I’m going to take care of you.”
“While I always appreciate your honesty, nothing is going to change.”
He grins at me. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
I want to protest, but can’t quite give voice to the words in my head. Why? Because I want to be wrong, want someone—Christian—to just once take care of me for a minute, or maybe two. But hasn’t he been doing that? Putting me in his bed because my house is falling down around me, and just now, icing my ankle. He has, but maybe I’m thinking of other ways—sexual ways. He’s such a contradiction. One minute he looks at me like he wants to eat me alive, touching my skin like I’m a prize possession, and the next he’s saying this isn’t about sex.
I hate, hate, hate that I want it to be.
“Make yourself at home, and if you want to lock the door go ahead. I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he says and disappears through the door, closing it tightly behind him, without telling me where he’s going. I sit there for a minute, my brain racing, trying to figure out what’s going on, when my phone pings.
I slide off the bed, grab my backpack, and fish it out to find a text from Kaitlyn.
* * *
Call me when you get a chance. I want all the deets on his room, mainly his bed.
* * *
I can’t help but expel a somewhat nervous laugh as I hit the video contact for a face-to-face chat. She c
omes into view, her eyes wide, excited.
“Tell me everything. Actually, show me.”
I grin at her enthusiasm, and while I should be mad, I’m in this predicament because of her—and Christian—I can’t seem to muster up the anger.
“There’s nothing to tell,” I say casually. “I came here, fell asleep for a bit, and then iced my ankle.” I set the phone beside me, and tug on my sock. I reach for my boot, pull open the liner, and pump the balloon to the proper tension. Once it’s secure, I snatch my phone back up. “Christian isn’t even here.” I’d never hear the end of it if I told her Christian iced my ankle, or describe in detail what his touch did to my body.
“Did Hot Stuff nap with you?”
“Really, Kaitlyn, we’re going there?”
Her face goes serious. “Are you okay, Maize? You look…I don’t know…upset about something.” She puckers her lips, her eyes narrowing as she brings the phone closer to her face.
I frown at her. “Of course I’m upset. I can’t run anymore. Broken ankle, remember?”
She goes quiet, pensive, and I almost reverse the camera because I don’t like the way she’s studying me. “No, there’s something else. You and I both know running was a means to an end, and that’s been taken away, but with Christian, your tuition is covered, so what’s up?” She taps her chin, and continues to study me.
“I’m not used to such luxury,” I tell her. “This place is posh with a capital P. I don’t think I belong here.”
“I’ve been in Wolf House before, but I’ve never been upstairs. Never say you don’t belong. You belong in a castle, my friend.” I grin, loving how she always has my back.
“I’m not Cinderella, Christian is no Prince Charming, and this is no fairy tale.”
She shrugs me off. “Show me around his room.”
“No, I’m not snooping.”
She makes an irritated tsking sound. “How is it snooping if he brought you to his place and left you there to fend for yourself?”
