The Hook Up (Game On Book 1)

by Kristen Callihan

  “Good. Now I just need to know that you have someone taking care of you at home for the next few days.”

  Drew’s chin jerks up as a dull flush washes over his cheeks. “I do not need someone taking care of me. I’m fine.”

  Again, the nurse uses her patient-don’t-fuss-with-me smile. “And I do not want to see you back in here, Mr. Baylor. Allow yourself time to become accustomed to your crutches before you go it alone.”

  Drew flushes darker, his hands curling to tight fists. His teeth flash in a grimace. I’ve seen that look before. Just before he blew up at me. I step in. “I’ll be taking care of Drew.”

  His glare cuts to me like a swinging scythe. “No.”

  It echoes through the air, hard and ugly. And my back grows so tense it feels as though my spine is a steel rod. “Yes, I am.”

  Drew’s nostrils flare. “I do not want your pity.” If words were nails, I’d have been punctured.

  I affect a long sigh. “All right. Gray, cross ‘pity Drew’ off my To-Do list, would you?”

  Gray chokes off on a smothered laugh, and Coach Smith has a sudden interest in his shoes. Drew’s eyes narrow into slits and, for a long moment, I’m sure he’s going to yell, but his mouth starts twitching.

  “I told you she was a smart ass,” he says to Gray.

  “Huh,” Gray scratches the back of his head, “I could have sworn you said ‘pain in the ass.’”

  The nurse picks the moment to cut in. “Are we all set then?”

  “I’ll bring the car around,” I say. Bad enough that Drew has to be wheeled out. My watching will not sit well with him.

  “Anna…”

  I cut Drew off before he can resume his anti-pity objections. “If it were me,” I say, “would you do the same?”

  Everyone goes quiet. If I thought things were awkward before, I was severely underestimating the concept. Because what if he says no? What if he doesn’t want to be with me anymore? Does he feel anything for me?

  “Yes.” He says it so softly yet with such force that my breath hitches. His darks eyes stare into mine. “Yes.”

  And suddenly everything else fades. It’s just us in the room.

  “And if I needed help but didn’t want to ask for it?” I ask.

  His chest lifts on a breath as he looks at me. “I would never leave you.”

  It hurts to swallow, and my voice comes out rougher than it should. “Then don’t ask it of me.”

  When he nods, he doesn’t meet my eyes, but I know it’s because there are too many people in the room. “Get the car.”

  COMING HOME HAS never felt so good. Not since before my parents died have I experienced such relief when entering my house. It’s warm, quiet, and the scent of leather and general cleanliness surround me as I hobble into the living room, my crutches thudding against the polished wood floor. I halt and look around before turning to Anna, who has taken an extreme interest in a remote spot on the wall.

  “You cleaned.” The whole house gleams.

  She shrugs. “Who likes returning to a messy house?”

  “Anna, you didn’t have to—”

  “If you tell me I don’t have to help you one more time, I’ll…” Her cute nose wrinkles as she trails off at a loss.

  “You’ll what?” I tease. “Punch me? Knee me in the balls?”

  An auburn brow rises, as she looks me over, her gaze stopping at my chest. “Give you a purple nurple.”

  I snort, but my chest grows hot. Christ, the idea of Anna pinching my nipple is getting me off. “As long as I get to return the favor, Jones.”

  Just as I’d hoped, she blushes. “Perv.”

  “I prefer egalitarian lecher.” I thump further into the room and set aside my crutches before plopping on the couch. The padded leather gives around me, a familiar comfort that I sink into. I expected Anna to follow; she’s been hovering over me like she was afraid I’d topple. But she’s still standing by the door and looking at me with a strange expression, her mouth titled on a nervous half-smile.

  “What?” I shift a bit in my seat, hauling up my injured leg to rest it on the chaise. Now that we’re alone and not distracted by things like hospital monitors, nurses coming and going, and my intense pain, there’s a certain amount of awkwardness between us. She’s broken my heart, and I vowed to stay clear of her. A statement that crumbled like dry sand the second she walked into my hospital room and looked at me as if I was the most important thing in her life. I’ve been waiting months for that look. But it doesn’t erase everything.

  “Nothing,” she says, still watching me. “I just missed your humor.”

  I’ve missed a lot more from her. “Most people don’t really get my humor,” I say instead.

  And then she smiles full out. “I’d believe that.”

  Finally, she comes into the house, closing the door behind her. It’s then I notice the small bag in her hand. She flushes when I spot it. “I thought maybe I’d…” Her flush washes down her neck. “Well, maybe you’d like some company for a while.”

  So she’s unsure as well. I should ask her right now what she expects from me. If she wants what we had before, it will kill me. I can’t go back to that. But she has to know that. And she’s stayed by my side in the hospital, when before she would have run in the other direction.

  The moment stretches, and she shifts from one foot to the other, her expression going pinched and pale as if she’s scared I’ll tell her no, tell her to leave now. Not happening.

  “I want you, Anna,” I say in a low voice. “I always have. If you want to stay, you have to know I’d want that too.”

  Her lashes sweep down, hiding her eyes from me as she gives a brisk nod. “That’s what I want.” The answer is barely above a whisper, but I hear it and my body responds with a flush of warmth and satisfaction.

  “Well then…” I don’t know what to say exactly. Get your sweet butt over here and sit in my lap would probably sound too needy, even if that is what I crave. Hell, it’s been over a month since I’ve properly touched her.

  Anna, however, has other things on her mind. “You want something to eat?”

  Behind the familiar scent of home, something savory and something sweet linger in the air. “Was Gray here?”

  She snorts, moving into the kitchen. “Figures you’d think it was Gray who cooked. Yeah, he was here too.”

  I imagine Anna and Gray in my house together and frown. While doctors were putting me back together, they were going on with life. Neither of their lives has been smashed to pieces. And the difference between them and me is painfully clear.

  Unaware of my growing anxiety, she eyes me slantwise. “You ought to have told me you had a personal chef. I wouldn’t have bothered.”

  I twist in my seat to look at her fully. “You cooked for me?”

  “Don’t look so shocked. I have before.” She’s scowling now.

  “I’m grateful every time, Anna.”

  My honesty is rewarded by her blush. “I didn’t actually cook. Gray did. He made you bean soup.” Her lips twitch. “Said the pain meds might leave you ‘backed up’ and in a state that you’d need some roughage.”

  “That asshole.”

  She laughs. “What? No need?”

  “Hardly. But I’m starving, so I’m not turning down his damn soup.”

  “Shocker.” Her expression is cheeky as she gets a bowl. “I baked.”

  “She bakes.” I grin up at the ceiling, earning an eye roll from Anna. “What’d you bake me, Jones?”

  “Apple pie.”

  “Awesome. Bring that too.” Now that I’m out of the hospital with its disgusting, flavorless food, I’m so hungry I could eat the whole pie. That Anna made it for me makes it even better. Whatever the case may be, she cared enough to clean my house, bake me a pie, and stay by my side.

  The sounds of her puttering around my kitchen, reheating the soup and getting a tray ready makes me sleepy. I relax against the couch, my lids growing heavy. It feels right havin
g her here, like the house is suddenly a complete home. A stupid thought to fixate on, because she’s only here for a while. But I know in my bones that I want her here forever. I’m twenty-three years old, my carefully built life has just been smashed to pieces, yet I know with complete clarity that I never want to be parted from Anna Jones.

  I watch her walk toward me, and my chest clenches. Pale from lack of sleep, her red hair flying wildly in all directions, she’s not at her finest, and she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

  “You’re supposed to be elevating that leg.” She sets the laden tray on the coffee table before grabbing some couch pillows to stuff under my leg. Not that she gets far. A grunt of annoyance escapes her as she tries to carefully lift my leg and struggles. “Jesus, it’s like a tree limb,” she grumps.

  I snort and help her haul the dead weight that is my leg up so she can place the pillows beneath it. “Does that mean you won’t be carrying me to bed?”

  She shakes her head, suppressing a smile, but then catches my eye. “Are you tired?”

  “Yeah.” Exhaustion has me by the balls. If I allowed myself, I’d sink down and be out for weeks. “But all I’ve been doing is sleeping.”

  She nods in understanding and slips another pillow behind my back. “Then we’ll hang out for a while.”

  Before we go to bed. Together. And though I’m feeling like shit warmed over, the idea of sleeping in a bed with Anna tightens my gut with longing. I need to touch her. Just feel her next to me. “Sit,” I say. “You’ve done enough for now.”

  Anna hands me a bowl of soup then takes her own before complying. Without hesitation, she snuggles down, her shoulder leaning into mine as though she too needs comfort. Before I can say a word, she hands me the remote, and I grin. “You know how to take care of a guy.”

  “No,” she assures, “I don’t. I’ve never done this before.”

  The soup gets caught up at the sudden lump in my throat.

  Anna takes a spoonful of hers before talking again. “I just know guys like their TV.”

  But I don’t turn on the TV. Not yet. Frankly, I’m afraid it will be on the sports channel, and I don’t think I can stand seeing any sports right now. I sure as shit don’t want to see a replay of my leg being broken on national TV, or hear the sports casters’ opinions about my chances of recovery and what this means when it comes to the draft.

  The soup turns to lead in my stomach, and I bend forward to put it down. Only I can’t reach the table with the bulk of my leg sticking straight out. I grit my teeth and itch to toss the bowl across the room.

  Anna takes it out of my hand and neatly sets it on the table. “Lie back,” she says softly.

  I do it because the alternative is raging and hitting the side of the couch.

  She turns the TV on, hits mute, and then changes the channel before I can register what was on. She knows me too well. And I like it. When the volume comes on again, it’s some cooking show, and she takes up her position at my side. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and draw her close. She rests her head on my chest and places her warm palm on my abdomen.

  We eat and watch cooking shows, and Anna grows heavier and softer at my side as she relaxes. It’s quiet, warm, and the most peaceful I’ve felt in ages. With the tips of my fingers, I draw patterns along her arm and the curve of her hip. She’s so quiet that I wonder if she’s nodded off, but then her fingers mimic mine and she’s tracing little circles along my stomach. Lust unfurls like a tinder within me, but I don’t do anything about it. Just hold her.

  And when she makes a soft, half-stilted yawn, I kiss the top of her head. “Why don’t you lie down? Rest your head in my lap.”

  Her green eyes look up at me, hesitant.

  “I promise to behave.” It’s sort of the truth.

  She scoots down. “You say that like it’s a good thing.” Then she’s resting her head in my lap with a satisfied sigh. “Forget I said that. I want to rest here for about forty weeks, if that’s okay.”

  “Anything you want, baby.” I mean it to sound like a tease but it comes out husky. I clear my throat and grab the remote to change the channel.

  Absently, I stroke her hair. The wild curls are thick silk, springing around my fingers with a life of their own. The mass of dark red is so dense that I can only concentrate on a section. I let myself indulge; I’ve wanted to touch her hair like this for ages.

  “You’re going to make me look like a clown,” she says quietly, but she’s not moving.

  “Do you want me to stop?” The strands rub along my skin with pleasurable friction.

  “No.” Her lids flutter. “Never.”

  Which is fine by me. My favorite girl and my favorite show. Sometimes life is good. It gets better when Anna smiles as the show starts. “Top Gear. Excellent.”

  “You like Top Gear?” I continue to run my fingers through her hair.

  Her mouth curls, which pushes her plump upper lip out in that upside down pout that makes me insane. “Yeah,” She turns her head slightly to glance up at me. “Is that so surprising?”

  “Kind of.” I shrug. “I haven’t met a girl who has before you.”

  “Mmm.” Green eyes narrow, but they’re still warm and relaxed, amused. “What in our acquaintance makes you think I’m anything like the girls you’ve known?”

  Softly, I laugh. I’m warm all over now. “Good point.”

  She snuggles down deeper into my lap; I love the sensation, love feeling like I’m protecting her by providing her a place to rest. “So let me guess,” I say. “George turned you on to it?”

  “Actually, it was Iris.”

  The leather squeaks as she turns on her back, her head now fully cradled in my crotch, which has the expected effect on my dick. It stirs, and I will the horny bastard down. If she notices, she isn’t saying anything. Instead, she looks up at me with wide, green eyes the color of holly leaves.

  “Ewan McGregor was a guest star on one episode, so Iris had to watch.”

  “His documentary The Long Way Down was great.”

  Anna’s eyes glint. “Where do you think I got the desire to by my little Vespa?”

  Inwardly, I groan for the woman who appreciates all things automotive.

  Then she shrugs, not meeting my eyes, as if she’s shy. “I used to fantasize about doing something like that.”

  “What? Getting on a motorcycle and just riding off?”

  Maybe I’ll do the same thing. Take Anna with me. As soon as this fucking leg heals. Panic touches the edges of my mind with black fingers. Her light laugh brings me back.

  “Not quite.” Her hair pools against her shoulder as she turns toward me. “I used to think about how fun it would be to document something like that, you know?” She laughs again, an uncomfortable sound. “Or maybe it was the idea of following Ewan McGregor around.”

  I play with one of her red curls. “Bet you’d kick ass at film production.”

  Anna’s cheeks pink. “I don’t know anything about film.”

  “So you learn. We all start off ignorant.”

  She shrugs again. “Maybe.”

  I place my palm against her cheek. “Babe, whatever you set your mind to doing, you’ll nail it. You’re so perfect and you don’t even know it.”

  “Pish.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re forgetting that I can’t stand watching sports.”

  I haven’t forgotten a thing. Unease settles over my shoulders, but I shrug it off. I don’t want to think about why we’d broken up, but it’s there, and it will need to be addressed, but not now when I’m finally relaxed.

  “What I don’t get is Iris,” I say instead. “Ewan McGregor, really? I pegged her as more a lover of boy band types.”

  The corners of those gorgeous eyes crinkle as she smiles. “Iris loves boy bands. But she has a major thing for blond guys.”

  “But that guy she was with… Henry, right?”

  Anna’s head moves against my cock as she nods, and I repress the urge
to squirm.

  “She’s back with him. The idiot.”

  “Henry or Iris?” I quip, but it bothers me how we’ve missed out on each other’s lives.

  “Both?” she offers.

  I can’t help but smile at her disgruntled look. “Henry has dark hair,” I point out.

  “Yeah, well,” she says with a frown, “I keep waiting for her to realize she’s going against type.”

  Her cheek is silken against my fingertips. I stroke along her temple and then trace the curved arch of her brow. And she simply watches me as if she takes pleasure in the act. Her breathing is soft and steady, her body warm where it meets mine.

  The bruised area around my heart begins to ache. The sack, the leg break, all of it has left me unsettled and just touching her, just lounging here with her like this affects me. I want to cry. I want to laugh. I want to bury myself so deep inside of Anna that I’ll forget my name. A lump fills my throat, and I let my palm rest against her cheek. Fucking fluctuating emotions. The doc warned me about them. But, hell, at this rate, I’m going to be a wreck by the end of the week.

  “And what’s your type?” I find myself asking. Part of me curses myself for looking weak and needy. But, fuck it, the other part of me is needy. I know why I left. I don’t truly know why she came back.

  Her eyes darken as she searches my face, as if she knows I’m no longer teasing. It’s too quiet between us, the sound of the TV blaring in the background. Slowly, she reaches up and runs her fingers along my jaw. Her expression changes, opening. Fear, I can see it flickering in her green irises, but something more, something that makes my insides clench.

  “You are.” Her voice is low and smoky. But her touch grows stronger as she wraps her fingers around the base of my throat where my pulse is beating hard. Her chin lifts, stubborn, sure. “You are the only one I want, Drew. In all things.”

  Nothing can stop me from slipping my arm under her shoulders and pulling her up to me. Her lips are soft and yielding, but I haven’t truly kissed her in so long that it hits me like a punch to the gut. I suck in a sharp breath, stealing one of hers, and angle my mouth to go deeper. Her tongue slides against mine, and I’m dizzy. I feel like I’m falling into her. My abs tense on a shudder, but I can’t stop the kiss. I need more. Always more.