Bad Boys for Hire_Nick

by Rachelle Ayala

  “That makes a lot of sense.”

  Carol already had her stretch bands in one of her wheelchair pockets. She demonstrated how she used the resistance to loosen her shoulders, as well as help her arch her back to get the cricks out of her neck.

  After stretching, she moved to one of the weight machines.

  “Most of these stations have a bench or seat for regular people,” she explained. “I simply remove the seat and stay in my chair as much as possible.”

  “You don’t transfer onto the weight benches?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to get a rash from other people’s sweat or whatever is on their bodies. Since I’m working my arms, shoulders, chest, and back, I don’t have to sit on any of the leg press or extension machines.”

  For the next hour, Carol demonstrated how she did lat pulldowns, tricep kickbacks, bicep curls, shoulder presses, rowing, reverse fly and chest fly, and the horizontal bench press.

  Nick paid attention and seemed to be taking it all in, asking her clarifying questions as he videoed her. He noted how she disassembled the benches and put them back for the next person, and how she adjusted the height of the equipment to fit her wheelchair underneath.

  Being so close to Nick made her nerves tingle with electricity. It was like the man had a force field around him, and even though he wasn’t overtly flirting, everything about him was turning her on.

  His pectoral muscles were in full view under his tank top, and his thighs bulged from his crossfit stretch shorts. She could feel his laser-focused gaze raking her body as if he were touching her, and her insides heated from more than the workout.

  Carol worked through her routine, pushing herself to do more reps. She buzzed from one station to the next, showing him all the tricks she used to adapt her wheelchair to the various ropes, pulleys, bars, and handles.

  Nick praised her and gave her encouraging comments. “I always assumed you would be transferring from your chair back and forth. I can see how this is much better.”

  “Safer for me too,” Carol explained. “Less chance of falling. Make sure to tell the kids to lock their wheels at every station. Also, they need to master the wheelie to get over some of the machine’s feet.”

  She deftly lifted her casters off the ground and spun around.

  “Do you also do cardio?” Nick asked after she’d finished all her stations.

  “I cool down on the track across the street. Want to race me?”

  Nick turned off the video. “Sure, but I’m not going to cut you any slack, even though your muscles must feel like jelly by now.”

  Carol smiled to herself. Nick had no clue how fast she could go. There was a reason why wheelchair racers started first before regular runners. They were faster.

  “You’re going to eat my dust,” Carol said when they reached the track. The day was overcast but warm, as it usually was in the San Francisco Bay Area. It wasn’t raining and the track was dry.

  “I can think of something much tastier than your dust,” Nick drawled in that tantalizing voice that drew a delicious quiver over her.

  She wasn’t going to let him see that he affected her, so she called, “Ready, set, go,” as she pushed off.

  “Not going to let me have a taste?” Nick started off faster than her. “Then eat this.”

  Nothing to worry about. She had to build momentum. He was sprinting and would soon tire.

  Sure enough, she caught him at the second turn and surged forward. She couldn’t help smiling gleefully at him as he huffed and puffed, pumping his arms.

  “Eat my ass.” She leaned forward and pushed harder.

  “Get back here so I can give it a good licking.”

  “Not until I lap you.” She continued rolling as fast as she could. “You should race the electric chairs. Some of them can go over ten miles per hour.”

  “I’m a great lapper, or so I’ve been told,” he called from behind.

  “You’re more like a lap dog.” She chortled and kept spinning her wheels. “It’s too bad you only have legs.”

  She’d bet he had a hard lap, why, she’d been on his lap. But he wasn’t going to distract her from winning. It was a piece of cake, really.

  Nick was too muscular and big to be a fast runner. Even the champion marathon runners were slower than the wheelchair racers—by a lot.

  “I bet I’m faster going uphill,” he shouted between ragged breaths as she pulled further away.

  “What goes up has to go down.” She turned her head and laughed. “Fastest marathon for a biped, that’s you guys, is a little over two hours. Fastest wheelchair marathon, about an hour and twenty minutes.”

  “Okay, okay, you’ve proven your point.” He caught up after she slowed down. “You’re hell on wheels.”

  “Sore loser,” she teased. It was actually fun to rib Nick. Because he was so able-bodied, it didn’t matter. She could dish it out and he’d never be hurt. “That’s because you have noodles for legs.”

  “At least I don’t have a jelly belly.” He reached down and tickled the little pot of fat she’d acquired from being unable to do abdominal exercises.

  Should she be insulted or not?

  She swatted at his hands, unable to exactly feel what he was touching. “You are so going to wear a fake belly the next time I hire you.”

  He lifted his skintight tank. “Jealous?”

  “Of a dick head? Hardly.” Laughter bubbled from her throat. Of course she shouldn’t be insulted. It was a level playing field. She’d started it by mocking him, so why shouldn’t he make fun of her?

  It was strange, in a way, but it reminded her of when she was nine years old and the boys picked her for their team and then mercilessly ribbed her—the same way they went off on each other.

  It was acceptance.

  “Better a dickhead than boobs on wheels.”

  “I take that as a compliment. Your bouncing dick lost to my boobs on wheels.” She made a fist and pumped it.

  “Loser dick treats winning boobs to lunch, how about it?”

  Whoa. That was a fast segue from casual to serious. Truthfully, she’d been wondering how long it would take him to ask her out. In fact, she’d been worried at how attentive he was at her workout and how professional he’d acted inside the gym without a hint of flirting.

  Butterflies took frantic flight in her belly. Even though Nick was friendly and said he liked her, he could still be messing with her. What if he wanted to look good to Patricia? Earn an “I dated a paraplegic” merit badge.

  After all, she’d given him an inside track on how paraplegics exercise.

  “I don’t know.” Her bravado dissipated like mist in the morning sun. “I have to go Christmas shopping, and I’m sure you hate Christmas shopping.”

  “Wrong! I’m not named Nick for nothing.” He cracked his knuckles. “You stick with ol’ Saint Nick, and I’ll show you the best places for goodies, the naughtier the better.”

  Gulp.

  He really was very, very good at being naughty.

  And maybe, just maybe, this Christmas was all about ditching nice and letting go of what-should-have-beens.

  Twenty

  “Why are you dressed up?” Carol answered the door to Nick a while later, after she’d showered and shampooed, ready for their Christmas shopping trip to the mall. Not the North Pole, or so she supposed.

  He stood in front of her in a full Santa suit, including the white fringed jacket, a thick black belt, dark glasses, and a full, shiny beard.

  “Yak’s hair beard came in the mail.” He removed his dark glasses and dropped a shopping bag on her lap. “I got something for you to wear.”

  “Me? But we’re supposed be going shopping, not to a party.”

  “If you shop with Santa, you have to look the part.” Nick opened the shopping bag and pulled out a bright red Santa dress, with a flared skirt and candy-striped bodice. Fake white fur trimmed the hemline.

  Carol’s jaw dropped. “I’m not getting
in that thing.”

  “Wait until you see what I got for your feet.” Nick drew out a pair of ruby red baby doll heels. A red bow was tied across the strap over the instep.

  “How’d you know my size? When did you have the time to go shopping?”

  “I’m a stalker Santa, remember?” Nick winked. “Let’s lay all this out on your bed.”

  “Did I agree to wear this?” Carol turned her wheelchair toward her bedroom. This was exactly the kind of spontaneous, annoying thing Nick would do to throw her off-balance. “I was thinking of a quiet trip to the neighborhood mall.”

  “That would be boring.” Nick laid the entire costume out. There was the hat, a cute little half-vest trimmed with fake fur, the candy-striped tank, a wide black belt with a shiny buckle, the flared skirt, a pair of thigh-high stockings with pretty candy-cane striped bows on top, and the bright red baby doll shoes. “Besides, when have you ever gone shopping with the real Saint Nick?”

  Carol had to admit he looked ridiculous, blowing air through the thick yak’s mane on his face. A bubble of laughter trickled up her throat. It was getting harder to resist his antics, and part of her throbbed to let it all go. What did she have to lose?

  “Okay, I’ll try it.” She picked up the stockings. “But I’m not sure how I’m going to get these onto my dead legs.”

  “I’ll help.” Nick wiggled his bushy eyebrows. He’d even frosted them with white powder.

  “I can’t let you touch my legs.” Carol almost bolted out of her chair.

  “Why not? You can’t feel anything, so it won’t be like I’m molesting you or anything.” He picked up the slinky white stocking and jiggled it.

  He did have a point.

  “Okay, out, out. Let me get changed.” Carol flicked her wrist at Nick. Whatever happened today, she’d chalk it up to holiday spirit.

  Minutes later, Carol had everything on except the stockings. Although she could manage the stockings the same way she pulled her pants on, something inside of her wanted Nick kneeling down in front of her.

  “Come on in and help me with the stockings,” she called out to him after she transferred from the bed to her chair.

  He opened the door, and his eyes lit with that incandescent glow men had when they desired a woman. Maybe wearing a Santa dress was what it took.

  He knelt in front of her and gave her a long and loud wolf whistle. “Wow. Look at you.”

  His admiration had her blushing and she lowered her face, handing him the stockings. She shuddered as he picked up one pale foot. She couldn’t feel it, but the way he sensuously glided his fingers along the arch of her foot, then up her ankle and leg made her almost dizzy with delight.

  He rolled the stockings up to mid-thigh and adjusted the bows so they sat in the center. Leaning over, he lowered his head and kissed the exposed skin, once on one thigh, then on the other.

  His fake beard brushed over her legs, but she couldn’t feel a thing, although a faint throbbing sensation heated her between her legs. It was a lingering illusion of remembered pleasures.

  He stayed kneeling in front of her chair, and without knowing why, she removed his hat, exposing his lustrous dark brown wavy hair. She wanted so much to run her fingers through his mane and hold his head in her lap.

  His hands wound around her behind where she had a faint sensation before ascending to her waist, sending a shower of tingles shooting up her spine.

  “Did you feel that?” Nick asked, his eyes intent on her.

  She licked her lips and nodded. “We should go before …”

  “Yes, we should.” He moved his hands back down to her stone-dead thighs, as if suddenly realizing he’d gone too far.

  Union Square was the heart of the shopping district in San Francisco, and in December, it was decked up to the gills for the holiday. Four large Canary date palms flanked the square where a large, heavily decorated Christmas tree presided over an artificial ice rink. A large monument topped by the Victory goddess holding a trident and a wreath spiraled over the square which was surrounded by flagship department stores.

  Nick parked Carol’s van in a garage under the square, and when they emerged from the elevator into the pavilion, Carol’s eyes popped wide.

  “Everyone’s wearing Santa outfits,” she exclaimed at the sea of red. Christmas music blared from the loudspeakers above them, and hundreds of red elves milled around them.

  “Told you, you have nothing to worry about,” Nick said as he walked with one hand pressed to the back of her wheelchair. “This is the annual SantaCon where Santas take over the city.”

  All during the drive into the city, Carol had fretted that people would stare at her. Now, seeing all the people frolicking around them, laughing and drinking, she waved and smiled at complete strangers.

  Most were wearing traditional costumes, but there were others who got creative: a Storm Trooper Claus, a robot with speakers for boobs, several Grinches in green, a gingerbread lady, and a snowman with his carrot attached to his crotch. There was even a guy with a Frankenstein mask.

  “Seriously, how did you find my costume?” Carol still couldn’t imagine how Nick had found her exact size, although the shoes were loose. If she had to admit, her costume was one of the cutest ones. If only she could stand and twirl her flared skirt around.

  “I have special Santa connections.” His eyes twinkled. “You seriously don’t expect me to give away my secrets, do you?”

  They stopped in front of a San Francisco fire truck where large, strong firefighters stood by, taking toy donations. Nick dropped two unwrapped toys into the bin, while Carol wondered whether Jason would have been one of the volunteers collecting toys if he hadn’t been hurt.

  “You okay?” Nick bent near her and spoke into her ear.

  “Yes, just thinking about how everything changes.” She spun her chair around to face him. “Anything could happen to anyone.”

  He glanced at the healthy firemen and tucked a strand of her hair over her ear. “I know, but we have to take what life deals out, and right now, it’s dealt you a crazy man in a Santa suit.”

  With that, he kissed her cheek. The yak’s hair beard tickled and obscured the touch of his lips. She took his hand, glad that her leather glove kept him from feeling her sweaty palm. “And what has life dealt you lately?”

  “A gorgeous Christmas Carol.” He squeezed her hand.

  “A twisted Christmas Carol.” She couldn’t help putting herself down. Surely a guy like Nick could have any one of those leggy women cavorting around in skimpy Santa and elf outfits. A woman who could ride him well in and out of bed.

  “My favorite kind of carols.” He hooked a look at the loudspeaker. “Hear what they’re singing? They’ve replaced all the words.”

  All around them, people were singing karaoke style along with the music, but instead of Deck the Halls, it was Deck my Balls, and Let It Snow, was Let It Flow, as in beer and spirits flowing.

  “Well then, let’s let it flow.” Carol didn’t want to be a party pooper. After all, Nick was being patient with her, and she shouldn’t be such a downer. “Let’s do something fun.”

  “You got it.” Nick held her hand. Somehow, he pushed her chair while holding her hand, and for the first time since she was injured, she let go and allowed him to push.

  She hadn’t been a hand-holder while dating before, but now, as she rolled through Union Square holding hands with Nick, she realized it was the simplest of things that were the most romantic of all.

  Carol and Nick took pictures in front of the “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” sculpture, then raced around the square, dancing to the twisted carols.

  Tourists asked to take pictures with them, and Carol gladly held small children and tiny puppies in her lap. Nick was always at her side, making sure she wasn’t bumped or jostled, and he always knelt next to her for the pictures.

  “Care to go ice skating?” Nick asked when they passed the skating rink.

  “Sure, if they will allow
me.”

  “They will, or they won’t get any toys for Christmas.” Nick asked at the ticket booth and was given the go-ahead, as long as he controlled Carol’s chair.

  Once they were on the ice, Carol relaxed. She held onto one of Nick’s hands and let him propel them around the rink. The cool, brisk air refreshed her, and she let out a whoop, as Nick turned her into a series of spins and figure eights. As if by magic, the sound system played the same song Nick had sang for her, “This Christmas.”

  She sang along with Nick, tilting her head back and catching sight of his long yak’s hair beard flowing in the breeze. It felt so good not to be in control all the time. She sat back and enjoyed the ride, knowing Nick wouldn’t let her chair crash, no matter what.

  When the song ended, Nick beamed at her. “I told you, this Christmas is going to be real special. I promise.”

  She had legs last Christmas, but this Christmas, she had Nick.

  Twenty-One

  Nick covered Carol’s eyes as he dodged revelers in Santa costumes. After gathering in Union Square for the SantaCon kickoff, bands of partiers took off in all different directions to blanket San Francisco with red and white.

  While some partiers headed north toward Chinatown, others crawled west to the Tenderloin, Castro, and Haight-Asbury. Most were headed to a long list of dive bars and clubs.

  Nick had promised Carol shopping, so shopping it was.

  “Why won’t you let me see where we’re going?” Carol tried to pry his hands off her face.

  He turned her chair sharply into a storefront with frosted privacy glass and graphics of happy females on their logo.

  “Okay, open your eyes.” He placed her wheelchair where her eyes would be level to the biggest example of the store’s specialties.

  “What?” Carol opened her mouth. She stared at a giant plastic cock.

  “Like what you see?” Nick turned her around on the wooden floor so she could get a view of all the displays from essential oils to massagers, books, videos, whips, feathers, thongs, and G-strings.

  “I can’t believe you brought me here.” She clapped her hands over her mouth. “Why would I need a giant thrusting vibrator?”