by Danica Avet
He finishes checking her over, back, arms, neck, and head, but I swear it feels like forever.
“Welp,” Cody says, popping the ‘p’ and gently palpating the swollen area as I fight the urge to punch his face for hurting her. “You definitely have a mild sprain. Not much swelling, so that’s good. I’ll wrap it, give you a couple Ibuprofen, but you need to stay off of it as much as possible for the next couple of days—three at the very least.” He moves to grab the supplies he needs. “Also, keep it elevated and apply ice for at least twenty minutes, three times a day.”
I look at Lena to see a tear trailing down her dirty cheek. Without even thinking about it, just acting on pure instinct, I wipe that droplet away, her soft skin tempting me to keep touching her. Her wide-eyed stare has me dropping my hand again but I can still feel the velvety texture.
“Okay, take these,” Cody orders as he hands over a packet with two pills and a little plastic cup of water. “You’ll need to stock up on those, by the way.” Pulling his stool over, he starts wrapping her foot, his hands quick from long practice. “This is a new one for me, you know. Never had to attend to a band student before. What do you play?”
Lena dutifully throws back the pills, following with water and I take the empty cup and packet from her, earning myself another one of those smiles. “Thank you,” she whispers, making my heart pound. I let go of her hand and stride across the room to toss the trash. “Um, I play tuba.”
Cody lets out a snort and I swear he muttered something like, “Figures,” but he says it so low, I barely hear him. When I turn, he has his head bowed over her ankle, not looking at her, but I am and I see her face heat up, the way she drops her gaze to stare at her hands in her lap, shoulders slumped.
“Okay, all done,” Code says as he pushes the stool away. “Just ice it now and then, take ibuprofen for pain, and stay off of it as much as possible. It’s not too bad.” He stands, turning to clap me on the shoulder, rolling his eyes. “Pussy,” he mutters as he leaves the room.
That was it? I stare at the doorway and back at Lena as she starts to wiggle as though she’s about to get off the table. “Stay there,” I order. She freezes, her eyes wide. “Be right back.”
I storm out of the room, heading for Cody’s office. I find him kicked back behind his desk, flipping through some papers. “Did you just call her a pussy?” I demand of the man whose face turns red. But he doesn’t answer so I let it slide, moving to my next question. “That’s all?”
He frowns, eyes shifting left and right before settling on me again. “That’s all what? It’s a mild sprain. I’ve had worse getting out of bed in the morning. She’ll be fine,” he says dismissively.
Entering the office, I plant my hands on the edge of the desk and lean over it. “What about crutches? You said she needs to keep the weight off of her foot.”
“Well yeah, she’ll need to use crutches, but she can pick those up at any pharmacy in town.”
“Why don’t you give her a set from the supply room?”
He blinks at me. “She’s not in the athletic program. She’s in band. I’m not giving some kid I don’t know any of our equipment.”
I breathe deeply, trying to calm my rising anger. “She’s a student at this university, paid her tuition, which includes a fee for the use of university equipment and health services. So go get her a set of motherfucking crutches,” I finish in a near growl.
His face pales a little and he straightens. “We really shouldn’t—”
“Get her some fucking crutches!”
He flinches and jumps out of his seat as if he’d just been stuck in the ass. “F-Fine, but if they get damaged…”
“I’ll pay for it,” I snarl.
He flees the office with a glare and I return to the exam room to see Lena off the table, her bad leg held off the ground as she reaches for her socks and shoes, which Cody left on the floor. She’d tossed the blanket off, shivering slightly as she disobeyed a direct order. You know, because I’ve become a complete dictator where she’s concerned.
“What are you doing?” I ask in a near shout, imagining her messing her ankle up even more.
She jumps at my unexpected question—okay, it’s practically a roar—straightening to grip the edge of the exam table for balance. “You scared me!” she accuses, those brown eyes sparking with temper, something I hadn’t seen from her until now. “I’m trying to get my shoes on so I can go home.”
Without thinking, because…yeah, you know…I cross the room, put my hands on her waist and plop her cute butt back on the table. “Stay,” I order firmly.
“I’m not a dog,” she shoots back, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m not even that hurt. I could probably walk out of here.”
“No.” I crouch down in front of her, snagging her left shoe and the sock draped over it.
When I go to start putting them both back on though, she starts playing keep away with her goddamn foot, moving it this way and that. “I can put my own socks and shoes on,” she protests as she kicks her leg out to the side.
I finally snag her, my fingers wrapping around her ankle easily. “No.” Yeah, next thing you know I’ll be pounding on my motherfucking chest and saying, “Me Tarzan, you Jane.” For fuck’s sake.
Her nostrils flare, but she doesn’t fight me anymore as I place her tiny foot on my thigh. For a second, all I can do is stare at it. She’s got the cutest, lavender toenails. No, I stare because, compared to me, she’s itty-bitty and that’s only emphasized when I compare body parts. I slide her sock onto her foot and can’t help but let my fingers linger, graze the heel and the arch, which makes her flinch as though she’s ticklish. I file the information away, careful to treat her with as much gentleness as I’m capable of.
“Thank you,” she whispers as I slide her shoe on, pulling the laces taut. “For carrying me over here, too.” The muscles in her calf twitch as though she wants to run. “You didn’t need to do that, so I really do appreciate it. I just hope you didn’t hurt yourself.” Her laugh is flat, as though she didn’t think it was funny.
I don’t either, so I grunt, “Lift weights.”
Releasing her left foot, I reach for her right. I won’t be able to put the shoe on, but it’s cold in here and she’s already been soaked. I’m even more careful this time, conscious of every breath she takes as I slide the sock over the bandage Cody had wrapped around her injury.
“What do you mean, you lift weights?” she asks, as I ease the sock around the ball of her foot.
“Lift weights heavier’n you.”
I hear voices in the hall, high-pitched voices that don’t really belong in a building meant to promote testosterone, just as I start to remove her foot from my leg. Her friends are no doubt impatient to leave, when all I really want to do is keep her a little longer.
“Lena, Nessie and I were just thinking—” one of the girls starts as she enters the room, only to fall silent when she sees me kneeling in front of Lena. “Oh. Well, hello.”
I stand, turning to them. Yup, it’s the girls who followed us from the field. One of them is about the size of a toddler, but seems to have the biggest personality. The other two are average sizes. They’re all cute, although they don’t hold a candle to Lena.
The sharp gaze of the tiny girl goes from me to Lena and back again. Then she smiles. Now, I’ve looked some of the meanest defenders in college football right in the eye and wasn’t bothered by it. I’ve gone toe-to-toe with my dad and his loser friends, who are criminals who have no problem pulling a gun when things don’t go their way. I’ve been in scary situations before, but this slip of a girl smiling at me right now actually terrifies me.
Lena
He lifts weights heavier than me. What does that even mean? And why was he putting my socks and shoe on for me? Why did he look as though he wanted to kick the trainer’s ass? I feel as though I should’ve had them treat me for a concussion because there’s so much I just don’t understand, except this has been happen
ing from the first minute Anders sat next to me in Music Appreciation. Like my whole world and understanding of my place in it has been flipped upside down.
I can’t quite pinpoint when Mom stopped treating me like her child and like a burden she couldn’t wait to get off her hands. Maybe it was when we were around the same height? Or when I was able to look down at her and Nathan? As though my size meant I could handle everything myself, as though I didn’t need emotional support as I navigated the awkwardness of puberty and my teen years. They didn’t abandon me, they didn’t abuse me, and they didn’t neglect me. They did everything they were required to by the state: clothe me, feed me, and provide me shelter. But that’s it.
Yet here’s this massive football player who looks like he could move Mount Everest without breaking a sweat, treating me like a delicate princess. It’s bewildering. Terrifying. And flattering and exciting and I honestly don’t know what to do with myself, or with him. Is he just being friendly? Or is he a natural flirt? Is he…actually interested in me?
My heart flutters at the thought. He’s cute, and not just because he apparently power lifts more than I weigh, although that’s a very big plus for him. Despite his rather abrupt manner of speaking, he’s been nothing but sweet to me. Kind. Compassionate. And every time he looks at me, or touches me, everything in me grows soft and warm. Oh and let’s not forget that special parts of my body go up like fireworks during the Fourth of July. There’s tingles and sparkles, sizzles and burns.
So yeah… I’m confused as hell, but when I see that gleam in Becca’s eyes, that maniacal light, I brace myself for something outrageous to come out of her mouth.
“Lena, introduce us to your hero.”
Blushing profusely when Anders turns those glacial blue eyes my way, I stammer out the required introductions, waiting for him to fall hopelessly infatuated with one of them. At the very least Jolene. Every guy I’ve ever seen who catches his first glimpse of her goes goo-goo-eyed and stupid. But Anders just nods at them and crosses his arms over his chest, standing only a foot away from me, as though he’s guarding me.
The movement draws my attention and now that I’m not in pain or, you know, he’s not looking at me, I study him and feel that familiar tingle between my thighs. Just from looking at him! I’m not the only one who’s soaked to the skin. Anders is as well, except where I’m pudgy curves and dimples, he’s hard muscles and solid as a tree. I know he said people call him Root because of his last name, but the way he stands, it’s as though he’s set down roots, as though nothing could possibly move him if he didn’t want it to. The rain has darkened his hair to a bronzed blonde and soaked his shirt to the point it looks painted on. And I’m not the only one who notices; my friends are gawking at this real life giant the same way I am.
Finally Becca seems to come back to herself, blinking her eyes and giving her head a shake. Her gaze skips from Anders to me and she gives me that goddamn—pardon my French—smile. “It’s a good thing Root’s still here. Nessie and I realized you’re going to have trouble getting to your apartment unless you stay with one of us until you’re off the crutches.”
I wave my hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine. There’s a handrail on the stairs, so I’ll be able to hobble up without any problem.” Maybe. Most likely not. I’m pretty sure I’ll have to crawl up the stairs to my garage apartment, but I won’t tell them that.
Nessie’s shaking her head. “No way. Those stairs are bad enough with two legs. You’ll break your neck with crutches.”
“So you can stay at Nessie’s house, or at mine,” Becca declares with a tilt of her chin. “You’re going to need the help anyway when you come to school tomorrow.”
While I appreciate their concern, I stick to my guns. “No. I’m going to stay in my apartment.”
“Okay, fine,” Becca says, capitulating far too easily. “Jolene thought you’d say that, so she’s going to stay with you.”
I look at Jolene, who’s smiling as though she’s the answer to my prayers. “How? She can’t pick me up if I fall.”
“But she can call 9-1-1,” Nessie cuts in with a saccharine sweet smile.
“Y’all have been to my apartment; you know there’s barely enough room for me, much less someone else.” I look at Jolene with an apologetic shrug. “I appreciate it, but I—”
“I’ll help her.”
The battle of wills I’m locked in with my friends comes to an abrupt end at Anders’ simple statement. All four of us swivel our heads to stare at him, as though an inanimate object suddenly decided to start speaking. He doesn’t move. Maybe he’s afraid we’ll attack? Whatever the reason, he’s as still as a statue, although his cheeks start to turn red from our gaping.
He doesn’t look at me. I don’t think he’s even looking at the others, his gaze trained above their heads. “Bring her home, pick her up.” Then he finally looks at someone—Jolene, whose baby blues widen at being the focus of his gaze. “You stay overnight. Call if there’s a problem.”
My friend nods mutely, her eyelashes fluttering as though she can’t help herself. But Anders doesn’t seem impressed. He looks at me, as though silently daring me to protest. And I mean to. I really do. I even open my mouth to tell him this is unacceptable. I’m an adult and adults take care of things themselves.
But the cranky trainer guy chooses that moment to show up at the door, glowering at us all and cradling a pair of crutches in his arms as though they’re more precious than gold. They’re…pretty old, but if I can use them, I won’t complain too much.
He steps inside, thrusting them at me. “Here. And bring them back when you’re finished.”
I don’t understand the look he exchanges with Anders, but it’s definitely not a happy one. Still, I don’t let this detract me from the real issue here. Like the Viking telling me what I’m going to do, or he’s going to do. Or whatever. I’m so confused and feeling wimpy because my ankle really does hurt, I don’t even have a good argument, but I try anyway. Opening my mouth once more, trying to channel my inner Becca, I’m about to lay into Anders when he shakes head just once.
“Let’s go.”
Anders
That’s how I found myself in a cramped studio apartment on a rough side of LaSalle—which I didn’t even know existed—with four girls. I should leave them to do whatever it is girls do when they hang out, but I don’t want to leave Lena. What if she needs to go somewhere? Those stairs leading to her garage apartment are a death trap waiting to happen. No fucking way am I leaving until I know she’s staying her cute little ass at home.
We sit around the studio staring at each other, me on the edge of Lena’s bed—fuck if it doesn’t smell like her, which doesn’t make this easy for me—and the girls seated around the dining room table about five feet away. My girl is in the shower, the splash of water reminding me that she’s very naked and wet in there, but with the gimlet eye of her friends on me, I force myself to think of something else. Like Lena’s home.
It’s small, although still bigger than my private dorm room. Situated above a garage in a lower middle class neighborhood, it shouldn’t have looked as welcoming as it did. Or maybe it’s just me who feels as though they’ve been embraced by Lena. The minute I hit the door, her scent surrounded me and wouldn’t let me go. Peaches and vanilla; it’s sweet and warm and makes me want to dive face-first into her bed.
Her bed is soft, like her. I once again have to make myself focus on other things. If I start imagining her on this mattress, twisted up in these pink and purple sheets… I look around, avoiding her friends’ gazes, taking in the small television, the abundance of paperback novels, and all the vinyl stacked along the walls.
Before my curiosity gets the better of me and I start poking around her records, one of the girls asks, “So how do you know Lena?”
The shower’s still going and I swear I hear a little moan coming from the direction of the tiny bathroom. My knees bounce as my imagination threatens to go wild. “We have Music Apprecia
tion 101 together.”
The three girls exchange a look I don’t understand, but then I don’t have a lot of experience with girls, so reading their minds, or their silent communication, is beyond me. My knees bounce faster as the shower cuts off, an image of Lena drying herself trying to wedge itself to the forefront of my mind.
“I see,” Becca says with a sage nod. “And you like Lena?”
My mouth gapes open as a wave of heat travels up my neck. Sweat beads up on my forehead. The bouncing of my knees stops abruptly as every part of my body freezes at the question. How do I answer? If I say yes, will they tell Lena? If I say no, will they tell Lena? What the fuck am I supposed to do with this? I mean yeah, I really like Lena. I want to get to know her better, but do I want her friends to know about it before she does?
“I think that answers the question,” Jolene murmurs in her deep southern drawl. Then she smiles brightly. “That’s awesome, by the way. Lena’s sweet as pie.”
Hennessey and Becca agree. Then the little monster leans forward. “So are you gonna ask her out? Because I totally think you should. Y’all would be the cutest couple ever!”
My mouth has yet to close. Are all girls like this? Thinking about Lena’s shyness, I reject the theory as false. She’s nothing like these girls. Thank god.
“Well?” Becca asks, one of her eyebrows going up at my lack of response.
“Uh, yes?” They all make slightly surprised, slightly pissed off expressions and I clear my throat. “I mean, yes, I would like to ask her out.”
