by P. Dangelico
Locating the robe, I help him get into it, and even manage not to gawk at that championship winning body while I’m doing it. Then we slowly and carefully make our way upstairs to his bedroom, where it takes him a good fifteen minutes to get comfortable on the bed.
“Motherfudrucker,” I mutter under my breath, while I spread the arnica cream on the giant bruise on Calvin’s lower back––which is getting larger and darker by the second. A strange and violent protectiveness has me undone. Given the opportunity, I could inflict some serious hurt at the moment. My hands move up his spine, gently kneading every bulging, tense muscle they roam over. “How does that feel?”
“Like heaven, don’t stop.”
“You’re going to have a real hard time getting up and around the next couple of days.” His exhausted exhale tells me he knows this. “Somebody needs to take out his knees.”
Calvin chuckles. His eyes still closed, he says, “Didn’t peg you as the bloodthirsty type.”
“Have you seen what your back looks like? You’re lucky you don’t have a lacerated kidney.”
“He’s just a kid trying to prove to the team he’s worth a first round pick.”
“Wow––did someone forget to put their grumpy pants on today?”
“Isn’t there some kind of rule about not kicking someone when they’re down?” His gentle rebuke makes me suck in a breath. Now I feel like dog shit.
“I didn’t mean that,” I blurt out. An involuntary reflex has me raking his hair off the side of his face so I can get a better read on him…except the gesture is excruciatingly intimate. Something a lover would do. Both of us realize it at the same time. I’m about to retract my hand when he grabs my wrist.
“Keep doing that.” He releases my wrist, but I don’t move. “Please.” I crumble like a cookie in the face of that sweet, vulnerable plea. Very slowly, my fingers sift through his hair, raking it back. A grumble surges out from deep within his chest. I scratch his scalp and he moans in appreciation. It sounds like Animal Planet has invaded the bedroom. If I didn’t already know he was the one making those sounds, I would think an injured lion was hiding under the bed.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to watch the rest of the game.”
With his pretty face pressed into the pillow, his eyes are closed and the lines of pain that were marring it a minute ago have gone smooth. And then I need to kick myself because the satisfaction I get knowing that I did that for him is ridiculous.
“It wasn’t as much fun as I thought it’d be…now that I got skin in the game. When I saw you on the ground and in pain, I swear my heart stopped.” For some reason, I feel absolutely no desire to lie or dissemble. Maybe because I’ve been through too much. Maybe because I know life is too short to waste time on subtlety and ambiguity. Either way, I’m not having it. In the past, I spent way too much time keeping shit to myself, not telling Matt how I really felt because I didn’t want to rock the boat. Well, fuck the boat. If it sinks under the weight of the truth then so be it. At least, I can live the rest of my life without regrets.
He wraps his long fingers around my forearm and brings it to his mouth. I feel the soft touch of his lips on the inside of my wrist and my heart begins to thump inside my chest as loudly as an elephant stampede.
I study the man that’s attached to the pouty lips resting on my pulse. Those impossibly thick and spiky black lashes throw shade on his sharp cheekbones, his breathing deep and even as he descends into sleep. Warm puffs or air hit my skin and radiate pleasure to every point in my body. I try to slowly pull away, but he suddenly wakes.
“No, don’t go. Stay…’kay. Hmm. Stay with me,” he half mumbles. Sounds like the painkillers have finally caught up with him. When I don’t respond, he lifts his head off the pillow and scowls at me. “Don’t go.”
I chuckle at the look on his face. “Okay, Champ. Relax, I’ll stay.”
Satisfied, his head falls back on the pillow. I crawl onto the other side of the bed, pull out my IPhone, and click on the Kindle app. Seconds later, he’s snoring. I consider leaving for only a moment. I gave him my word. This man that I respect and care about. I can’t do that to him. The thought of disappointing, or letting him down in any way is anathema. Which is why I push it away and start reading.
He shifts, rolling from his stomach to his good side. I hear a soft moan of discomfort before he settles. And then I feel the mattress dipping as he inches backward. Until his spectacular, boxer brief covered ass is resting up against my thigh.
Oh nooooo. No.no.no.no.no.no.
A wave of fear breaks over me. It feels like my head in being held underwater and I’m fighting for every bit of oxygen. I recognize this feeling. And I know for a fact it will lead me nowhere good.
The next day, Mr. Grumpy Pants is back in full grumpy force.
“I can’t get comfortable.”
“I know. But I can’t give you anything for another hour.” Grabbing an extra pillow, I fluff the darn thing up and place it under his head. He shifts onto his side, then shifts back onto his stomach.
“Can’t you just give it to me now?”
After he did his infrared light therapy and I spread more of the balm on the bruise, he napped on and off most of the day…unfortunately now he’s wide awake.
“Sorry. Can’t. I’ll come back up at eight sharp, okay? Can I get you anything else to drink?”
“You can’t leave.”
Mmmm, okay. How to handle this. He’s been growing more and more demanding as the day wears on and now he’s become downright obnoxious.
“Calvin, I have to go take a shower. I’ve been going all day, and I stink like a goat.”
This has no effect on him, other than eliciting a mulish expression I’ve come to know well.
“I don’t mind goats,” he grumbles.
I get a really bad idea and sit on the edge of the bed. “Close your eyes.” For this, I am treated to a dubious glare. “Do it.”
That seems to do the trick. As soon as his eyes close, I start sifting my fingers through his hair. In seconds, his entire face goes slack. He makes a small humming sound and lets out a huge relaxed breath. Ten minutes later, he’s asleep. Hallelujah. Mission accomplished.
It’s nine by the time I get out of the shower. I’m beat with a capital B. Don’t know what I would’ve done if Angelina and Tom hadn’t taken Sam for the day. The kid came back with a huge grin on his face so I suppose he had fun. My cellphone rings with an incoming text.
I can’t sleep. Where are you?
Good grief. I never figured him to be so high maintenance. And then I suddenly realize that he’s probably never had anyone to take care of him. It certainly never happened when he was a kid. Outside of team personnel, who are paid to do it, who else would’ve? His wife, maybe? Truth: she did not look like the mothering type. I would even use the term cold. This does not sit well with me. I text back.
What can I do for you, Dear?
A second later, I get my answer.
You can get you ass over here.
Well…okay. I walk into his bedroom to find him sprawled out haphazardly––in his underwear. Funny how that barely registers anymore; I’m actually more surprised when I see him dressed. His short hair is disheveled and his scruff thick from not shaving. The frustrated look on his face warns me to tread lightly.
“Since you asked so nicely.” I walk up and hand him the pills I sequestered yesterday when I found him sneaking an extra one.
“I can’t get comfortable, and I can’t sleep anymore.”
“Wanna watch Banshee?”
“The hell is that?” he grunts.
“Only the sickest effing show ever. All the cool kids are watching it, Champ. Welcome to the rest of the world where football isn’t the only thing on tv.” I crawl onto the bed beside him and grab the remote. “I’m not giving you any spoilers, so don’t even bother asking.” I fluff two of his mega luxurious goose down pillows, jam them behind my back, and click the in demand button.
We’re just settling down to watch, when Calvin shift perpendicular to me and places his head on my thighs, facing the television. Apparently, my thighs are being appropriated and used as a pillow. My heart squeezes a little, it really does. I’m unsure how to react. But I do know that I don’t want to scare him off, so I don’t say a word.
“Do that scratching thing,” he mumbles. And I melt just little bit more. I can’t say no to this man. It’s beyond me. Especially when he’s being so obnoxiously cute.
Dang, this is really bad.
For the next few hours, we watch the show. He asks questions and I tell him to shut up and pay attention. I never stop touching him though. First his hair and his neck. I get sigh after sigh. Then his arm and shoulder. I get hums for that. Anything I can reach gets petted. It keeps him happy and quiet––a win, win. By the end of season two, we’re both practically asleep and my thighs are numb.
“Time for night night, Champ.” I pat his shoulder twice and he shifts back onto his pillow.
I’m about to scoot off the bed when he reaches around my waist and pulls me back against him. Then he rocks his hips against my big ‘ole butt until his dick is completely wedged between my ass cheeks––and getting harder by the second. My eyes go big and wide while every other part of me freezes.
All I’m wearing is a pair of super thin t-shirt pajama shorts. Not much is separating us. I’m not prepared for this. I’m not at all prepared for this. All this closeness. All the touching is killing me. Because it feels so goddamn good, so good and so comfortable sometimes I feel like he’s mine…except he’s not. And it’s starting to hurt. I try to pull away but he pulls me back, holds me even tighter.
“Cal…”
“Hmmm. Stay.”
I feel his nose brush the side of my neck, hear his tired exhale close to my ear. Yup, this is torture. The sweetest torture of all.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I am very reluctantly falling in love, and in good conscience, can no longer deny it to myself. I fought it. Sure I did, dug my heels in and everything. But I never stood a chance. I fought the good fight and lost. This frigging sucks. There’s nothing left to do now but man up and discuss it ad nauseam with the only person I trust to give me the unvarnished truth.
“Hold your goddamn horses!” Amber shouts right before her front door flies opens. Her curious stare falls to the pizza box I’m holding.
“John’s brick oven?”
“Yes.”
“Extra-large pie?” I nod slowly at her query. After a thoughtful pause, she says, “This is serious. What happened?”
“I’m in love with him.” I’m whining, I’m flat out whining.
“I knew it!”
I stand there and watch my best friend, the keeper of my secrets and my greatest champion, kiss her biceps.
“Now is not the time for you to gloat.”
“Come in,” she says with a big shit eating grin and steps aside. Ten minutes later, we’re on her couch, stuffing our faces with the greatest pizza ever made.
“I really tried to stop it, I really did,” I explain while I grab my third slice and proceed to stuff my already full cheeks with one more bite. The need to drown my sorrows in an insulin rush is overwhelming. Amber is nodding in solidarity at my predicament. “But he’s so frigging sweet and helpful and concerned. All. The. Time. And––he holds my hand when I get nervous.”
“Uhuh, uhuh.” She keeps repeating. The stubborn wrinkle on her brow tells me she’s really considering my plight. I stop chewing.
“That’s it? Thay thomething?”
“Basically, you’re screwed.”
I swallow the lump of pizza lodged in my throat. “That’s not helpful.”
“You’re going to have to move out. You can’t live with him now. That gives him all the power and leaves you with none. Move in here.”
“And live on your pull-out couch? That should really kill any hopes of you dating ever again,” I grumble. “I’ll just move back in with my parents.” Talk about going backwards. The thought is depressing beyond measure. “It’s a moot point anyway. I’m not moving out until Amanda comes to pick up Sam, which should happen in the next ten days, with any luck.”
“Amanda?”
“Calvin’s sister. Sam’s mom.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Putting everybody else’s needs before your own.”
“I can’t help it, Ambs.”
“Do you think he feels the same way?”
“God, no. He doesn’t want a relationship. He’s said so repeatedly.”
“So you’re just going to suffer in silence? Pine from a distance?”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do.”
Someone keeps pressing the bell on the security box. When I finally make it to the phone to let them in, Cal has already beat me to it. He’s been training like a man possessed. If he’s not in the gym, he’s with his new strength and conditioning coach. I don’t think anything is going to stop him from being ready for the first game of the season. Not even a kidney injury. Watching him work, witnessing this level of commitment, I’m getting a master class in what it takes to succeed at the highest level and, quite frankly, it’s a little intimidating. If I thought he was training hard before, the level of intensity in his workouts now are on a whole other level.
My favorite baritone is accompanied by a feminine voice talking loudly. Coming from the foyer, the voices draw closer. When Sam doesn’t glance up from his bowl of spaghetti, I deduce who it must be. They step into the kitchen and I freeze. She has her arm hanging around the neck of the man I’m in stupid love with.
She’s stunning. I thought grumpy pants was pretty, but Amanda Shaw is beyond supermodel gorgeous. And not the barfy stick figure kind that’s popular these days. I’m talking glamazon eighties gorgeous. Tall, super fit, and a face that has probably broken a million boy hearts. Her bright blue eyes dart between me and Sam, who by the way, has yet to glance up.
A very uncomfortable feeling descends upon me as they both watch me. Standing before all that perfect DNA makes me, for the first time in my life, feel like a troll. I smile tightly even though every cell in my body screams for me to leave the room.
“Calvin Reginald Shaw, are you gonna just stand there and stare, or are you gonna introduce us?” She has a heavy southern accent, which only adds to her hotness…naturally.
Reginald?
Reginald smiles at me warmly. “Camilla, this is my pain in the rear end little sister, Amanda.”
The goofy smile he shines on me when he says this produces a clump of God knows what that lodges itself in my throat. Meanwhile, she beams adoration at him. There’s so much love between these two. That’s clear. A strange pang of jealousy hits me…maybe not jealousy, envy then?
“Nice to meet you,” I say while I place the pan I was about to wash in the sink. “Can I offer you anything to drink, or eat? We were just finishing up lunch.”
“Just water, thanks,” she says with her eyes glued to Sam’s back. I hide my face in the SubZero and grab a small bottle of Fiji for her.
“Sam, aren’t you going to say hi to your mom?” Calvin’s voice is gentle, thoughtful…and I’m pretty sure that I just fell deeper into love with him. Sam finishes the last bite of pasta and wipes his mouth on his paper napkin.
“May I please be excused?” He’s looking straight at me.
Oh crap. Quickly, I glance at Cal and he nods. Smiling, I say, “You’re excused.” Without a backward glance, Sam goes straight up the stairs. With a pained expression, my gaze meets Amanda’s, her’s wavering between concern and guilt.
“This is normal,” I offer, breaching the uncomfortable silence. “He just needs time to adjust…somebody should go talk to him.” Both Shaws stare back at me with matching blank expressions.
“You should,” Cal eventually says. I notice Amanda doesn’t object. Her gaze falls to the floor.
“Okay.” A second later I’m up the stairs and walking into the playroom. Sam is busy working on a new Lego creation. I plop down next to him and start separating pieces. We work for an hour in complete silence.
“Sam––” He looks up at me with nearly the same expression he wore when I first met him. This kid is every reason I want to be a parent. He’s stolen a huge chunk of my heart and because of this I can feel his pain as if it were my own. “I know it hurt when your mom had to go to the hospital and leave you. I know how scary that is…but remember what the doctor said? About her having an illness?”
He nods. “I know she’s sick.”
“She can’t help it. She doesn’t want to leave you, either.”
“How do you know?” He’s staring at a car he just put together, spinning the tiny rubber wheels over and over again.
“Because I know that everyone that gets to know you loves you very much, and it’s impossible not to miss someone you love.” My voice cracks on the last two words and Sam’s eyes connect with mine. “I know because I love you, and I’m going to miss you terribly when you go home…and I’ve only known you a short time. Imagine how your mom felt when she had to go away.” He stops spinning the wheels of the Lego car, his expression turning thoughtful. “She feels bad about it. Do you think you can try and talk to her, make her feel welcome?”
Sam nods and what’s left of my heart is pulverized into dust. My time here is done. The realization comes crashing down on my head. In a couple of days, these people that I love very much will no longer be part of my life. Another brutal loss. Never in a million years could I have predicted this happening to me again. Except this time, it may break me for good. At the very least, it’s going to hurt for a long, long time. Then again, this is my life, a regular barrel of laughs.
“She’s gorgeous,” I murmur into my cell phone. After we all had a very silent dinner together, I withdrew to my bedroom while Amanda helped Sam get ready for bed. It wouldn’t do to coddle him too much; he’s going to be leaving with his mother by the end of the week whether he’s ready or not. And he didn’t object when Amanda offered to do it. I guess that’s good…I’m sulking. I know I’m sulking.
