There You Stand

by Christina Lee

  Jude made quick work of pulling his board into shore, making sure it was secured on the rocks, and then headed toward me. He was still holding Chopper’s leash and I straightened to my full height with some effort because goddamn it, I wasn’t some wuss unable to stand on my own two feet.

  I looked down and saw my shin was bleeding, a trickle of blood making a path down my leg. Big fucking deal. The water stung so I carefully treaded toward land. My cheeks burned from embarrassment and I tried not to limp. Basically, my back was like my Achilles’ heel. Way to keep it macho and classy.

  I felt Jude’s warmth and Chopper’s nose nudging the back of my knee as if to apologize, so I looked over my shoulder. “It’s like you’re a fucking homing device for this mutt or something. Goddamn going to kill me one day.”

  A smirk pulled at Jude’s lip as I bent down to snatch my shoes from the dirt. I intended on grabbing the leash from him and sending him on his way, when I felt the searing heat of his fingers on my arm.

  I held in my gasp because I had imagined this scenario so many times in my head. But never in a million years would I have pictured it happening after falling on my face because my dog had acted like a moron. I didn’t know which one of us had a bigger hard-on for Jude.

  When I turned to look at him, he was standing so close I could see faint flecks of brown in his vividly green eyes. As his gaze slid down the front of my torso to the ground, his eyes widened. “Your foot is a bloody mess.”

  “What?” That’s when I looked down and saw how right he was. There was a deep scrape below my ankle that I hadn’t even noticed because the fire in my back took precedence. I felt like a little kid who had fallen off his bike and was being checked on by a virtual stranger. “It’s fine.”

  I tried to reach for Chopper’s leash but Jude began hightailing it toward the street and all I could do was hobble behind.

  I gritted my teeth. “Can you hand over my dog? I need to head home.”

  Still he didn’t answer, he just looked over his shoulder and shook his head.

  “What the hell?” When we had gotten to the road, I calculated how far I had to go to make it home. It was not going to be pretty. I was already leaving an impressive trail of blood behind me on the pavement. “Give me the damn leash or I’m just going to leave my dog with you. He’d like that; he’s apparently your biggest fan.”

  Now I saw a dimple indent his cheek as he turned the corner and began heading west. I was about to part ways and go home—to hell with him—when he finally spoke. “Relax. My flat is right over here.”

  My heart almost hurtled out of my chest. “You mean the place you live?”

  He nodded again. I should’ve been grateful but a larger part of me was panicking in a completely different way. He was obviously concerned about me enough to take me somewhere to get cleaned up. My foot was gushing all over the place.

  “I’ll get blood all over your stuff.”

  He stopped and his face swung close to mine. “No worries, mate. Got to get that cleaned up. I’ll come back for my fishing gear later.”

  “It’ll get stolen.”

  He looked up and his eyes scanned the horizon. “It’ll be fine.”

  Right then I heard the distinct sound of an engine. A motorcycle engine. What the fuck? Had Jude been out here with one of the Disciples? Now I was losing it.

  My head was so jumbled, I just nodded and continued following. At this point my abraded shin was stinging and my cut foot was throbbing.

  Chopper trailed beside him on the leash like a good walker. The good walker that he never was with me. Little fucker. It was like he was showing off for Jude or something.

  He turned into the driveway of a house that had this impressive front porch and for a moment I wondered how a guy that worked at the Board Room could afford its rent.

  But then he continued walking past the silver car in the driveway and I spotted a tiny structure in the back of the property. Some of the century-old homes in this town had small cottages on their land and I’d known a few college students who rented them out over the years.

  When he got to the door, he placed his bag on the ground and began digging in his pocket for his keys. I figured at this point he’d hand over the leash so he wouldn’t have to juggle everything, but he never did.

  “Let me.” When I reached past him to grab for the lead, my chin accidentally brushed against the outer shell of his ear. I felt him shudder at the same time my mouth tingled. Either I had surprised him or he was responding to my touch, which made me feel heady. As well as confused. But I couldn’t concentrate on that due to the throbbing.

  He didn’t respond or loosen his grip on the leash as he turned the key in the lock. He stepped inside, flipped on the light, and then walked across the room to a worn-in brown couch. He patted the cushion, directing me to sit down.

  While I hobbled over and took a seat, he returned with a kitchen towel. He secured the rag around my ankle, creating a kind of a tourniquet. Then he grabbed a pillow near the armrest and placed it beneath my ankle, so that I was half lounging on his sofa.

  In a daze, I watched as he led Chopper into the kitchen, brought down a bowl from the cupboard, and filled it with water for him.

  As I took in the sparse but clean room with its worn-in furniture and subdued colors, he shuffled down the hall and flipped on the light to what I supposed was the bathroom. He rummaged around in the cupboards for what I could only assume was some sort of first aid kit.

  Words of protest were on the tip of my tongue. But what was I planning to object to? I allowed him to lead me to his house like some gimp, lay me on his couch, in order to tend to my wound, which now burned like crazy.

  Suddenly I was going to stop him, tell him not to bother? I was being ridiculous. It was better to just allow him to bandage me up, and afterward I’d say thank you and be on my way.

  Truth of the matter was that it felt so good to lie down, I momentarily shut my eyes. My back was provided such relief that I could scarcely drum up the emotions to care if my shirt was riding up my stomach or if my hair was a tangle of knots from rushing my wet fingers through it five hundred times on the way over here.

  My eyes shot back open when I heard Jude heading toward me with an armful of supplies. His eyes were focused and intent on my face and then slid down to my ankle, but not before they snagged somewhere in the center of my body.

  For all I knew he was checking me for injuries, but my instincts told me differently. Jude York was attracted to me and he was wholly conflicted about it. Possibly because up to this point, he thought he was straight or maybe he just wasn’t leaving room for anybody in his life because of stuff he had to hide.

  He dropped an assortment of creams, disinfectant sprays, and Band-Aids onto the coffee table in front of me.

  “A regular damn drugstore in that bathroom,” I muttered and he chuckled softly.

  I inhaled sharply because it was the most amazing sound. I had made Jude York laugh.

  When he saw the astonishment in my eyes, his lips pulled narrow and a red splotch climbed up his neck.

  I regretted my reaction immediately.

  Chapter Seven

  “Fuck, don’t stop,” I said reaching out my fingers but then letting them fall to my side. “I just . . . I’ve never heard you laugh before and it’s . . . cool to hear.”

  His eyes warmed instantly, but I could tell I had embarrassed him. He walked to the kitchen, ran the water, and then returned with a wet paper towel. He sat on the edge of the couch nearest my feet and stared at his table of wares. Well damn, I needed to make up for it somehow. I didn’t want him retreating from me again.

  “So what have you got for me, Doc?” His head snapped up and his eyes crinkled at the corners. God, he was a beautiful sight. He wore his hair almost as a shield of armor and I wondered if that was purposeful. The dreadlocks were all twisted and falling in his face and they mostly covered up his sculpted cheekbones.

  “You have quite a f
ew things lined up,” I said. “Any of them going to hurt?”

  His eyes shackled to mine and he shrugged. “Had my fair share of skateboard injuries, which explains the full medicine chest.”

  I tried not to shiver at hearing his voice again. Instead, my gaze darted to his knees, where I noticed the same faint scars and scrapes beneath his fine blond hair.

  He reached over me with the paper towel. “Need to clean your cuts, then bandage you up. It’s already beginning to swell.”

  I took a deep breath and nodded. “Go for it, Doc.”

  The first dab strung but I was expecting that. I just held my breath while he gently tended to my wound. I saw the irony of now being under his authority and scrutiny. Except he wasn’t wielding a tattoo machine.

  Once the blood was gone, my injury didn’t look nearly as bad. He turned the cloth over to use on my shin and as he did so, his fingers slid down the underside of my knee.

  Having Jude’s warm hands on me was complete torture. I wanted to moan out loud, but I cleared my throat instead. He seemed to be having difficulty swallowing and once he realized he was holding on to me longer than necessary, his fingers slipped away.

  All at once Chopper returned from his exploration of Jude’s apartment. He saw his new lover sitting on the couch and hopped right up, half of his body on the arm of the couch, the other half hanging on the floor.

  Chopper leaned over and licked the side of Jude’s face, then his neck, while Jude wrinkled his nose and cringed.

  “You’re an attention hog, Chopper!” I said, leaning forward and nudging the dog off the couch.

  Jude was full out laughing now and it was infectious. His whole face lit up as he wiped Chopper’s saliva off of his face with his forearm. After thirty seconds more of straight-out chuckling, we tried to rein it in but failed miserably.

  It felt so liberating to be able to let loose with him.

  Chopper wandered farther down the hallway to what I assumed was the bedroom, given the small square footage of this place. “You better watch out; he might think he’s found a permanent place to live.”

  Jude sobered up quickly by straightening himself on the couch. I saw a quick flash of gloominess behind his eyes and I wondered what I had made him remember or think about. I instantly wanted to return the smile to his face.

  He got back to the task at hand by reaching for the antibiotic ointment. His torso hunched over my knees and I felt hot under the collar. Adjusting my position, I realized how stiff my muscles felt after lounging in this position for so many minutes straight.

  When I winced, he looked up at me and began working faster. Using the smooth pads of his fingers, he gently dabbed on the ointment and I pictured what it might feel like to have his hands doing other things to me. That was exactly the wrong thing to be fantasizing about at this moment.

  I could feel his breath on my legs and I needed to get far away from him before I did something crazy like slide my fingers behind his neck and draw his beautiful face toward mine.

  I was suddenly so turned on, I needed to adjust myself in my shorts. My stomach was quivering and I noticed how his fingers shook opening the Band-Aid container. Was he having the same problem? And if so, why not do something about it?

  But wasn’t it obvious—something huge was holding him back.

  And suddenly I wanted to know so much more about him. Like exactly where he’d lived in the States and whether that was the reason why he spoke with a strange mix of English and American vernacular.

  But I knew this was a short-lived thing—being here at his house was unplanned. He was just helping me out of a jam and probably was counting the minutes until he could get me the hell out of here. If I started asking questions now, it would be even sooner.

  Besides, my back was beginning to spasm. Being so still, so on guard, was causing it to cramp up.

  I continued to have issues from that accident three years ago, the one that changed everything. I had gone to months of physical therapy and still it acted up. Usually I didn’t notice it because I was always on the move, keeping myself so busy until I crashed at night.

  He must have felt me studying his face because his gaze slid up my body painstakingly slowly and goose bumps broke out all over my arms. We stared at each other for the longest time, and I could tell just how labored his breathing had become.

  “Thank you,” I whispered and that seemed to break the spell. I didn’t want to leave but I knew Chopper and I should get out of his space and his business.

  All at once his gaze jerked to my ankle. His warm fingers slid delicately around the bone and I cringed because even the slight pressure made me remember that it hurt.

  “Let me get you some ice,” he said, and his voice startled me again. It was like living for years without the sound of the rain. That first downpour was noisier and more breathtaking than you ever imagined.

  “No,” I said. “You’ve done enough for me already.”

  I struggled to sit up but he kept his fingers on my leg. He saw how I was arching my back and I could tell he knew that my discomfort was about more than my ankle.

  His eyebrow arched. “Or the ice could be for your back.”

  And unexpectedly it hit me that I was in this stranger’s house. This stranger who could probably be a friend—except that he never shared anything with me. And I’ll be damned if he knew anything about my past. About David and how lost I felt without him. It was the one sacred memory that I needed most to hold on to.

  I shut my eyes and shook my head. “I need to go.”

  He stood abruptly. “I didn’t mean . . . just ice your ankle for ten minutes and then you can be on your way.”

  He had already pulled a pack from his freezer and was walking it toward me. First the guy was a mute and now he was Mr. Bossy. Such a fucking contradiction.

  I allowed my back to resettle against the cushion as he carefully placed the ice on my ankle. What was an additional ten minutes anyway? We were silent for a while, the tension between us palpable. Now he knew there was a topic I didn’t want to discuss and I was pretty sure it had piqued his interest. But if he wanted to develop any kind of friendship between us, it would need to be a two-way street.

  Chopper had found his way back into the room and had settled near Jude’s lap. He patted him almost hypnotically as the dog nuzzled farther into his hands. I reached out to scratch him behind the ears and at one point our fingers intersected. We looked away at the same time.

  After ten minutes more, he removed the ice as if he didn’t want to disappoint me any longer or keep me from where I needed to go. But I had settled back into the couch so easily, I no longer had the drive to leave.

  He picked up my ankle, rolled it and asked me if it hurt when he moved it this way or that. “I’m good.”

  “Ice on and off for the next twenty-four hours,” he said, as if he was he was an orthopedic doctor instead of a skateboard daredevil who’d had one too many injuries.

  “Okay, Doc,” I said. “Maybe you should’ve gone into medicine.”

  Sadness filtered through his eyes and again I seemed to have said the wrong thing. This entire situation was so frustrating. Yet so alluring. Or maybe it was just him.

  I stood on shaky legs and then looked down at myself. My shin was bandaged, my ankle was swollen, and my shorts were spotted with splotches of blood.

  I began hobbling to the door. “Appreciate all of your help, Jude.”

  I was having some difficulty but trying not to show it. I kept my face turned away so he didn’t see my pained expression but there was no way he couldn’t tell. Still I kept on going. I had to walk Chopper back home.

  He handed me the leash, I thanked him again, and then walked out.

  I allowed his door to slam behind me and I felt a sting of relief as well as melancholy. I limped partway down the drive before I heard his voice. “Cory.”

  Crap, he was feeling bad. I should’ve tried to hobble less. I turned to look at him.

&n
bsp; “Wait,” he said, thrusting open the screen door.

  My eyebrows arched. What did he think he was going to do? Push me home on his skateboard?

  I heard a noise and realized it was the automatic garage door.

  It lifted, revealing a vintage red motorcycle.

  Chapter Eight

  I staggered back, more than a little disoriented because it hit too close to home. David had owned a red motorcycle. It was a Suzuki Boulevard and this looked like a used Harley Sportster, but still.

  David and I would take off on the open road, riding side by side—it was our thing. And I just . . . fuck. Why seeing that motorcycle was affecting me like this, I didn’t know. It had been three years . . . but it came rushing back as if it was only yesterday.

  I looked down the driveway, hoping to make my escape. I didn’t care how far the distance was from my apartment; I was getting the hell away from here and these too-fresh memories.

  I heard the creak of the wheels as he began rolling the bike onto the pavement. Maybe this ride belonged to the neighbor who owned the house up front or to one of the Disciples. “Is that Sportster yours?”

  He nodded, moving the front wheel toward me. “Bought it from some bloke a couple years ago. It’s not the best option but it’ll get you home the quickest.”

  My heart was in my throat. “I’ve . . . I’ve never seen you on that thing.”

  He shrugged. “Prefer my board.”

  I shoved my fingers through my hair, completely staving off my panic. “I’ll pass. Anyway, I’ve got Chopper.”

  “Chopper will stay with me,” he said all authoritarian and practical. “You’ll get him in the morning.”

  What the fuck? Suddenly Mr. Wordy had it all figured out. “No, man, it’s all cool.”

  But my words had fallen on deaf ears because he was already walking Chopper to his door and placing him inside the house. When Chopper turned to protest, he raised his hand in a silent signal, and the dog immediately sat down on his haunches.