“He won’t.” Why would he?
“He will.”
“Go take your shower,” I grumble as I flop back onto my bed. When I remember my beer-soaked clothes, I quickly sit back up and wince at my throbbing ankle. Luckily, my dresser is what’s holding up my bed. Reaching down, I pull open the top drawer and grab a sweatshirt, then strip out of my gross tee, the green one that says, “Irish Lass Full of Sass.” As soon as that’s off, I do my best to get my favorite jeans off as well, but that’s not going to happen since they’re skinny jeans, and my ankle is too swollen to attempt to get them over that. I decide to get them mostly off, sliding the jeans off my left leg. With one bare leg and the other clad in still-moist jeans, I slip the sweatshirt on and lie back onto the bed. “If I could just get to sleep.” I’ll wake up and my ankle will be just fine.
3
Becklyn
“Becklyn?”
I feel my body being jostled a little bit. “No, Mom.” She can be so annoying. “Let me sleep.”
A deep chuckle causes me to wake a little. “Becklyn.” The man’s voice is almost a whisper. “Wake up, honey.”
“Huh?” I blink a few times and see him standing next to my bed. “Lucky?” Am I dreaming? I’ve had this dream before. The one where Lucky shows up and climbs into bed with me and does things to me. Lovely, wonderful, nice things….
“I brought some ice. And a wrap for your ankle.”
Crap.Thatdream is notthisdream. This dream is where I made an ass of myself at a party and hurt myself at that same party and the man of my dreams now has to have back surgery because he practically carried me all the way home.
“I don’t need back surgery.”
Oh. Crap. I said that aloud? What else did I say?
“And you didn’t do anything wrong. It was Alex’s fault. He fell on top of you.”
Now I know I said that entire thing out loud. Deciding to move on before I recall all the stupid stuff I’d just said, I ask, “Alex?”
“Forward for the basketball team.”
“I knew he played basketball.” Not really. It was merely an observation that it was possible due the guy’s incredible tallness.
“Let me see your ankle.” Lucky is already pulling my blanket off me. I don’t even consider the fact that all I’m actually wearing is a sweatshirt and undies. Oh, and my jeans, but only on one leg. Which means we’re back to the knowledge that all I’m wearing is a top and underwear. When he’s got the blanket pulled down past my hips, he stops. “Oh.”
Suddenly, I don’t care if he sees my thighs. “Here.” I throw the blanket the rest of the way off.
“What’s with the jeans?” He’s staring at my pants.
“Couldn’t get them off over the ankle.”
Moving back, he turns toward Deena’s side of the room. “Can you turn the light on?”
“Sure,” she grumbles, adding. “No problem, even though it’s freaking late.” I hear her footsteps and see the overhead light flick on.
“Jesus,” Lucky mutters. “It’s huge.”
That’s what she said.
Don’t worry. I’m positive I didn’t saythatout loud.
Pushing up onto my elbows, I look down. “Oh, wow.” He’s right. It’s twice the size it was before.
“No wonder you couldn’t get your jeans off.” He looks right, then left, then back at me. “Got any scissors?”
“Scissors? What for?”
“To cut off the jeans.”
