Hustling through the center, I keep my head down. Hood pulled low, I probably look like I’m evading capture after a robbery. With each heavy step, my footfalls reverberate not just the pain of my weight to my worn-out joints but a message of shame.I did this to myself. Both my accident and how I’m fleeing right now from a reunion with my college hookup.
Shoving through the door, the smell of chlorine from the therapy pool across the hallway that leads to the exit stings my eyes. Did he know it was me? If he didn’t, will he find out later when he’s going through records?
Why the fuck did I wear these bummy old jogging pants and let my ass get so fat? Gale really needs to stop letting me eat Rice Krispies Treats. It’s one of the few non-chocolate snack foods I enjoy that aren’t harmful to dogs. It doesn’t seem as funny now, blaming her when I reach in and feel the bottom of the box whilewe binge-watch TV together. How have I not noticed the feeling of my ass jiggling when I walk until this moment?
Glancing up, so I don’t end this walk of shame by running into someone or the exit door, I stop in my tracks. My sneakers squeak to a halt, ass fucking jiggling from the force like I haven’t been mocked enough by my life choices today. It is Remy. DefinitelymyRemy.
My God, was he always this handsome?
His arms fill the sleeves of his blue button-up, tucked neatly into his khakis. My eyes rake over the lines of his torso—slim, yet solid, with more meat on him than I remember. Sleeves rolled up to the elbows, his forearms are speckled with hair that I imagine would be soft to the touch. My mouth waters watching his throat undulate, remembering how it felt under my mouth. I used to graze my lips across his jaw, which is now covered in a light layer of dark stubble that adds a sexiness to the years he’s acquired.
He scrubs his hand across his forehead. It’s oddly fascinating to see that his bangs don’t fall into his face the way they used to, back when guys all had longer, messier hair. They’re shorter, combed back. Both stylish and yet unassuming, with flecks of blonde like they’ve been kissed by the sunlight from time outdoors. Head leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, he blows out a breath like he’s trying to calm himself.
The distress on his face pierces the bubble of my mini fantasy. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Is he…out here because of me?
Part of me wants the floor to swallow me up, knowing that would mean he was dreading having to face me. Who in the hell wants to leave that kind of impression on someone? But if he’s out here having a moment because of me, does that mean…
Turning, he takes a step, and those blue eyes of his damn near pierce me to my soul. “Chris,” he blurts, sounding breathless, like he hit a brick wall.
My mouth moves, but nothing comes out. Nothing goes in either. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
“Remy?” I croak like an inquiry even though I know damn well and good he’s real and standing right in front of me.
He lets out a puff of air, as though he’s suspended in the same disbelief. “Yeah.”
The view of him head-on is just as good as his profile. Better even with those bewildered eyes on me. Maybe I’m just imagining things, but they scan me from head to toe like he’s done so many times before. Something instinctual kicks in, making me want to take a step forward, back him up against the wall, and claim him the way I used to. Press my chest and pelvis against his. Breathe him in and find out if he still has a hint of that sweet scent that used to cling to his skin underneath his cologne. Run my lips down his neck and suck on the base of his throat to hear him whimper those sounds that made my nuts draw up. God, how am I just now remembering that little detail?
I knew him once. Or at least my body knew his.
Would it still be the same? Would his still know mine?
“Are…are you done?”
My gaze snaps to his, feeling caught. “What?”
“I mean, I can see that you’re done. Is…everything all right? I’m sorry I didn’t disconnect you. I lost track of the time.”
His words register, humbling me more than the idea of getting caught ogling him. Right. I’m just a patient. He’s not here waiting for a fuck or to drool over my broken body, thirty-pounds-heavier ass, and useless, doesn’t-always-work-right cock.
“Yeah.”
Everything isnotall right, but I don’t know what else to say. Looking past him, it would only be a few short, awkward steps to go around him and get to the door, but despite the urge to flee, I have questions. So many questions. Things I need to know before I bolt and piece back together a new version of my wank fantasy fodder to get me through the next fifteen years.
“You work here?”
“Yeah,” he answers with a breathless laugh, stuffing a hand into his pocket.
Cringing internally, I shift in place. Of course, he fucking works here. Man, I’m smooth.
“I was at BAMC for about twelve years,” he elaborates, “but when I heard they were opening this center, I thought it might be a nice change.”
He’s been in San Antonio fortwelve years?This whole time?
Shit. We could have…
Could havewhat?What the hell am I saying?
I spent most of my savings on a house in a decent neighborhood that put me smack in the middle of all the colleges in the area, so I could easily get to all the games. I doubt there would have been any appeal in an unemployed guy on disability who was just coming off a pain pill addiction and spent his time sitting in the bleachers like a lost puppy.
