“You’re a football player, not a boxer.”
“It’s a gladiator sport, remember? I’ve had more fat lips, split lips, bruised lips...”
A flock of heart fluffies thunders through me. “Can you please stop talking about your lips?”
His lips twist like he’s holding back a chuckle, confirming he’s well aware of the effect he has on me. “What these lips?” He points.
“Nope, my luck hasn’t changed, but I won’t let you work your charms on me.”
“My charms? My lucky charms?” He laughs. “Oh, Pippa, if that’s where we’re at, then you haven’t seen anything yet.”
Forget rules. I need a set of governing laws, otherwise, I don’t stand a chance.
19
CHASE
Pippa perches on the counter, putting us at eye level. I assume this is a teacher’s lounge with its kitchenette, a couple of tables for six, and a few sofas in a sitting area.
She gently presses her lips together as if testing my work.
“Don’t fuss with it.”
She raises her hand to her mouth. I brush it away, but I twine my fingers around hers for a beat before releasing. My usually robust breath has taken on a staccato rhythm since coming in here and tending to Pippa’s lip.
Even though they look nothing alike, I force myself to think about Freddie because I can’t maintain distance from her right now. I can’t cross the line with my best friend’s sister because, more than anything, I want to kiss her boo-boo...kiss her, fat lip and all.
Clearing my throat, I say, “The butterfly strip will help the blood do its job to coagulate and then you’ll have a natural bandage. It’ll be healed in a few days.”
“But it’s?—”
“Accidents happen.”
“Mostly to me.”
“What’s your worst scar?”
Her eyes bulge and she gently taps the space under her lip. “Is this going to scar?”
“No. Stop fretting. You make a terrible patient. But seriously, name your scars.”
“Um, I skinned my knees a few times.”
“Broken any bones?”
“I twisted my ankle in junior high.”
I tilt my head. “I’ve broken nine bones, torn both ACLs, and let’s see, at last count I have—” I mentally add the scars on my legs and torso to the ones on my arms. “Oh, and this one from last season was brutal.” I start to lift my shirt where I was swiped on the waist during a tackle by a sharp piece of helmet that somehow got under my gear.
“No, you don’t have to show me.”
I lean back. “It was gnarly. It healed and kind of looks like a lightning bolt.”
“In that case, you could magic it away like Harry Potter.”
“If powers like that were real, I’d heal your lip like that.” I snap my fingers.
“Thanks for helping me out.” She wiggles her lip ever so slightly, like she can’t resist fiddling with the bandage.
