“Where is your place from here?” He caught up with me in no time thanks to his long, long legs. They were clad in jeans that had to be personally made for him. Damn his strong, sexy body. And, to top it off, he wore a loose baseball tee. I was a sucker for baseball tees.
“It's a fifteen-minute walk.”
“And you were going to do this alone?” His tone changed to the one I was used to. “Are you kidding? Don’t be an idiot.”
“No need to be a dick about it,” I snapped. “I can take care of myself. I have for most of my life.”
He grunted instead of responding. Fine by me. I was in no mood to talk. So, I kept walking as fast as I could in my stupid heels. I admitted I was clumsy, but karma wanted to laugh at me again by having a branch stick out from the sidewalk. I hit it, losing my balance and flailing like an inflatable tube man at a car dealership. Then I fell. To my knees. In a dress. Next to Asshole Anderson.
“Aw hell.” My knees were scraped, and my body hurt even more.
Not my knee. Not again. Not now.
“Are you okay?” He bent lower, his hands going to my ankle. His large hands almost covered my entire foot. “Shit, Grace.”
He rubbed his hand over my ankle then all the way up to my knee. The rational part of me knew he was checking to see if I’d broken anything. That was his job. He was good at it. The irrational part of me enjoyed how freaking large his hands were and how they warmed my skin. He gripped my knee, and I winced, pulling my leg closer to my body. “Right here? Is that where it hurts?”
I gritted my teeth. “Yes.”
He stayed with me on the ground, kneading the area around my kneecap and using two large fingers to press into my muscles. I jumped, but he used his other hand to keep me still. “Hmm. Looks like you twisted it real good. Ibuprofen and ice will help.”
“Thanks, trainer.” I flinched, trying to stand up. He crouched down and instead of helping me up, he scooped me into his arms as though I weighed nothing. Before I could protest, he had me pressed to his chest.
What. The. Hell.
If heaven had a scent, it couldn’t be better than the one radiating off Anderson. A mixture of soap, wood, and something I would forever associate with him. Part of me wanted to nuzzle his neck, bite him, enjoy his arms. The other part was confused. It was weird to feel attraction toward him and pain shooting up my leg. This was the same man who literally was the rudest person I had ever met earlier that week. Talk about mixed signals.
“I can walk, I think,” I croaked out.
“Doubtful. It's already swollen. Is it still pretty far?”
“Yeah. Let's call a car or something,” I suggested, hoping he would take it. He couldn't carry me for a mile. Hell no. “It'll be easier.”
“Sure. I'll ride with you, though.” Then, he set me on the curb as I pulled out my phone. The Uber was still twenty minutes away. Twenty minutes of sitting next to him on the curb. All I wanted to do was fall asleep. “How many more double shifts do you have?”
“Five. Five more.” I closed my eyes with my phone in one hand, my knee in the other. I was thirsty, tired, and disordered. “Every day this week, then it's just the internship.”
He hummed in response. That was fine. I liked docile and calm Anderson. “Is your hand okay?”
“My knee, you mean?” I questioned, unsure what he was asking about.
He chuckled softly. Oh, that chuckle could do things to the female population. It was slow and had a wonderful rumble. My rational brain slapped the other half and stopped that thought from forming. “I meant that night I saw you at the bar. You knocked your hand against the wooden stool.”
“Youdoremember that night. I wasn't sure.” My eyes remained closed, the memory of that night still fresh. Embarrassment hit me again, hard. Gilly insisted I try flirting. I did. And he dismissed me with barely a shake of the head.And I didn’t recognize him. That’s the worst part.
“Yeah. I remember,” he said it with a hint of resolve, like it pained him. “Anyway, you've worked as a waitress for long?”
“Almost three years.” I yawned, my eyelids becoming heavier by the second. “I'm taking a leave of absence to complete the internship, but afterward I'll go back.”
“Good money?”
“Oh, yeah.” I yawned, again. “I'm struggling.”
“I can see that.” He chuckled that warm sound again. “If you need to rest your head on me, I won't object.”
“That wasn't an Asshole Anderson thing to say.” I smiled as I dropped my head to his shoulder. His large, strong, meaty shoulder. “Nice Anderson is different. Harder to read.”
Then, the sleep took over.
