Cheryl gave him a rueful smile, then sighed. “I can’t believe I hurt myself! I shelled out for new boots and everything!”
“I know, it sucks. What should we do?”
Cheryl bent to massage her sore ankle. “I don’t know. We have to walk back anyway, and I’ll be so pissed if I don’t see the top. I wish I could fly.”
Patrick ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “I could… I mean, did you want a piggyback?”
She straightened, her expression skeptical. “A piggyback?”
“Yeah, so we can see the top. Then we can go slow on the way down.”
“Won’t I be too heavy?”
He tried and failed to suppress a snort. “I’m match fit, KitKat. I could carry two of you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Cheryl raised her arms like a bodybuilder. “I’m Patrick Normal, I’m twenty-one and a big dick football player! I can carry anything!”
“In fairness, my dick is pretty big.” He gestured to the trail. “Do you want a lift or not?”
Cheryl frowned, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. ‘What if he gets the wrong idea?’
There had always been physical barriers between them. A gap in the couch, a silent agreement to avoid the shared armrest at the movies. This would be the first time he touched her for longer than a friendly hug.
“Let’s just head back,” he told her. “Or I can run and get someone. They might be able to send up a Jeep?”
“No.” Cheryl straightened. “If you’re sure you can carry me—”
“I can.”
“Then let’s do this. But the second I think you’re struggling, you’re putting me down.”
“Sure,” he said, aware of the hike in his pulse. “Gimmie a sec.”
He shifted his backpack so it hung from his chest then crouched in the dirt. “Get on.”
There was a pause in which he questioned ever talking at all, and then Cheryl settled against his back, her hands around his neck. Ignoring the thing doing backflips in his stomach, he stood. She was no heavier than the bag he took to away games.
He looped his elbows under her knees. “You good?”
“Hmm,” she grumbled. “I can’t believe I hurt my ankle.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, setting off. Knowing she couldn’t see his face, he let himself smile. He hadn’t wanted Cheryl to hurt her ankle, but if she had to do it, he couldn’t lie. He was glad it had happened now.
* * *
Present Day
Patrick knew he deserved this. The night he’d met Cheryl he’d been off his face and drooling all over her. She hadn’t held it against him. Now he had to return the favour. She was asleep when they got to her place, so he carried her from the car to the amusement of their driver.
“Put a bucket with water in it by your bed,” he called out the open window.
Patrick wanted to tell him to mind his own business, but it was kind of nice he thought they slept in the same bed. He climbed the stairs to Cheryl’s apartment slowly, loving and hating the feel of her in his arms. He’d spent four years wanting to be this man for her and now it was happening in the most twisted, monkey-paw way possible.
Cheryl’s breathing stayed steady as he reached the door. Her little purse was still strapped around her, and he moved her onto his hip, trying to get her keys without waking her. As he fumbled with the clasp, Cheryl’s head jerked up. “Pat-trick? Is everything okay?”
“Of course,” he said soothingly. “I’ll just open your door and get you into bed.”
She giggled and the low, husky sound made his blood run hot. “Not like that.”
