Orlando turns and shrugs with his good shoulder. “Is there a problem?”
I look around. First, the place is a mess. There are pieces of paper, dishes, and random athletic supplies scattered everywhere. Orlando’s apartment is one large loft, so I can see everything from the kitchen counter, which is stacked with cardboard boxes, to the bed, elevated and accessible only by ladder.
I stalk over to the bathroom and push the door open. “No bath mat. Slippery tile.” I turn back to him and point. “There are exercise bands all over the floor behind you.” I swing my finger to point across the room. “And when were you going to mention that you have to climb a ladder to get to your bed?”
Orlando picks up an exercise band. “I must have rushed out the door before the match with San Diego.” He holds the back of his hand to his forehead, faking and dramatic. “If only my memories weren’t so jumbled, I could answer your questions.”
I grab the exercise band from him. “Nope. Hell no. You can’t stay here until a crew comes through. And not just the damn crew I was already going to hire. A whole other crew, too.”
My brain is working overtime. He lives in a frat house of hazards. This won’t work at all.
Orlando crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh really? You going to drive me back to the hospital?”
“You’ll stay with me tonight,” I say firmly.
His eyebrows raise, and I think Orlando is excited by the offer, which makes satisfaction rumble right through my core. But he shakes his head. “Stace is coming over in the morning. If you’re so worried about it, stay here.”
I clamp my mouth shut. I’m uncomfortable with the idea, but I think I want it, too.
“Hotel,” I try.
Orlando must see that he’s got me because he shrugs. “Do whatever you want,” he says casually, “but I’m staying here.”
I look around, consider my options, and resign myself to at least a few more hours in his jock lair. “I should stay at least until the home team arrives,” I grumble and pick up a couple exercise bands.
* * *
ORLANDO
Troy hauls the mattress down from the loft and throws it in the middle of the living space. I sit on the couch and answer his occasional questions about where things are, and he alternates between organizing and talking to people on the phone.
By the time the home team finishes setting up, I’m exhausted again, and I collapse right on the mattress. Troy looks down at me and then around the loft. “This is pretty much everything,” he says. “I should get home.”
I frown, annoyed that he’s running away. “It’s late. The mattress is huge. Don’t be a weirdo. Just keep an eye on me for one more night, and tomorrow, I’ll have entire teams of people in my hair instead of you.”
Troy huffs, but doesn’t argue. “Fine,” he says and goes straight to the bathroom. Since I’ve already washed up, I lie there and listen to the water running.
He returns in his boxers and t-shirt. “You’ll be all set here,” he says, although it sounds more like he’s talking to himself than me.
I sit up a little. “You don’t have to stop checking on me just because we’re home. Don’t you act like this with all your clients anyway?”
Troy frowns as he gets on the mattress with me. “Like this? No.”
I grin to myself, but I’m too tired to push it more. I do notice, though, that Troy refrains from putting a pillow between us this time.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he finally says. “I’m… I’ll see you through this.”
His words are like a warm blanket.
“I know you will, Troy,” I say. “Thanks.”
He grunts. “It’s nothing. It’s what I know to do.”
I push my foot against his, like in the hotel. “What does that mean?”
Troy shakes his head. “Nothing. I guess I mean I haven’t always had an easy time relating to other people. But I know how to take care of athletes, so that’s what I do.”
That makes my heart hurt, but I stop myself from showing too much sympathy, knowing Troy wouldn’t like that.
