He sighs, takes the card and tucks it into his back pocket. “What does your schedule look like here?” he asks. “I don’t want to get in the way of the rehab.”
“Mornings are PT with Jason. That runs till about eleven, eleven-thirty. Then lunch. Afternoons are occupationaltherapy with Leah and sometimes group. I’m usually done by five.”
“How about lunch tomorrow?” he asks. “I can come at noon and bring food. We’ll eat, then I leave and you do the afternoon sessions. I can come back when you’re finished and stay until they kick me out. I can do whatever doesn’t interfere with your rehab.”
“Lunch definitely works for me.”
“I’m beginning to think you only like me for the food,” he teases. “And the coffee. I’ll check out the local area and find the very best coffee for you. When I come at noon, you can tell me how many push-ups you did and I’ll be impressed. I can tell you’ve been doing a lot by the buildup in your muscles.” His eyes drop to my chest. “I’m staring again,” he says. “Can’t help it. I’m becoming obsessed. You would think I’ve never seen muscles before.”
I look at the clock on the wall. It’s almost eight. I take his hand and bring it to my lips one more time. Now that I’ve made the first move to touch him, I can’t stop. “Stay a little longer,” I say against his skin. “I don’t want you to go.”
“You know me. I’ll always stay until they kick me out.”
“I’m looking forward to the day when they don’t,” I say. “When there’s no visiting hours and no one coming to open the door.”
Benji leans forward and smiles at me. “Can you imagine?” he whispers. “The door locked and only us. We could talk until the sun comes up and no one could say a word about it.”
“I wasn’t thinking about talking,” I say.
His breath hitches, and his eyes go wide. “Oh, is that right, Officer Weaver? Give me the time and place, and I’ll be there. You’re flirting with me and I love it.”
I move my thumb across the back of his hand. “See that you do.”
The nurse knocks at ten past eight. “Visiting hours are over,” she says. “Time to wrap it up.”
I reluctantly let go of his hand and he uncurls from the chair with a heavy sigh. He slings his bag over his shoulder and stands in the doorway.
“Goodnight, Mickey.”
“Goodnight, Benji. Text me when you get settled in.”
Then he’s gone and the nurse, Gloria, comes back to help me into bed. She’s good at her job. She sets the brakes, positions the board, talks me through the pivot. I do most of the work myself. My arms shake at the end but they hold.
After she leaves, I lie on my back and replay every second of the last four hours. The way he looked up at me from the floor between my legs and the question in his voice when he asked how far he could go. I said higher. When he touched my neck, I felt it all the way into my shoulders. And when his hands moved above my knees, I felt a flicker low in my body that scared the hell out of me.
I’ve had moments at night where I thought maybe sensation was trying to come back. A little warmth. Pressure. Enough to make me wonder if my body was trying to wake up below the injury line.
Tonight was the first time it felt real.
I haven’t told anyone about it yet. Not Jason. Not the doctors.
Because if I say it out loud and it disappears tomorrow, I don’t know what that would do to me.
Chapter 26: Benji
I wake up at five-thirty in the Holiday Inn with the memory of Mickey’s hand on my hip. The hotel room is fine. The bed is clean, the pool is, in fact, questionable, and the coffee maker on the counter uses pods that produce a liquid I refuse to dignify with the word “coffee”.
I shower, dress, and drive two blocks to a coffee shop that has 4.2 stars and a line for the drive-thru wrapping around the building at six in the morning, which is always a good sign.
I order a large cold brew for myself, a scouting mission to ensure the local brew is worthy of Mickey. While I wait in the drive-thru, I take a photo of the cup sweating in my cup holder. I text it to him.
Benji:New coffee place. First sip verdict: 4.7 stars. The foam art is ambitious. The barista has a nose ring and called me “babe” which I respect. Consider this a preview of your lunch delivery.
I take the coffee back to the hotel and sit on the bed. And then, because I can’t leave well enough alone, I get an idea. I prop my phone against the lamp beside the bed. I pull my shirt off. I lean back against the headboard and let the white hotel sheets sit low on my hips, just below my navel, and I take the photo. My hair is wrecked from sleep, no eyeliner, no chain, bare shoulders and a grin that has no business existing at six in the morning. The sheets are positioned exactly where I want them. Low enough to be suggestive and high enough to maintain the thinnest line of deniability.
I send it.
Benji:Don’t worry. I put on a cap and went through the drive-thru. Nobody was subjected to this mess.
