Page 8 of Hard Count
“Again? You’ve been doing that a lot this week.”
“I’m not just watching. I’m studying. That takes time.” He sounds irritated. Is it because his buddy is pestering him or because he’s figured out I was right? I’m surprised he actually took the time to watch the game. I fully expected him to brush off my ideas. He definitely gave me that impression at O’ Malley’s Bar. Maybe it was our moment last week in the bathroom that changed his mind.
I don’t know what possessed me to follow him in there. I was hoping to talk some sense into him. Maybe calm him down. Instead, my will power was put to the test. The man is fine on a bad day. Present him to me shirtless, sweaty, and filled with testosterone after a fight? It was hard not to stare at him.
He was sitting there with his brown skin glistening and the only thing I could think about is how badly I wish I could be reincarnated as the paper towel he was using to clean the blood off his body. Instead of offering advice, I insult his game and build up my defensive wall. It seems to be the only thing I’m truly good at.
I step up another level.Please do not collapse on me. I don’t know how much weight these metal shelves support but hopefully it’s over a hundred and fifty pounds. I find the sheets I need and toss them to Frankie.
Up here, I have a clear view of the entire store including the spot where Nash is standing smirking back at me. I squeak in shock at being caught and dip my head back on my side of the aisle. I panic and scramble down the shelving unit. “Dammit.” I bet he thinks I climbed up here just to spy on them.
“What’s wrong? You need to get down.”
“My shirt is stuck,” I reply in dismay. I have to stand on my toes or else my shirt lifts high enough I’m risking more than exposing a little underboob. I can hold my body weight on the pullup bar for a moderate amount of time. The bedding section, however, isn’t the same as being in the gym and I’m struggling to keep my balance.
“I told you you should have worn a bra,” Frankie scolds.
“Yeah well when I checked my horoscope this morning it didn’t say anything about hanging by a literal thread.” I use my arm strength to hold myself tight against the edge of the shelf so I can attempt to unhook my shirt from whatever it’s caught on.
“Ohno,” Frankie murmurs. What does she meanoh no? I look toward the end of the aisle. Nash and his friend look very domesticated pushing their purple shopping cart.
“Shit.” I yank harder on my shirt. I don’t even care if I rip it at this point. I want to get down and out of here before Nash gets any closer.
“Do you need some help?” he asks with a hint of amusement in his deep voice. Sweat beads at my hairline. Not from exertion but unbridled anxiety. I don’t want him seeing me like this. I feel exposed and vulnerable. And I’m not talking about him being able to look up my shirt. He can have his fill of that. In fact, I hope he enjoys the view enough to think about it later when he’s alone.
“I’m fine,” I grit out with another pull on my shirt. “Why is this not coming off?” What is it hooked on? I can’t see anything from this angle. I switch my arms before my left one gives out. Cool air hits my back. I can’t think about what everyone is seeing right now.
“Fuck,” Nash mutters. Strong arms slap around my legs in a rush and suddenly I’m propped on Nash’s shoulder like a parrot. “You good?” he asks, startling me with a squeeze of my upper thigh. I would complain in protest but I’m afraid he would sniff out the lie. His calloused palms scrape at my skin in a way that leaves me wanting more. Nope. Don’t mind the feel of his hands on me one bit. Dammit. Why does he have to be so attractive?
“Mm-hm,” I hum, biting down on my lower lip. With him holding me, it’s much easier to see where my shirt is caught. I squirm a little and he tightens his hold on my legs. “Got it.”
He steps back from the shelves of sheets and pillow cases and carefully lowers me to the ground. I fiddle with the ripped fabric of my shirt that conveniently exposes a bit of cleavage. It’s fine. Everything is fine. I give up. I’m only drawing more attention to my chest at this point.
“Thanks,” I say to Nash. He nods, avoiding eye contact as he walks back over to his cart. I try to brush off his quick dismissal. It's awkward enough having just been caught with my tits out in front of him. “We should probably get going. We still have a few more things to grab. Are you ready, Frankie?”
“Yep.” She motions goodbye to Nash’s friend with a flirty finger wave.
“Thanks again,” I mumble to Nash before taking off like a jet down the aisle and making a sharp right when I get to the end.
When Frankie finally catches up to me, we glance at each other and burst out laughing. “Look at me,” I screech, flicking my ruined shirt.
“If it makes you feel better, I only saw your boobs once after Elijah and Nash showed up,” she teases.
“Oh thank goodness. I’m so relieved,” I deadpan and groan.
“Not sure if you heard since you were busy playing Elf on the Shelf but Elijah said he’s heading up to The Armory later with a few guys from the team. Do you want to go?”
My face heats with embarrassment at the thought of running into Nash so soon after hanging off a shelf in the bedding section of a super store. “You’re hilarious. I’ll have to take a raincheck. I’m having dinner with my dad.” For once that seems like a more tolerable option than going out with friends.
I explained a little bit about my relationship with my parents when I contacted her about renting the apartment. I was hoping my predicament would move me to the top of her list. Last minute rentals aren’t easy to find.
“Dinner with daddy dearest. I’m sorry.” She steers the cart down the aisle full of crackers, candies, and other yummy snacks. I throw a few of my favorites in the cart.
“It’s the least I can do since he’s paying my tuition. His words. Not mine.” I add a couple bags of chocolate candies into the cart. I’ll need them after an evening of guilt trips and stilted affection.
Maybe it’ll be nice. I’ve been busy the last few weeks getting ready for classes and he’s been hiding out in his office as usual. I haven’t seen him much despite living with him.
It’s been almost a year since we’ve had any quality one on one time. And if it’s bad, I’ll conjure up homework and studying excuses to get out of future bonding sessions. If I learned anything over the years, success is the way into my dad’s heart.
