Page 5 of Missed Steps
“Waiting,” Mark replies, totally at ease.
I lean back as well, irritated. I could text one of the guys, but I’m pretty sure they’ve all blocked me. No one has even read, let alone replied to, the messages I sent when I got back to college. Mark clearly isn’t going anywhere. I don’t want to hobble around in front of him, but as long as my leg stays hidden, I can probably live with it. Not that Mark is giving me a choice in the matter.
“Okay,” I say, grumpy. “Fine.”
Mark raises an eyebrow. “I expected at least ten minutes of stubbornness.”
“It’s too cold for that,” I say.
Mark springs up. “I’ll pull the car up to the curb. I don’t think I need to tell you to stay put since you’re obviously in pain despite pretending otherwise.” He shrugs off his coat and places it on my shoulders. It’s warm from his body heat and smells divine.
My attention shifts to Mark, who now stands in the cold air with only a cotton polo shirt covering his torso. The material is a perfect, gleaming white. “Wait here,” he warns me a final time before walking away.
I watch his back and, unable to help myself, slip the coat on. It’s soft, pleasantly heavy, and oversized. The sleeves are too long, so I push them up, and I love the warm cosiness that envelops me. Mark is back too soon; I was still appreciating the coat. Disappointed, I reach for the buttons but his hands cover mine.
“Keep it on. I’m warm from training,” Mark says.
His handsarewarm. I gaze at them as they fully envelop mine, and a full-body shudder wracks through me.
“See?” Mark says, squeezing my fingers under his and guiding them off the buttons. “You’re shivering.” His touch lingers for what feels like a long time. I look up and our eyes meet.
“Have you changed your mind about letting me see?”
“No.”
“Figures,” Mark mutters. “Okay, let’s get out of the cold then.”
He positions himself at my side, wrapping his arm around my waist. I grab his shoulder, and we walk to his car as a three-legged fused being. I don’t dare place my left leg down, knowing it won’t support any weight.
With some careful manoeuvring and pretty much hugging Mark, I’m safely in the car without jostling my leg.
Chapter Three
I rub my leg discreetly as Mark walks to the driver’s door. As he gets in, I force my hands to be still on my lap. This is not how I pictured my day going. The inside of Mark’s car is pristine—I would expect nothing less from someone who turns up his nose at the slightest mess—and with the heat turned up, it’s already warm.
Mark gets into the driver’s seat, and he looks so preppy with that white polo and the luxury car. I bet Mark plays tennis during the summers. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took a ferry to England and played polo, either. I bet he’d dominate in it. He’s amazing at any sport he tries.
When he flicks on the headlights, they’re those awful, eye-burning LED ones that are blinding even when it’s not on high beams.
“You’re in the college village?” Mark asks.
“No, I moved. I live in an apartment block five minutes into town. I’ll get it up on my phone.” I type my address into Maps and hand it to Mark. He checks the route and nods to himself before returning it.
I’m feeling awkward as we pull into traffic. I’d understand if someone I had been friends with saw me fall and wanted to help, but Mark and I haven’t ever talked. Aside from trash talk, of course. I used to do a lot of that when we competed. So did he. I never held it against him, and I guess this means he hasn’t held it against me.
“How sore is it?” Mark asks.
“I’m fine.”
He grunts, clearly not believing me. He pulls off the main road and parks in front of a pharmacy. “Which painkillers do you prefer?” he asks.
“You don’t listen,” I reply.
Mark leans over me. I freeze at his proximity as he roots around in my pocket—his coat pocket—and takes out a wallet. “I’ll just get Advil, then.”
I sit, watching him through the window as he walks through the aisles, plucking items from shelves as he goes. He returns with a shopping bag and offers it to me. I take the bag and peek in. There’s an array of painkillers, ice packs, rolls of bandages, and creams.
“Do you have the receipt?” I ask, irritated.
