Page 37 of Playing for Keeps (Checkmate 4)

11

Riley

Wow… What A Coincidence

“Nacho! Nacho, no!” Opening my bedroom door, I stop against the door frame and frown at the sounds of running piggy feet, falling plastic bottles, then something made of glass crashing against the floor. It doesn’t shatter, whatever it is, it doesn’t break, so I don’t rush the hall like a crippled hero and try to save the day. Whatever it is rolls against the floor in the kitchen, then stops – perhaps against the island counter. “Nacho!” In the privacy of the hall, where no one can see me, where no one will judge me, I smile at her growl. “You are so naughty! What am I supposed to tell him? Huh?”

Andi grunts, grunts again, then lets out an explosive breath when the pig’s snorting starts up in an almost mocking tone. “Nacho! You can’t chew his shit. Jesus!” The mystery glass rolls again, then Andi stomps her foot to scare the pig. Which makes me jump and sway against the doorway.

Nacho squeals, spins her feet against the floors until she gains traction, then she bolts into the hall to freedom, only to take a fast left into the guest bedroom when she catches sight of me at the end of the hall.

Narrowing my eyes, I fix the crutches under my arms and shake my head.She didn’t… she absolutely wasn’t…Blowing out a breath in preparation for another lap of my house on blisters under my armpits – today might be a wheelchair day, and that burns my gut a million times more than any fucking bullet – I slowly move down the hall and ignore the way Andi’s movements freeze up. She can’t see me. I can’t see her. But the electricity in the air speaks chapters, and the thump of my crutches on the floor telegraphs my every move.

She hears me coming, and I’ve made her nervous.

Stopping at the guest bedroom door, I narrow my eyes at the pig on what was my mom’s bed, and the piggy ass poking out from beneath the pillow. “Are you wearing a fucking tutu?”

Andi squeaks in the kitchen, tosses plastic bottles into the recycling bin, and goes about loading the dishwasher.

I step into the room, forgetting the change from timber to carpet, and sway on my crutches. Moving closer, I study what is definitely a pink tutu on a pig’s ass. “It has sequins. You have a pink tutu with sequins.”

Nacho quivers beneath the pillow and lets out terrified squeals that genuinely make me feel guilty. Slowly backing up before she loses her bladder and messes up my mom’s quilt, I turn at the door and step off the soft carpet. The hallway floor is unforgiving, it pushes the crutches against my tender armpits and draws a hiss from between my lips.

Closing my eyes and dropping my head, I breathe through the pain and ignore the psycho pig that still thinks she’s going to die. Her squeals reach a whole new decibel, a high pitched ringing that knocks around inside my brain and hurts my teeth.

There’s nothing I can do to stop it.

Nothing I can do but focus on my own fucking problems and concentrate on not spewing my meds up. My stomach is empty but for pills, long ago used up the delicious soup and bread Dee made for me.

I woke this morning with the empty tray still sitting on the end of my bed – I worried she’d come in during the night, sneak around, and take it away. It’s something she would do; sneak in, creep while I sleep so she doesn’t have to face my anger, but she didn’t do that. The tray remained where I left it, and I was both relieved and sad that she didn’t come in.

Shaking my head, preparing to keep moving so I have time to get ready before the nurse arrives, I square my shoulders and ignore the fiery sting in my arms and belly.

Emerging into the mostly silent living room, I glance left to the empty couch, then to the right to the kitchen island and swallow my tongue at the wild beauty in front of my eyes.

Her hair stands on end, her shirt –myshirt – hangs off one shoulder, showing off a delicate collarbone, and my pants bunch at the waist, held up by a tightly knotted drawstring and gather at the bottom, since they’re several inches too long for her legs.

Her blue eyes watch me warily; it’s a new day,will Riley say good morning, or is he still an asshole?She leans against the counter with her wild looks and baggy clothes, holding a steaming mug of coffee between both hands, and acts like everything is totally normal.

“Your pig is wearing a pink tutu…”

Her cheeks flush pink until her eyes go back to the mug. She can’t keep eye contact, and unlike yesterday, that amuses me. “Yeah? So what?”

“So… nothing. I’m just making an observation.”

“Good job, observation made. You want some breakfast?”

“No, it’s just… I’ve never seen a pig wearing a tutu before.”

She huffs and brings her shoulders up in defense. “I don’t see what the big friggin deal is. It’s just a scrap of tulle. Took me thirty seconds to pin together.”

A flustered Andi is entertaining as shit. The whole time I’ve known her, she’s tried to push me off balance, always trying to fluster me and make me blush, but here we are; a guy talks about her pig wearing a tutu and she can’t stand the heat. “Right… but it’s on a pig.”

Turning with a growl, she finally meets my eyes. “You know what? You gotta drop it. I didn’t ask your opinion. The same way you didn’t ask my opinion on your messy hair or the toothpaste streak you have on your shirt. Looks like someone jizzed on your chest, did ya know that?”

I drop my gaze to my shirt and scowl at the smear of white. “It’s toothpaste.”

She gives a dainty little shrug. “Like I said, you didn’t ask, and therefore, I’m not giving an opinion on the fact I suspect a dude snuck into your room overnight and jacked off on your chest.”

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