Page 21 of My (Not So) Perfect Plan

Suddenly I’m not intimidated by his good looks or his fancy house anymore. He’s just a kid who had a tough break and can’t see his way out of it.

I lean over his frowning face and poke him in the chest with each point I make. “You’re supposed to be a champion, remember? You’re supposed to lead by example. Don’t tell me that underneath all those muscles and pads was a wuss.”

He grabs my poking finger, growling. “Who do you think you are?” I gasp and pull away because his hand on mine does something tingly to my senses, but he isn’t going to win this one.

“Someone who cares about you, more than you care about yourself, evidently. And considering I don’t care about youthatmuch, that’s pathetic.” I step back, crossing my arms again. “So what’s it going to be? Are you going to try and recover or are you going to whine like a child and put yourself more at risk?”

His face turns red and he glares at me. It’s somewhat frightening, and I can only hope my goading works. I wonder if this is how coaches feel sometimes.

“You’re mad, aren’t you?” I ask him. The question is rhetorical. “Good. Use it.” I point to his leg. “Let’s get to work.”

I move toward him again as if he’s going to comply (because I BELIEVE in the power of suggestion). When I begin to lift his leg, he helps me. Or I help him, depending on how you look at it. Either way I’m pleased, but I’m not going to sayanything for now because when you win a battle like this, it’s inadvisable to say anything that might appear like gloating.

We finish twenty minutes worth of leg exercises that have me impressed again by the muscle definition in his legs and thighs. I have him stand up and start doing the standing exercises, using the wall to help him keep his balance. Many of the exercises he can only barely manage to do, but if we do them every day, the hope is that the other ligaments will reattach on their own and start healing while the other muscles do their thing.

“How are you doing, tiger?” I ask as I notice his face is starting to break into a sweat and his wince is becoming more noticeable. “You’re not supposed to be pushing it too hard with an injury.”

“Yes, coach,” he says, smiling at me over his arm.

“Ready to do some English?”

He snorts and takes a hand off the wall. I stand up straight, thinking he wants me to get his crutches, but to my surprise, he throw his arm around my shoulder.

“Help me get to the bed?” His voice is laced with laughter at my squeak of protest. I decide to take Rachel’s advice and enjoy the feel of his lean, muscled body flush against mine.

We hobble to the bed, where he first sits and then starts to collapse until he realize that’s a bad idea what with how his knee doesn’t want to bend. He scooches back on the bed until he’s sitting up against the head board.

I grab his backpack and take out the ipad that has the majority of his homework assignments. I also pull out the work sheet his English teacher gave me.

“I thought we might start off working on this.” I hand it to him and then look around his room. “You have a laptop tray or something?”

“No.” He watches me get up and go over to his bookcase. I’m pleasantly surprised to see he has a whole collection on woodworking that has me seeing him as more than just a jock. I pull out the biggest thin book I can find on his shelf and bring it over. It’s a fifth grade year book. As I walk over to the bed I flip it open. The first picture I land on is mine. Yuck. Flip the page. Now here is something worth smiling about. He was a heartbreaker even then. He just had no idea the maximum effectiveness of those smiles.

“What?” he asks, seeing me smiling.

I flip the book around and show him. “You were anything but dweeby. Look at this.”

He looks at the book, his head cocked to the side and then cringes when he finds himself. “Look at those glasses!”

“Hey,” I poke him with a finger as I sit on the edge of the bed. “Clark Kent has glasses, and so do I.”

“On the other hand, Clark Kent was superman and you’re a girl, so neither of those scenarios really apply to me.”

“Wow, I never thought you were that shallow, that wearing glasses would matter so much to you.” To be honest, I was kind of starting to get offended.

“They don’t.”

I laugh in disbelief and turn away from him. “I think it’s fair to say they obviously do.”

“Trust me, they don’t. I can prove it.”

I laugh, looking up at the ceiling in frustration and then turn to him. “Okay, how – ”

His lips cover mine, gentle and firm. My mind panics at first, but then I’m in shock and blissed out as I return the kiss.

One of his hands comes up to cup my jawline while the other cradles the back of my head, tangling in my hair. He is so gentle and tender, it makes me feel like I am precious and important to him.

I know I should stop because, what does this mean? But I can’t think about that now. There is just him and me and this amazing moment.

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