Page 65 of See You at the Finish Line

We make it to the fourth floor and hobble down the hallway. She stops in front of the door marked number nine.

I expect her to open it, but she just stands there.

“Alright, two rules,” she says, her voice firm. “First, no judging me. I didn’t know I’d be having company.” She looks at me to confirm. I nod. “Second, my dog doesn’t love other people in her space. She’s super happy to have people pet her when we’re out in public, but at home she’s a little territorial.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll give Q her space.”

Something I can’t pinpoint flashes across her face before she turns and unlocks the door. I have to stifle a laugh because there is stuff everywhere. Clothes, shoes, and mugs of all different shapes and sizes are littered about the room. I can tell it’s clean under the clutter because there’s nothing on the floor. It’s piled on every surface in sight.

I want to facepalm myself because I think it’s cute. Just like everything else about her.

“Hey, no judging,” she scolds. I turn to see her pointing a finger at my face and realize the corners of my mouth have tugged up. I erase any emotion and raise my hands.

“Not judging, promise.” She narrows her eyes before tossing her keys in a big bowl-shaped mug on the console.

“Can you make it to the couch or do you need help?”

I don’t need help.

“Help would be good,” I say, not holding back my smile this time as she rolls her eyes and lifts my arm over her shoulders.

Well, this is information I didn’t know I needed. She fits perfectly there, and the urge to pull her down onto the couch with me is nearly overwhelming.

She guides me to sit and moves a pile of clothes off the coffee table, helping me prop my leg onto a fluffy yellow pillow.

“I’ll go get some ice and let Q out,” she says, not meeting my gaze. Are her cheeks pink? She’s probably flushed from the exertion.

I hear her rooting around in the kitchen behind me.

“Do you want a regular ice pack or a Cryo Cuff?” she calls.

“You own a Cryo Cuff?” I ask, not bothering to keep the surprise from my voice.

“A basic one. I also tore my ACL.”

“Does your knee still bother you?”

“Sometimes.” Her voice gets closer again, and I have to stretch my body to turn and look at her.

She rounds the corner, a giant hairy dog on her heels, holding a regular soft ice pack in one hand. In the other is a small blue cooler attached to what looks like a blood pressure cuff with a hose.

“The regular ice pack is fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” She disappears again but only for a minute before coming to give me the ice pack and a clean dish towel.

She hovers, looking like she doesn’t know what to do now. Q comes over to sniff me so I put my hand out for her to smell—I wish I had a treat to give her. She backs away and disappears down the hall.

Eventually, Paige plops herself down on the other end of the couch, sitting cross-legged and facing me. She’s still in those damn yoga clothes. What I wouldn’t give to peel them off of her.

I clear my throat. “Thank you.”

She nods, her teeth scraping her bottom lip. Fuck me.

I have to change the subject. Anything will do. Otherwise my other head will be thinking for me and that’s never a good idea.

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