Page 18 of The Game

Instead of turning off to do my longer loop around the middle school, I cut back toward the house, and Beau shadows my steps.

I pick up the pace, sprinting the last stretch to avoid any further conversation. Beau keeps up and we end up racing back to the house. I’m completely winded with an ache in my side when I catch sight of the house, but I push myself until I’m a couple of strides in front of him.

He glowers at me as I slam a palm on the front door, looking back at him. “I win.”

Surprisingly, instead of challenging me to another battle or some other stupid thing to prove his superiority, he slaps me on the back.

“Good hustle.”

The camaraderie feels good and sets me on edge at the same time. The people you let closest are the ones who have the power to shatter you, and I’m really not up for that. What happened to keeping everyone at a distance? I race into the house to do my stretches in my room, putting a more comfortable distance between us.

Chapter 9

Chaos And Cookies

Jazz

The ugly screech ofmy apartment buzzer startles me away from the oven. Who could that be? My heart stutters in my chest, and then takes off at a gallop. What if it’s Darryl? Should I answer it? I hate the way an everyday noise can send me spiraling. Especially here in my apartment. This should be my safe place.

It sounds out again, but I straighten my back, refusing to be afraid in my own house. If it’s Darryl, I just won’t let him up. Problem solved.

Sharp pain shoots through my knee, snatching my breath as I slam it into the little table by the front door in my rush to answer the call. “Shit!” I call out through the speaker.

“Umm. Hey. It’s Cole. Can I come up?”

“Cole?” I’m not sure I heard him properly through the fuzzy old speaker, and I can’t quite wrap my mind around why he’d be here. “Sorry, hit my knee.”

It’s hard to identify the sound through the box, but it sounds like he’s laughing around his words. “Yes. Cole. From Walk Safe.” His need to clarify is kind of cute. As if I could forget him after the double rescue.

“Come on up.” A shrill beep sounds out as I let him up.

My tiny apartment is not ideal for pacing, so I’m taking three steps across the living room and back while I wait for him to make it up the stairs. What is he doing here? We exchanged numbers but didn’t make any plans to meet up or anything.

The oven timer buzzer cuts through my apartment at the same time as the knock on the door. I wobble one way then the other, ending up going for the oven first. Grabbing a dish towel to pull the cookie tray out of the oven turns out to be a poor decision. It slips, sending searing pain through my thumb. I drop the tray on top of the oven with a clatter and kick the door shut as I head back to answer. This is not my day.

Surprise and confusion are all over his gorgeous face. His eyes track my thumb as I pull it out of my mouth, realizing what I must look like. Hair all over the place, pink leopard print leggings, probably covered in flour. Glancing down, my fears are confirmed. Oh, and sucking on my poor baked thumb.

I hold it out to him. “Burnt my thumb.”

He stretches his neck, checking out the small space behind my shoulders. Right, let him in. I back up, swinging the doorwide to let him pass, but he’s too big. I can still feel the heat of his body as it passes barely an inch from mine.

“Did you run it under cold water?”

“What? No. Not yet. You got here at the same time as the cookies were done. I had to make a choice.”

“And you chose cookies over me? I’m hurt.” Those full lips turn down in a frown.

“No, no. It wasn’t that. It was just that the cookies would have burned….” The frown twitches into a smile. “You were joking.”

“Of course. Cookies always come first. What kind are they? Smells delicious.”

I take in a deep breath and all I get is a sharp spicy aroma that’s all male. His scent overpowers the sweet vanilla and sugar of the fresh-baked cookies.

“Oh, they’re snickerdoodles. You can have one if you’d like.”

“Let’s look after that thumb first.” He follows me the five steps through the opening into my tiny yellow kitchen.

He turns on the sink, checking the temperature until it meets his standards, and holds out a hand. I look down at my reddened thumb again, and he gently grabs it. His much larger hand swallows mine up, and he tugs me over to the sink, flipping my hand around to hold it under the cool water. I close my eyes, dragging in a deep breath at the soothing relief of the cool water numbing the pain.

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