Page 18 of Forging Chaos

Even with the fancy shocks in Odin’s bougie car, I feel the rumble of the tires along the uneven granite bricks until my bones rattle. If I drove any faster, I might not need to use a vibe to get myself off. But I’m not going to think about sex in Odin’s car. I’m taking him to a medical appointment.

I’m surprised to see him waiting outside when I arrive. I suspect he got his roommates to help him down all the stairs before they left for practice or whatever because Odin looks like he’s been leaning on the signpost for a long time. “You’re late,” he says by way of greeting.

I look at the clock on his dash and furrow my brow at him. “How do you figure?”

He tosses his knee roller in the back door and hops on one foot into the passenger seat. “Because I was waiting for you.” And then he flashes me a grin, so I know he’s just giving me shit, but also still thinking about last night. I can just tell.

I swallow and fiddle with the rearview mirror. “Where am I taking you?”

Odin directs me south of the city to the facility where the professional football team practices. “You get to go here, too?”

He laughs. “We share field space with those guys. And medical staff, too. You can park in the close spots.” Odin pulls an accessible parking tag from his hoodie pocket and clips it on the rearview mirror.

“Am I…supposed to wait for you? I don’t know how long these things take.”

He shrugs and fumbles as he tries to hop around and open the door to get his roller. I unbuckle and race around the car to help him, which seems to frustrate him. “I got it,” he snaps. And then his face sags. “Sorry. This is my first appointment. It’ll be like two hours. You don’t have to wait, but it would be great if you could be back around eleven.”

I shrug and hold the scooter in place while Odin adjustshis weight on the knee cushion. “The store I need doesn’t open ‘til ten anyway, and I wouldn’t make it back in time once I got going.”

We start to roll through the building and Odin doesn’t even stop to look at signs. He must be pretty familiar with this sort of injury treatment. I wonder what else he’s hurt through his years of playing elite football. We stop outside a wall of windows, looking in on a huge gym full of machines and padded tables and shirtless men grunting. Muscles flex as they lift themselves and lunge and pedal furiously on exercise bikes. “Wow,” I say, totally distracted by the peak physical forms on display in front of us.

“Relax, Janssen,” Odin grunts with the effort of opening the door for himself and wheeling through it. I can’t believe they don’t have one of those buttons to open the door, considering the people coming through it are presumably all injured. Again, I try to help him, and again, he growls and looks pissed off by the gesture.

There doesn’t seem to be a waiting room, so I just follow him until we’re greeted by a friendly woman in a polo shirt and shorts. “Hey, you must be Odin.” She extends a hand, the other holding a clipboard. “I’m Prachi, and I’ll be torturing you today.” Odin laughs and shakes her hand while my eyes fly wide. I guess black humor is the norm here. Prachi glances at me. “Did you want to hang out in the lounge while Odin works?”

I glance at Odin for guidance, but he just slumps on his scooter, looking forlorn as the pro team’s quarterback hops past us on one leg, then the other. I should probably be starstruck, considering sports are a religion here in Pittsburgh. Maybe it’s the orgasm hangover, but I feel pretty chill. The only athlete I’m thinking about is the one pouting beside me. He doesn’t suggest I stay and watch, though, so I guess I’m heading to the lounge. “Sure. Where is it again?”

Prachi directs me down a hall to the cushiest room I’ll everhang out inside. There are luxurious armchairs, trays of fresh fruit, and a fancy coffeemaker, plus little signs with the Wi-Fi password and bottles of sparkling water in a clear-front fridge. Athletes and their drivers apparently lead different sorts of lives than me, and I try to imagine Fern enjoying this sort of thing with Wyatt once they’re settled in the UK. He just signed with a professional soccer team in London, so I’m sure this will be old hat for her soon enough. I text her a selfie from one of the chairs, a bunch of grapes in my hand and a bottle of San Pellegrino tucked under my elbow.

I wish I’d thought to bring my backpack. I don’t even have a book with me, which reminds me that I left my copy ofThe Redcoatin Odin’s room last night after… after. I’ll have to make do with my phone to entertain myself, and I discover that the library has an eBook copy of the sequel to my beloved historical romance by Chloe Petals. I know she lives in Pittsburgh, but I’ve never had a chance to meet her.

I munch on the grapes and read nearly half the book on the library app before my phone starts ringing in my hand, startling me. It’s Odin calling and then texting, telling me to get my ass outside to his car so we can leave.

I grab an apple for him since he’s clearly hangry, and smile when I see him leaning against the car, a little sweaty and a lot irritated. “Session go that well?” I tease, unlocking the doors.

He grunts and tosses his scooter in the back. When we’re both situated with the radio playing, I start to back out of the parking spot. “Am I taking you home?”

“Where’s your errand?”

“Oh,” I explain, “You don’t want to come along on that one. I’m going clothes shopping.”

His brows go up. “You gonna try shit on?”

I flush and nod. Why am I always blushing around this guy? I don’t know if I’ve ever blushed in my life, but something about him makes me feel…vulnerable. Odin grins and rubs his hands along his thighs. “I’m coming with you.” I shrug, not sure what to make of this development or even if this sexy, enormous football player would fit inside the dressing room at the thrift shop. I get the car turned toward the Birmingham Bridge so we can cross the Monongahela River. “That reminds me,” he says, “I have to tell you something.”

“What?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “You want a rematch?”

“No, smart-ass,” he retorts, “I just?—”

But I don’t get to hear what he just did because right at that moment, there’s a huge bang, and the car starts swerving like crazy on the bridge with six lanes of traffic.

CHAPTER 14

ODIN

“Oh my god,oh my god, oh my god,” Thora chants as she grips the wheel and slams on the brakes. I hear a chorus of horns wailing around us as cars pass while my G Wagon swerves through traffic.

I clench my jaw, helpless, until she brings us to a stop in the bike lane, the bridge shaking and vibrating under the rush of cars and semis continuing to zoom along its span. “Fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair.

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