Page 35 of Puck Block

I follow after him. “How could you possibly know that? You’ve never even heard it.”

Ford is already washing his hands when I walk into the bright bathroom. He quickly wipes his wet hands on the pink towel before throwing it down onto the counter. “I just do.”

I eye him suspiciously and watch as he handles my insulin pen, putting it to the correct dose after looking at the sugar reading on my phone. I should be more shocked that he does everything correctly, but Ford is adept in everything he puts his mind to. He doesn’t do anything halfway. If he needs to adopt a new skill, he becomes an expert.

A swallow works itself down my throat when he meets my gaze in the mirror, and before I know it, he’s pulling me closer by the fabric of my shirt. He lifts it up and winces at my irritated skin from the injections.

“Let’s do the thigh.” Ford’s voice is low and tender, but I swear there's a breathlessness to it that wasn’t there before.

I look down and watch him trace my red skin around my usual injection site with the pad of his thumb before pushing the button of my jeans through its hole and unzipping them slowly. There’s a crease in between his eyebrows when he pulls my jeans down past my hips. I hold my breath when he grabs my thigh with his warm palm, and he probably thinks it’s because I’m bracing myself for the injection, but that isn’t the reason why. A shiver shakes down my spine, and I exhale, catching his hooded blue eyes briefly when he peers up at me while on his knees.

Whoa.

The scent of alcohol wafts around us, and I ignore the pulling in my lower belly when I feel his hand snake up my thigh and wrap around my butt to hold me steady. My cheeks flame when I realize his palm is on my bare ass, becauseof courseI wore my most scandalous thong to the frat party where I thought I’d get laid.

He swallows loudly. “Nice choice of panties.”

I tilt my head to look at the ceiling because I’m both embarrassed and turned on.

“Though, I don’t know if I’d consider this scrap of fabric panties.” I snap my attention to him when I hear the roughness in his tone.

I scowl and decide to press his buttons because that’s clearly what he’s doing to me. “Jasper didn’t seem to mind them.”

Ford chooses that exact moment to dose me with my insulin. His fingers dig into my butt to steady me, and I watch his mouthsilently count to ten before he removes the pen and flicks his steely blue eyes to mine.

“Breathe,” he whispers.

Goosebumps cover my flesh when his finger trails my thigh, circling the spot that has the tiniest bit of blood seeping. I breathe out of my mouth a few times, matching Ford’s steady breathing. Our eyes catch, and my heart flips. Instead of looking away, I keep my gaze on him and whisper, “Thanks.”

His eyes drop to my mouth a second later, and I’m frozen. The air in the bathroom is suddenly heavy with something unfamiliar, but before I can decipher what it is, my bedroom door flies open, and Ford and I fly apart like shrapnel.

I pull my pants up and turn around, putting my back to Ford.

Emory’s voice carries into the bathroom. “Taytum!”

“What?” I snap after flicking my eyes to the mirror and catching Ford’s stoic expression.

“Did you punch some guy tonight?!” he asks, stepping into the bathroom.

His tight shoulders and disapproving scowl are nothing new, so the only response he gets is an eye roll. I push past him and leave both guys in my wake before flopping onto my bed. I grab my English notes and pop in my Airpods to tune out Emory’s questions and Ford’s attempt to calm things.

I read his lips word for word. It’s the same reassurance as all the other times, but we both know it’s a lie because for once, Ford kept his word and didn’t interfere.

Professor Petit eyes me from across the stage, and I have to try my hardest not to sigh dramatically after doing an arabesque. I turn my back to her blank expression and try to push the annoyance away. Now that I’ve fainted at practice, she watches me far more than before.

I wish it were because of my skill, but it’s not.

It’s a precaution.

Sweat trickles down the side of my face, and I know if I just untie the purple wrap top and practice in my regular leo, I won’t be so hot, but it’s bad enough that the other dancers are already on edge that I’m going to faint in the middle of a show. I don’t want them to roll their eyes at the robot device on my arm, too.

Kate has already made a note to mention, rather loudly, that I need to wear a long-sleeve costume for our upcoming show because everyone in the audience will be distracted by the “thing” on my arm.

Speaking of thething.A familiar beep comes from my bag off to the side, and I know it’s my sugar reading. It strikes a nerve—for more reasons than one as of late. Claire looks at me from across the stage, and I send her a reassuring nod.I’ll get it in a second.

I shake out my limbs and clear my head. I press up onto the ball of my foot and throw my back leg out behind me, trying to lengthen my arabesque as far and as gracefully as I can. The stretch rips down my torso and then I quickly drop my leg back down.

There. That felt better.

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