Page 48 of Worlds Collide

My butt almost ends up on the cement from how fast I spin around, but I manage to stay upright even after I see CJ just outside the fence of the court.

Fuck, he looks good. Not like he belongs at a ranch or on a tennis court, but damn good nevertheless. In gray slacks and a button down that’s wrinkled in a way that says it’s been a long workday, his dark blond hair is messy, and he has a day-old stubble covering his cheeks.

How can I be expected to speak or react in any way when I’m surprised by that view?

“Your brother told me you just started playing in January, but you’re pretty good already.” There’s a slight teasing tone, so I don’t take his words as a challenge. And the actual compliment helps me get over the fact that he’s been talking to my brother.

I swallow hard and know that I have to take this moment to apologize. I have to.

If CJ finds a new job and moves away I may actually never see him again, so yeah. I wipe my left hand on my shorts then grab my racket with that one and repeat the process with my right hand. I don’t know why I do it, but I feel like I need to.

How do I even say it? What am I supposed to apologize for? Besides blaming him for the pictures of course. And saying all that shit...

Okay, so I should definitely saythat. But afterward?

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly before I chicken out. Then I clear my throat and look down. Looking at CJ feels like a kind of reward, and I don’t deserve it. “I’m really sorry for jumping to conclusions. And that my first thought was that you’d sold me out. I’m also sorry for everything I said, and...” I take a deep breath and look into his eyes. “I promise to hear you out and be reasonable in the future.”

CJ stays completely still for a long second, and his face remains stoic, but then he lets loose that infuriating smirk of his and he opens the door in the fence to step onto the court.

“I mean, the likelihood of the same thing happening again isn’t that good, is it?” I snort despite myself and look away with a shake of my head. There’s a beat of silence and then it’s him clearing his throat. I look up from under my lashes. “Thank you for apologizing.” I shrug, and grab my racket with both hands, not knowing what else I’m supposed to do or say now. “So you play tennis,” he says in a lighter tone.

He’s trying to make conversation, I understand that at least, and since he already knows I’m sober I can easily add something to that obvious statement.

“I started after rehab. My therapist recommended I pick up ahobby and my physical therapist said tennis wouldn’t be too bad for my leg.”

“What happened to your leg?” he asks and I see a deep frown when I look at him properly.

“I broke my left ankle and femur.” It may sound a bit short, but I’m not super comfortable talking about this and answering all the questions...

“Oh, my God. How did you do that?” He takes one step forward like he’s going to check me over right now and I cringe a little at the genuine concern in his voice.

“I’m fine now,” I grumble. “I fell down the stairs...” I trail off. CJ opens and closes his mouth a few times, so my stupid mouth gets away from me. “They were glass stairs, and I somehow broke them.” I can actually feel every muscle in my body tensing. My shoulders are basically touching my ears. “So I fell to the floor and broke my left leg, and my left hand got all kinds of fucked up.”

I raise it between us and turn it so he can see all the scars.

“Two surgeries to get all the tiny pieces of glass out, but I can still play the guitar, so?—”

“That’s insane,” he says like it’s not exactly a bad insane. I frown when he takes the remaining two steps separating us and grabs my hand to inspect all the tiny scars.

I’m uncomfortable.

No, I’m actually beyond comfortable with CJ touching my hand, but that’s not the issue. It’s him knowing what a fucking mess I used to be and examining the fucking evidence that I’m not happy about.

“And you perfected your fine mobility in less than a year? There had to have been some nerve damage, right?” I open my mouth to answer but realize he’s not really talking to me when he just keeps going. “The stiffness must’ve been the biggest issue. Elasticity ofthe tendons has to be a key part in playing any kind of instrument and?—”

He stops suddenly and drops my hand then steps away. Sadly, I can now confirm there very much is something I can’t control—my mouth around CJ. And yes, that’s a pun and an innuendo, but also not.

I can’t control my mouth in any way, shape, or form.

“I can show you my x-rays and MRIs if you want to see all the screws they put in my leg.”

CJ smiles quickly, but then looks around. I’m about to say something about his job. That I’m sorry about that too, or... something, but he saves me from having that awkward conversation.

“You wanna play with someone who can actually move, tomorrow morning?”

I raise an eyebrow at him and do a slow scan of his body. Yeah he can probably play okay-ish.

“Sure.” I shrug like it’s all the same to me.

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