Page 43 of Never Date A Player
He guides me a few paces away to a section of the ridge slightly shallower than the area where I nearly killed myself, and climbs down, carrying most of my weight. “My fault,” he says. “I pushed you too hard.”
Is he talking about the cascades or the kiss? The cascades were absolutely his fault, but I needed the kick-in-the-ass to show me that I’m a long way from prepared for the race. As for the kiss, I freaked out, plain and simple, the reminder of Drake like a slap in the face.
I turn my forehead into his chest, because I can’t tell him how I feel inside. That I’m messed up. That I really like him. And our kiss… I’ve never experienced anything like it.
My legs are moving but I’m not paying attention, and honestly, he’s doing most of the work anyway. When I look up, we’ve managed to climb to the other side. He shifts his hold on me slightly and his car horn beeps.
“I can walk on my own now.” I attempt to step away and my quad cramps. I rub it with the heel of my hand.
Lewis tucks me in close and opens the Jeep door for me, easing me onto the seat. He rests his hands on my knees for a moment, remorse flickering in his eyes. Does he regret kissing me? He said he pushed me too far, but he didn’t.
He backs away, leaving me feeling chilled. I want to say something to bring him back, but I have nothing.
On the way to my house, I try to talk to him. “Lewis, I’m sorry. Back there was my fault.”
His jaw clenches. “No it wasn’t, Gen. You need…” He pauses. “Tell someone.”
We both know what he’s referring to.
“Like a psychiatrist?” I laugh bitterly. I don’t know why I find it ironic that the psychology student needs to see a psychiatrist, but I do.
“That’s not what I meant. Though you could. Talking to someone might help. I meant that you should tell the casino about this guy.”
“I’ll think about it.” I don’t want to talk about what happened to me, but I’m not the only person at risk. Every woman who works at Blue is in danger around Drake.
I waited to find out what was going on at the casino before I took action. I’m still not entirely sure what management is up to, but with Cali getting fired after her run-in with Drake, something has to be done about him. It’s time I stepped up.
We pull into the chalet driveway. My legs have turned from weak and incredibly sore into Silly Putty. I ease out of the Jeep and take baby steps to the front door.
Lewis wraps his arm around my waist again and I don’t protest. “Where’s your bed?” he asks once we’re inside.
I nod to the door and he opens it, leading me to the edge of the mattress, arm supporting my weight until I’m sitting. “I’ll be right back.”
The pipes rumble beneath the house. A few minutes later he returns with a glass of water, three Advil, and a plain turkey sandwich. No idea where he found the Advil, though he likely confronted a good deal of tampons and maxipads during the search.
He glances around my small bedroom, his eyes alighting on the brown and orange seventies coverlet, the scarred wooden nightstands. “No TV? Do you have a book?”
I’ve humiliated myself enough in front of Lewis. I’m not gonna bust out the OCD vampire paperback. I nod to the Kindle on the nightstand. He grabs it and places it beside the sandwich. I lean back on a pillow and close my eyes, opening them seconds later when I sense him still there.
“Are you going to be okay?” It’s the way he asks that has my throat tightening, moisture pooling behind my eyes.
I rub them and smile. “Yeah.” But if he keeps looking at me with concern and caring, and kissing me the way he did, I’m not sure anything will be okay.
Chapter Fifteen
For some reason I woke early this morning, and big surprise, I’m still sore. No, sore is not the right word. Debilitated. I’m walking like an old lady.
“Gen, cookie?” Tyler, Cali’s brother, who’s staying with us for a few weeks, sets a double-double chocolate on the counter—about a mile from where I’m sitting on the couch. He smirks and returns to his laptop at the kitchen table.
He and Cali like to watch me walk. They think it’s funny.
I might have tortured them a time or two with my athletic prowess—okay, Cali hundreds of times—however, I fail to find the humor in the situation. “You are cruel. And you don’t even pay rent.”
Cali calls Tyler the Tahoe bum. He’s a community college biology teacher in Colorado with summers off, and for some reason he decided to crash with us this summer. Tyler’s only a couple of years older than Cali, but he’s so smart he skipped grades and graduated early from both high school and college. None of this is evident in talking to him.
“Caliii,” I whine. “Make your brother bring me the cookie.”
Sitting on a patio chair outside the back door, Cali looks up from her sketch. The triangle we form—me on the couch, Tyler in the dining nook, and Cali outside—is about fifteen feet at the farthest point. Even though we’re in separate parts of the house, our place is so small we can still talk to each other.
