"Part of your job is to manage my social media," he says.
I lean back in the driver's seat and stare at him. "I'm sorry, what?"
He unbuckles but pauses before opening the door. Turning to me, he flashes an embarrassed smile and runs his fingers through his blonde hair. The strands of gray that glitter in the sun only enhance his good looks.
"Can you, um, grab my crutches for me?" he asks.
"You—" Can't be serious, is what I want to say, but I bite my tongue. This is your job, Jade, and a damn good one at that. It's not lost on me this is most likely a pity hire, and he may have increased the salary because I'm Addie's friend. Or maybe he just likes Coop, but I'm not about to argue.
Nope, instead I double-check I've put the monster in park and climb out to help him.
Helpful Jade, that's me.
Mateo's fucking bitch.
He pulls himself out of the SUV and, using his crutches, walks to the door, while I climb back into the driver's seat.
"Are you coming in?" he asks with a tilt to his head. Does he want me to come in? I must take too long to answer, because he says, "Never mind," and enters the building.
Fuck my life.
The parking lot is nearly full, but I find a spot I can pull through and park. I shouldn't go in, right? He's only exercising his knee. But will he text me when he's done?
It's your job, Jade. Clearly, he's expecting you to go in.
I grab my tote bag out of the backseat and check that my sketchpads and pencil case are inside. Once I've confirmed it's there, because it always is, I head inside.
It's so fucking sterile in here, I could scream. It's devoid of life. Ironic, considering the aim of this place is to rehabilitate people.
A much too cheery receptionist greets me, and when I tell her who I'm with, she points me toward the waiting area.
I take a seat on a chair, creating a space between myself and other people. A solid door with a small glass window divides the waiting area from the PT space. The window is small enoughto offer patients privacy, but large enough that if I lean back a smidge, I can see Mateo.
Even clothed, he's a sight to see. And, oh my God, what if Addie finds out I've seen her brother naked? I mean, I didn't see his dick, but I bet she doesn't know about the butterfly. It's an unspoken secret between me and Mateo. It feels wrong. I should tell her. I'll lead with me not seeing his dick and that I'm certainly not thinking about it.
No distractions, Jade.
Especially not him.
Or his dick.
My sketchbook is the only distraction I allow myself. It's the only one that doesn't affect Coop or our lives. Photos of the physical therapists line the wall across from where I sit, so I choose the one with the asymmetrical face, snap a photo for future reference, and add it to the folder with the others. Then I pull out my earbuds and pencils.
I give my doodles to my cousin for flash art, but this, this is mine. Mine and my secret InASnap's. Addie would die if she knew how many followers I have or how much engagement I see. But I could give two shits. I mostly ignore them. Mostly. Let's be real, sometimes validation is nice. Especially when you don't get it anywhere else.
The therapist's nose is slightly bent, and no matter how hard I try, I'm struggling with it, so I give it a break and flip to my other pad and switch playlists. The playlists shift often. I'm constantly adding new songs to each, but the vibes are always the same. When I sketch, I listen to softer pop or indie rock, something with soul. Shit that makes me feel something. But my doodle playlists are a different animal. They're punk and metal and everything in between.
The piece I'm drawing is simple—some stars and a crescent moon. It's the type of flash some chick trying to be badass will get behind her ear or on her ankle. From the corner of my eye,I see Mateo walking through the door. I quickly throw my stuff back in my purse and take out my earbuds.
When he reaches me, he hits my boot with his crutch and says, "Almost cleared to drive. And this baby gets unlocked most of the time now so I can transition off crutches." He gestures to the brace on his leg.
"Thank God," I say and get to my feet to open the door for him. "Being your bitch is kind of annoying."
"Already? You just started. But I do pay you to be my bitch," he says, cocking his head. "Where'd you park?"
"Fuck, stay here. I'll go get the car."
I parked Mateo's SUV at the edge of the lot, and by the time I get back to the entrance, my ass is toasty from the seat warmer. This is what dreams are made of.
