“No problem. I plan on never exercising again. You know, just to be safe.”
Both Ian and Jack laugh, and it’s like baritone chuckling in stereo. “Okay, then. How about that X-ray?”
“Oh… no, I can’t afford that.” I shake my head. I don’t care how much extra I’m getting paid forSolo February.
Jack takes the chocolate cake from me and holds it up. “Okay, Ian, what deals can you cut us?”
Thankfully, I broke no bones. I just need rest and Advil, and Jack escorts me home in his car, a newish SUV, which he keeps pristine. The dashboard actually seems to gleam. There’s no trash anywhere, and even the cupholders are swiped andempty.Impressive. I sit sideways a bit, the seat pressed all the way back to allow for my ankle brace. My crutches lie in the back. The brace and crutches I got for free.Guess it really does pay to know the right people. Ian told me to ice and elevate the ankle and take a dose of ibuprofen. Even though we cut in line, the afternoon has slipped away, and now dusk quickly descends on the city. Jack parks the car, rushes around back to get my crutches, and then meets me on the passenger side, offering an arm to help me out.
“Are you seriously always this nice?” I ask as he helps me up the stoop of my vintage apartment building.
Jack laughs. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… you give out free tortesandfree medical care?”
“Well, why not be generous.” He grins.
“Even after I accused you of grand theft candy.”
He laughs. “Hey, looks like we werebothvictims of that Valentine’s Day kindergarten party. I was framed.”
I snort. “Indeed. But now you’re driving me home? I mean, you’re too nice.”
“You think I was going to let you brave the icy sidewalks alone with crutches? After we’ve already established that I’m on the Save Chicago Sidewalks task force?”
I’ve never been more grateful for Jack’s strong arms. For one, the management company failed to shovel the new snow off the sidewalk, so there’s a three-inch layer of snow over the already-frozen two inches of ice. I plant one crutch and it instantly loses traction.
“Here, hang on to me.” Jack offers his neck and I throw an arm around it. He takes the crutches and holds them while steering me to the stoop. I lean against him, digging out my front keys. I slide the key in the lock and turn. As I push the door open, my boot catches on the mat.
“Whoa,” Jack cries, and steadies me with his big strong hands. “We don’t need another trip to the ER today.”
“No,” I say, and laugh.
“Can I?” Jack asks, holding out his arms.
“I’m on the third floor. I can’t let you carry me up there.”
“I can’t let you hop up there, either. It’ll take days. I’ve got other things to do today,” he teases. “Come on.”
I nod, and Jack whisks me into his arms again. Well, damn, I could get used to this. I’ve got my arms wrapped around the man’s neck and all I can think is: Mama like.
Also, he smells like Mexican hot chocolate. Spicy, sweet goodness. He doesn’t break a sweat as he hauls me up my apartment stairs. He even easily avoids the ornately carved oak staircase banister, somehow making sure my feet don’t clip the square baluster at each landing.
Just as I’m soaking up all this chivalry, a door bursts open, and Pam sticks her nosy tangerine-orange self out. “Sora? What the hell?” she asks.
Jack whirls, me in his arms.
“I sprained my ankle,” I tell her. “He’s just helping me up to my condo. That’s all.”
“Oh.” She eyes Jack with suspicion, as if trying to match his face to the FBI’s most-wanted list, which I am sure she regularly memorizes.
“This is Jack.” I nod to him.
“I’d shake, but I have my hands full.”
“I see that.” Pam purses her lips in disapproval. “Well, just so you know, if there will be strangers in the buildingregularly,you’ll need to let the condo board know.”
Since when? “Really? Why?”
