Page 60 of Rumor Has It

Wren’s gaze snapped up. “Um, sure. Thanks,” she muttered, grabbing her pajamas and shutting herself in the bathroom for a few minutes.

When she reemerged, Rebecca was sitting on the edge of the bed, already in her pajamas, holding Wren’s tube of ointment for her leg. Wren held her hand out for it, but Rebecca shook her head.

“Can I do it?” Rebecca asked. She looked nervous and fully prepared for Wren to tell her no.

“You don’t have to,” Wren said instead, sitting down next to her. She still had her sweatpants on, but Rebecca had already flipped the cap open.

“I know, Wrenly, but I want to. I want to help. I’ve broken a lot between us over the past six years.” She let out a self deprecating laugh. “But I’m not going to wallow in that. I’m going to make positive steps towards fixing it.” She nodded confidently, like her revelation would start to solve everything.

“We had already agreed to not hurt each other again,” Wren said. She sounded nervous, even to her own ears. She watched Rebecca’s shoulders round inward for a second before she straightened.

“I know,” her voice was coated in remorse. “Wren, I know.” It even cracked after that. “I desperately want to fix it. Please let me help?”

So much of Wren wanted to say no. She wanted to tell Rebecca that she wasn’t ready. Maybe one day, she’d be able to put everything behind them, but it wasn’t right now. But she wanted to be ready. The truth was, Wren was tired of fighting her feelings. She was tired of keeping Rebecca at an arm’s distance.

With a heavy sigh, Wren stood up and tugged her sweatpants off, leaving her in just her loose fitting boxers. She scooted up in the bed and leaned back against the pillows, reminding herself as she moved to breathe.

“I have a scar from you, too, you know,” Rebecca said, her voice a pitiful attempt at a tease.

“Oh? Just one?” Wren sniped back.

Rebecca actually laughed at that, but she set about her task at the same time, coating the ointment on Wren’s leg. “Do you want to see it?”

“Is this like a you’ll show me yours if I show you mine situation?” Wren asked, a little thankful for the distraction. The higher Rebecca’s fingers got on her leg, the more challenging it was to not reach up to tug Rebecca into a blistering kiss.

“It can be,” Rebecca answered. She moved so that she was sitting cross-legged, only she slipped her left leg out, angling it towards Wren. She pointed at a pretty decent scar that ran perpendicular to her shin bone. “That was from you, freshman year of college.”

Wren lifted herself up on her knees and turned to the side. Very carefully, so as to not start something she didn’t think that either of them was emotionally ready to handle yet, she pulled her boxers down ever so slightly to reveal a small circle scar on her right hip. “Junior year. You earned a yellow card for that one.”

Rebecca frowned. “Remind me which card that was?” Her smile was slightly apologetic, slightly mischievous. Wren hated how stunning she found it.

“A high kick, Rebecca,” she said, her tone as flat and as annoyed as she could muster. “You Spartan kicked me.”

“Oh,” Rebecca said, wincing.

Wren wondered if maybe they should stop playing this game. She had three more from Rebecca, not including the most recent turf burn addition.

“I’ve never asked,” Rebecca said, leaning forward and letting her thumb brush over the slit in Wren’s eyebrow. Wren’s breath caught at the gentle touch. “How did you get this one?”

“Cleat to the face,” Wren said with a shrug.

Rebecca’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding?”

Wren shook her head. “No, I’m not. I was fifteen.” She offered a small smile, hoping to lighten the mood. “Thanks for never kicking me in the head.”

“I would never,” Rebecca said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Um, the last time we played against each other, you also said I wouldn’t need a stretcher. So, my apologies for appreciating your restraint.”

That got a long heavy sigh from Rebecca. “Well, do you have others from me that I should know about?”

“You don’t have to know about them. It’s fine, really. We don’t need to do this.”

“Wait, Wren. Are there more?” Rebecca asked, her arms uncrossing. She reached for Wren, then. Her hands fell to Wren’s hips.

Wren should have backed away. After Rebecca’s thumb had left her eyebrow, she should have scooted back to lean against the headboard, but she hadn’t moved. She’d stayed in the same position, her boxers still slightly pulled down from where she had showed off her hip scar.

“Show me?”