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“Thanks, Jess. Really good to run into you. Feel better soon.”
Her smile glowed. “I’ll text you about coffee.”
“Can you walk down the hall?” the nurse asked me.
“Yes.” Mind over matter.
The nurse sized up Patrick in one glance. “You stay here,” she ordered him. “You can see her afterward.”
I hid a smile as Patrick let go of my waist and settled into a chair near Jess. Nice to see someone bossing him around for a change.
But the pieces didn’t fit here.
Jess was so happy to see him. He obviously was a different person around her — a much nicer person. Yet I could tell, from the set of his shoulders and the way he eased himself into his seat, that he didn’t want to talk with her any longer. Little details that I doubted Jess would catch. I only noticed because I’d become so fucking tuned in to Patrick’s body language.
I shuffled after the nurse to an examination room and slumped on the table. After I told her my symptoms and had my temperature taken, she informed me that I was dehydrated and needed rest.
“I don’t think you’re sick, but you’re overexhausted. You have to replenish your fluids. I’m going to bring you a sandwich and a drink, and you’re not leaving until you’ve finished all of it,” she announced. “Any allergies?”
“No,” I mumbled. “Thank you.”
In a few minutes, the nurse returned with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on a plate, and — Jesus — like half a gallon of apple juice. She set everything on the counter and said, “Do you want your boyfriend to come in?”
It took a minute for my slowed-down brain to translateboyfriendintoPatrick. “He’s still out there?”
“Of course he is.” She gave me a strange look. “You’ll need to him to drive you home. And I’m sure the most important thing to him is taking care of his sweetie.”
“Sure, he can come in.”
When she bustled out, I climbed slowly off the examination table. Body aching, I moved to one of the chairs by the counter. I bit into the sandwich. My appetite was coming back. I brushed crumbs off the dark wool of Patrick’s sweater and cuffed the sleeves so they wouldn’t drown my hands. Curling up in the chair, I slurped apple juice and made a face.
Patrick’s heavy tread came through the doorway. He closed the door, pulled out the second chair, and sat down opposite me.
“How are you feeling?”
“So-so.”
He glanced at my bare legs. They were covered with goosebumps. There was a lot of skin showing between my short red skirt and my white ankle socks. Rubbing his hands together, he put his palms on my thighs.
“So warm,” I murmured. “Usually you’re the one who’s cold to the touch.”
He moved his hands up and down my legs briskly. Chills shook my body, but I began to relax.
I coughed and tried another sip of juice. “How’d we look on the court?”
He grinned. “Perky. Until you toppled over, I enjoyed the show. You’re a good cheerleader.”
“You know it,” I murmured. It felt so odd not to be comparing myself to Alexis. To measure my performance only against what I could do. “But I really fucked up. I’m sure I’m off the squad now.”
“Call your coaches tomorrow.” He squeezed my thighs. “You fall down, you get back up. That’s life.”
I leaned back in the plastic chair, my legs easing apart as he rubbed warmth into my skin. It felt like trust. I munched my sandwich.
“Do you believe in second chances?”
Patrick lifted my legs into his lap. He dwarfed the chair. Any minute now, it was going to break. “Sometimes.”
“I went back to cheerleading because of you. If you hadn’t told me to show up in my uniform, and—” a knowing smirk spread over his face — “done what you did in your bedroom, I never would have tried to rejoin. Did you come to the game because of me?”
