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One that's a bit terrifying, if I'm being honest with myself.
A feeling that suggests I might do something that's against the rules.
Something totally off-brand for me.
I think I have a crush on that stupid boy.
14
Lake
She'sjustagirl.A girl I'm helping during a rough period in her life. I'm being nice. I do nice things for people. I don't care what Candy fucking says. He's reading too far into it. I'm nice.
I donate to charities. Use my status to host events, raise money for fundraisers, and all that. I'm even volunteering my precious time at an event next weekend. I just signed on to help judge the Special Olympics, conveniently being hosted in Chicago this year. See? Nice.
Now that I'm riding the sidelines for a while, Coach thought it best I stay in the limelight with some positive moves. Showcasing my love for the community that I've become the face of.
Maybe I'm being too obvious in my physical attraction to my therapist? I should dial it back. I don't want Candy or anyone else thinking I'm soft or unfocused. Especially not now. Not while I'm literally so fucking weak.
I have an actual goal to reach, and nothing will get in the way of that. Especially not some girl who's clearly got her own ghosts back home. Nope. Never.
I'm ten minutes early.
I stand there in the hotel hallway, balancing on my crutch, contemplating if I should just wait a few more minutes or knock.
The door opens, taking away the decision for me.
“Hey,” she says somewhat breathlessly, peeking through the crack of the door.
The first thing I notice is the bruise is gone. Makeup looks amazing on her, but it's also covering those little freckles on her nose I've been counting.
Her radiant smile shines through me, threatening to melt my shield, before she straightens her face and bites the corner of her lip. She tucks her long, sandy hair behind her ear, as if not wanting me to know just how excited seeing me made her.
She looks eager to see me. Delighted. As if she's been waiting for me. Staring out through that peephole like I taught her, anxiously awaiting her Prince Charming.
Has she been doodling our names together in her sports notebook?
It's cute, but with Candy's comments in the back of my mind, it's making me itch with discomfort.
She shouldn't be into me. I mean, I get why she would be, but I don't want her to get the wrong idea about us. Yes, I enjoy her company, and I'm here to help with whatever she needs while she's working for me, but stage four clingers are everywhere, and I'm not interested in anything beyond a physical interaction. I don't have the time or energy to waste on emotions. Especially not with the therapist I'll be around more often than not.
Mixing business with pleasure has burnt me in the past, and my future is no exception.
“Thanks,” she whispers nervously, stepping out from behind the door. “My bags are still misplaced, so I really appreciate the clothes. The airline appears to have really lost them.”
I will not look at her.
I refuse to look at her.
That would make her assume more things. Women naturally fall for the men who save them from their disparities. If she's looking for a knight in shining armor, she won't find it here.
Fuck, I can't control my eyes. They trace her from head to toe in the new Nike fit she's chosen to wear tonight, drinking her in like a man past the point of dehydration.
The outfit of choice fits her tight little frame like a glove, just like I imagined it would when I ordered it and had my agent pick it up. Showcasing that curve of her hips that begs to be gripped. The zipper suctions her waist in, yet looks like it's about ready to burst open at the top where her cleavage is pushing out, begging to be freed. Her hair is down and straightened, looking smooth and slick, and the chocolate hues of the fit really bring out the gold in her eyes.
Christ, she's in sportswear, Lake. Chill your dick.
“Don't feel special. I'd do it for anyone,” I blurt out, sounding colder than I intended.
