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“I’m okay,” she said.
“I might believe that if you weren’t still sitting on the floor. Drink the Gatorade. It has electrolytes, unlike that diet Pepsi you’ve been chugging all day.”
She grunted and opened the Gatorade bottle. “I don’t usually drink that much soda. I just needed the caffeine today to perform your slave labor.”
“Caffeine is a diuretic. You’re probably dehydrated.”
She took a drink of the Gatorade. He picked up the hamper, went into the laundry room, and started the load. When he came back through the kitchen, she was still sitting in the same position, sipping from the bottle. He leaned against the counter and watched her.
“I’m off the clock,” she said. “If you have any other jobs for me, you’ll have to give them to me tomorrow.”
“No jobs. I’m just waiting to see you stand up so I know you can do it without pitching into the concrete.” He shot her a smile. “Blood stains are hard to get out of things. Again, that’s bad for business.”
She let out a martyred sigh and dragged herself to her feet. “Satisfied?”
“I’d better watch you for a couple more minutes to make sure. I’m already paying a ton for insurance.”
“Whatever.” She trudged over to the cupboard where her food was stored. “You can watch me eat if you want.” She grabbed a box of cereal.
“Bran flakes?” he asked. “Those aren’t going to build the muscle mass you need for this sort of job.”
She glared at him and got out a bowl.
“You need protein,” he told her.
She opened the fridge and pulled out a blue carton. “Milk has protein.”
“Yes, but what you’re holding is almond milk and only has one gram of protein.”
She scanned the nutrition information on the side of her carton. “How much does regular milk have?”
“Eight grams. I use sheep milk because it has fifteen.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Sheep milk? Well, that’s one more reason I’ll never join the NFL.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it.”
“Sheep milk or the NFL?”
“Both.”
She poured cereal into the bowl. “Fine. Someday I’ll join the NFL. Just not today.” She took a plastic spoon from a box. She was holding it oddly, like she didn’t want to apply too much pressure.
“Are your hands blistered?” he asked.
“Just a little.”
He stepped over to her and took her left hand to check. The area at the base of her fingers was red and swollen, but the work gloves had saved her from all but a few small blisters. Nothing too bad. He noticed her fingernails were cut short. Another difference between her and Megan. Had Olivia always had short fingernails or did she have to cut them for this job? He probably should let go of her hand instead of staring at it like he was trying to read her palm.
He let go and tucked his hands in his back pockets. “Tomorrow, I’ll switch you to something that’s not as hard on your hands.”
“If you’re having mercy on my body parts, I’d rather have something that’s easier on my knees… Or maybe my back.” She rubbed her shoulder. “Yeah, my back.”
“Any of the work will be hard on your back. Especially if you don’t have enough core strength. Which…” He let his gaze run over her. “You probably don’t.” His eyes ran over her again just for good measure. “Do you do any exercises to strengthen your core?”
She shot him an exasperated look. “No. I hike, play racquetball, and haul around fifty-pound bags of clay. I thought I was in good shape until I took this job.”
“I can teach you some.”
