Chapter 3
924 Words
CHAPTER 3
ELSIE
I step down the short hallway outside boy's baseball locker room, stopping in the shadows.
Brett follows a step behind me, staring down at my left leg, eyelids sweeping up to look over my body.
"Turn around," he says, his hands on my hips, guiding me.
"I'm okay," I tell him again.
"Elsie." It's an order more than anything.
I blink, and then do as he says.
I'm shocked, looking back over my shoulder at him. Behind me, his eyes move down my body again, intensely, reading.
"Your robe is coming off," he comments, looking back at me.
"I know," I say defensively, my voice a little too high pitched.
"Hold up your arms."
I hold them up, slow.
He takes the bottom of the robe, curling it around my chest and shoulders. Then he slides the entire robe off me, leaving me exposed.
I'd forgotten. Underneath the robe, I'd worn just a camisole and jeans, my entire arms bare.
The cool, quiet air in the sterile, white locker room prickles across my skin.
My shoulders bared, half of my back exposed, I stand as still as I can.
Lowering my arms, Brett moves up behind me, so that my back is pressed against his chest.
My jaw stills.
He's so close to me.
His fingers trace down the side of my ribs as he steadies my body, a light touch trailing over my skin before it disappears.
"One sec," he says.
“I’ll give you more, if you turn up the heat in this locker room.”
“Cold?” he asks from behind my back. “I’d have thought some of that heat you were throwing Max’s way would have warmed you up by now.”
I hear him step back then, the warmth of his body gone.
I hear locker doors.
The echo of metal.
I hear his feet moving around under the benches.
I want to scream at him. Tell him that I think he's just doing this because he knows he's making me as uncomfortable as possible. I want to tell him to get out of the locker room and let me be.
But I don't.
Instead, my eyes shift to the clock, unable to help but wondering how much time has passed.
Ten seconds. Fifteen seconds. Another five more pass before he's back, placing a bunch of items beside his shoes.
Then he's behind me, hands on my hips again. "Lean on your right foot. I'm going to sit you down to take off your shoes."
"Wow, I see someone’s demanding."
I can practically hear his grin. "Got that from my father. Thank him."
"Would it help any if I told you that I really am fine?"
"You are not fine. Your leg is not naturally that color of white. Unless 'ghost of a human being' is the new trend?"
"Oh my God, I'm not a ghost. You are–"
"Lean into me. I'm going to place you on the bench."
I sigh, feeling simultaneously amused and aggravated, but do as he says.
His palms are soft against my hips as he lifts me just a little, his touch much more gentle than it was earlier. Now in front of me, Brett guides me down, placing my left foot on the bench as I close my eyes in pain.
I gasp, tensing up.
"Shh," he whispers, his warm hands against my skin. "C'mon now. Don't be a baby as well as a ghost. Just applying a little pressure."
"Demanding and charming. You're a prince," I comment, pain lacing my voice as I grit my teeth with the discomfort of it all.
"And you're a princess. But you already knew that, I think," he teases back. "No need to get into a frenzy. Stop talking and try to relax. Lean back. And breathe evenly." His fingers move down to curl around my left ankle, pulling the shoe off, exposing my raw heel. "We've got to get this ankle wrapped. I think you rolled it as well as scraped it." He kneels down until he's on one knee in front of me, his hand on my ankle.
"Your shoe is scuffed. You've got rocks and dirt embedded in the material." He sighs, his fingers working the fabric at the sole of my shoe. He lifts my foot, his voice deep. "It's salvageable, though. Just relax for me, alright?”
Easier said than done.
In a white t-shirt that stands out against his tanned complexion, his left hand braced against my calf, Brett Jackson—a wet dream in jeans—leans closer and closer, his head lowered.
I've had fantasies about moment like this with him.
Except I don't think he was wearing any clothes.
Pushing the old, insecure Elsie's thoughts to the back of my mind, I clear my throat. I can barely watch as he produces an Ace bandage from his side, looking up at me. "Okay," he says. "So, I'm going to clean up the scrap and then let's get an ankle wrap on you." I can hear the smile in his voice, and it's there, in his eyes. "This is my area of expertise. Amongst other things."
I roll my eyes but let him. "Are you sure I need all this?"
"Yes, Princess. Humor me. It'll only take five minutes. Then you can go back to living amongst the land of the walking again. Sound good?"
I only nod, biting back a moan as he places a cotton ball against my skin.
- Writer
