Reaching Rose (Hunter Hill University Book 3) (27 page)

ROSE

Really?

As if I'm not already mortified by my morning breath and the fact that I have to lubricate my...
knee
- I'm not yet ready to call it that ugly S word - but I have to go and fall backwards down the stairs and land on the floor. On my back. For Ben to find me. Oh my God. Why? Why can't I just live with a little dignity from time to time?

"Rose, are you okay?" He bends down to help me up.

Getting up onto my elbows as quickly as I can, I tell him, "I'm fine."

He scoops me up and I'm suddenly cradled in his arms like a baby.

"Really, Ben. I'm fine. You can put me down."

"Just tell me where to go." He begins carrying me up the stairs.

I feel so foolish. "Ben."

"Rose. Stop." At the top of the stairs, he whispers, "Where to?"

But it doesn't matter that he whispers, because Griffin and Cali just round the corner to see what the "Ruckus was," Griffin says.

Then Holly appears.

I bury my head in the crook of Ben's neck. And groan.

"Rose, what happened?" Holly exclaims.

"She took a tumble," Ben says, making no big deal, for my sake most likely.

"Oh, Rose." She rubs my shoulder. "You okay?"

"Ben, put me down, please," I murmur into his neck.

He does.

"I'm fine." I fake a smile and go to my room, third door to the left.

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you," Ben says when we're alone.

"
You
didn't embarrass me. I embarrass myself." I carefully sit at the edge of the top of my bed where I keep all my lotions for my leg.

I take off my Converse hi-tops, cringe at the pain in my lower back, and begin rolling up my leggings in front of Ben...again. Only now, he's see my leg without the contraption. I stop for a moment and look at him.

"Would you like me to leave?"

I think about this for a second.

"I never did get to take a piss yet. How 'bout I do that...I'll be back."

He turns to leave. "Ben."

"Yeah?"

"There's a bathroom right here." I point to the door in front of me. "When you come out, I don't mind you seeing."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Be right back."

While he's in the bathroom, I unlatch my leg, take it out of the socket, pull off my sock, and massage it. It feels so good out in the open right now. I slide back against the headboard and pick up the tube of lotion. Then I grimace at the pain in my bottom from sitting this way.

Ben walks out as I'm about to squeeze the cream into my hand.

I hesitate just a second, but he sits down in front of me and holds out his hand. "May I?"

I look at him and he's staring into my eyes. I hand him the tube without saying another word.

He squeezes the lotion into his hands and rubs them together. I watch as he continues looking at my face when his fingers first make contact with my skin. It's an odd sensation - his hand on my limb. The way he gently massages the cream into my skin almost feels sensual and not at all like the unpleasant sensation when I dutifully rub it on every night, trying my darndest not to look at the thing.

"Am I hurting you?" he asks quietly, looking up from my leg.

"No," I say, looking into his eyes.

"Is it feeling any better?"

I nod, still gazing into his brown eyes. "Much."

The cream is all rubbed in when he starts to massage my thigh. "You took some fall down there. Are you hurting from that?"

I know I'm turning red, because my cheeks feel warm and I'm suppressing a smile, but I tell him anyway. "My butt hurts quite a bit."

His lopsided grin and raised brow make my insides tingle. "I'll be happy to rub lotion there too."

I can't believe myself, but I want to say, "Please." Instead, I tell him, "I'll be fine."

"Seriously though, is there ice in the freezer? You should probably ice it."

I nod. "Yeah. You're right."

He rubs my limb again, then stands. "I'll be right back."

"No. Ben. It can wait."

"I'll be right back," he insists before walking out my bedroom door.

Resting back against the headboard, I close my eyes and think about Ben. I can't believe I've fallen so hard for him. Even more so, I can't believe how comfortable I feel with him. He saw my...thing...and he didn't cringe. Didn't even blink twice. And he wasn't too grossed out to touch it. Oh my God, at this moment, I don't think I could feel any happier.

Ben walks in with two mugs of coffee in his hands and an ice pack under his armpit. "Figured you'd want a cup," he says, sitting the mugs down on my nightstand. "Scooch up so I can put the ice on your back."

"Actually, I should probably go to the bathroom myself first."

He takes my hand and helps me stand. "You okay on your own, or does your back hurt too much?"

I like how he made it about my back and not that at the moment I'm one-legged. I reach for my crutches next to the nightstand - I still haven't perfected the hopping on one leg thing. Spinning yes. Hopping no. "I got these. I'm good."

He nods. "I'll be waiting."

After I pee, I finally brush my teeth and run a brush through my hair. Then I wash my face quickly, because it feels so scummy. But when I get a look at myself in the mirror, I see my scar. Do I cover it back up, or trust that Ben won't go running because he's seen too much of the real me today? It takes me a moment to think about it, but I decide that Ben meant what he'd said - I don't have to hide myself from him.

Slowly, I open the door. My chest is pounding a little harder, a little faster, and my stomach turns a bit. But one crutched step at a time, I walk out into my room.

The first thing I notice is Ben's eyes. They're smiling. "My God, Rose. You're beautiful."

Naturally, my hand flies to my cheek.

"Don't," he stands. "Don't cover it." He again removes my hand from my face. "I forgot you had freckles." He cups his right hand around my waist.

Freckles. All this worrying about my scar, I'd forgotten to worry about my freckles. Not that I'd ever cared before, but since I started covering my scar and needed to wear foundation, I forgot that all this time my freckles were hidden too.

"I love them. They suit you." He takes the crutches and leans them against the nightstand, all the while keeping his hold on my waist. "Now you really look like half-pint," he says, lifting me up and laying me on the bed.

"That's not a compliment," I joke.

"Sure it is. You're way better looking than Laura Ingalls, but those freckles complement the whole pick-up-truck-driving, farm-girl package. I love it."

"Oh God." I blush.

"Now turn over, girl, and get on your stomach." He grabs the ice pack and a paper towel off the bed and holds it up. "We got some icing to do."

I turn on my stomach and he lifts my shirt. Expecting to feel the cold ice on my lower back, I'm more than pleasantly surprised. After he tugs down my waistband, his fingers sweep gently across my lower back. He doesn't press, he just lightly circles the entire area with his fingertips.

"Oh my," I end up muttering involuntarily.

That's when I feel him shift. My eyes are closed, but behind me, I feel him straddle my legs, and now both his hands are circling my lower back. This feels
much
better than an ice pack.

His fingers continue for several more minutes before he moves to my side and replaces them with the towel-covered ice.

"Ohhh," I groan, missing his touch already.

I feel him move again, so I open my eyes. He's lying next to me. "I had to stop, half-pint, before my hands went places they shouldn't."

Oh, they should. They should.
But I don't say that out loud. "Thank you," I whisper. "That felt so good."

He stares at me intently. "
You
feel so good." His fingers once again find my skin, but this time it's the ear he grazes when he tucks my hair behind it. "You are the prettiest girl I ever did see."

"Spoken like a true country boy."

"I'm trying, half-pint."

"Don't change for me. I don't care if you're a country boy or city boy...or suburban boy...as long as you're here next to me."

His middle finger traces the outline of the left side of my face, from my temple to my jaw. "Always." He moves closer until our foreheads and noses are touching each other. "I love you."

"I love you."

I don't know how long we remain in that position, but it's not long enough. Eventually, our stomachs gurgle and our hunger for food takes precedence. I change my clothes, put on my leg, and we go to Ben's so he can change. The rest of Sunday, we spend together...eating, laughing, and cuddling. And kissing. We definitely did some kissing.

Then Ben spends the night again. This time in my bed. "You sure, half-pint?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

I stay in my flannels. I'd like to sleep in something sexier, but then he'd see more of my scar. What if it's a major turn-off?

He climbs into bed fully-clothed.

"You don't have to do that, you know. I'm sure it's uncomfortable sleeping in your jeans. For the second night in a row."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

He gets out of bed, slips out of his jeans, and pulls off his tee, and I'm not surprised by my body's reaction to seeing his ripped abs and muscular legs. That's when I realize I better get over my body's flaws, because I'm not going to be able to keep it from Ben's for much longer.

When Ben gets back in bed, he stretches out his arm for me to curl into, and I rest my head between his shoulder and his neck. I wake up in the exact same position in the morning.

"Morning, sweetheart."

"Morning, Benito."

"Benito?" He rolls on top of me, tucking my arms to my sides. "Do not call me Benito. I hate that name."

I giggle. I never giggle. "Why?"

"Ugh. It makes me sound like some Italian greaser from the fifties. No. I'm not that guy."

"But your mother calls you that."

"Yeah. I hate it when she does. I've been trying to get her to call me Ben since I was five. The closest she gets is Benny."

"You're cute when you're embarrassed."

He kisses me then hops out of bed. "I better get going. I have class at nine. I'm not so sure it's so important to go, but I should at least tell the teacher what's going on." He says this all while getting his clothes back on.

I sit up in bed and watch him the whole time. He's god-awful handsome.

"What are your plans today?"

I shrug. "I may call Professor Sherman and take her up on her offer."

He sits on the bed. "You're gonna dance?"

"Should I not?"

"No, Rose, you should. Especially if that's what you want."

"Maybe."

Ben kisses me on the lips, then says, "Text me when you're done. I'll bring dinner."

"Okay."

***

I meet Professor Sherman, Lindsay, at the gym at eleven. My dancing leg feels lighter, but since the ankle is more flexible, walking in it for any length of time requires me to use my cane. At least until I get used to it. But it was so expensive for my parents to have made that I'm afraid of breaking it somehow, so I don't wear it for everyday use.

"Rose," Lindsay calls when she sees me. "I am so glad you decided to come," she says when she reaches me. She walks me into the studio and right away turns on the lights. Then she proceeds to put a CD in the stereo and turns it on.

"What shoes did you bring?" she asks.

"All four."

"Wanna start with tap? I love tap."

"Sure." I'm apprehensive no matter what type of dance we do, but I'm determined to move past my insecurities and do this.

We put on our taps and stand in the center of the room. "Follow what I do?" she asks. "I step. You follow. I step. You follow."

"Right. Like Simon Says," I joke.

"Right."

She shuffles. I shuffle.

She cross shuffles. I cross shuffle.

She side cross shuffles. I side cross shuffle.

Before we know it, we're doing the same moves at the same time and I'm beaming. Tap is not nearly as difficult with this leg as my ballet spins. Why on Earth I didn't start with tap when I first put this leg on escapes me. I may have grown in confidence and not beaten myself up for not doing a fouetté turn on my bad leg. One step at a time. That first step should have been something simpler. But hindsight is 20/20 and all that.

We continue tapping until Lindsay suggests jazz. Another
duh
moment for me before I say, "Of course." We spend the next hour dancing - tap and jazz. Something tells me Lindsay knows exactly what she's doing by not suggesting ballet and pointe. Then I remember, she's not just my musicology professor, she's a doctor of psychology.