The Hook Up (Game On Book 1) (43 page)

DREW IS CLEARED to leave, and he acts like he’s been sprung from jail. “Finally! Where are my clothes?”

The doctor laughs at his enthusiasm. More so when Drew leaves his bed and hobbles toward the bathroom, the back of his hospital gown flapping in his haste and flashing his bare ass to the world. I roll my eyes while Gray snorts. He and Drew’s coach are here.

Drew returns, dressed in baggy basketball shorts and a long-sleeved cotton shirt that hugs his lean frame. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“I’d worry about you if you enjoyed the hospital,” says Coach Smith with a small smile. He’s a stern man, but I can see his affection for Drew.

All is well until a nurse arrives with a wheelchair. “Ready to go home, Mr. Baylor?”

Drew eyes the chair as if it were a snake. “Yeah. But I’m not getting in that.”

She gives him a patient smile. “Hospital regulations, I’m afraid. Even for you.” There’s steel in the look she pins on him, and Drew’s scowl grows because we all know he isn’t going to argue with her.

“Fine.” He hops down from his bed and spins into position on one leg. He doesn’t look at anyone as the nurse props his feet on the footrests and gives him a friendly pat on his arm. “All set?”

“Yes.” He hates being in the wheelchair. Every line in his body, his sullen glare, radiates that fact. Spitting nails mad is what my grandpa would have called Drew’s expression.

“Good. Now I just need to know that you have someone taking care of you at home for the next few days.”

Drew’s chin jerks up as a dull flush washes over his cheeks. “I do not need someone taking care of me. I’m fine.”

Again, the nurse uses her patient-don’t-fuss-with-me smile. “And I do not want to see you back in here, Mr. Baylor. Allow yourself time to become accustomed to your crutches before you go it alone.”

Drew flushes darker, his hands curling to tight fists. His teeth flash in a grimace. I’ve seen that look before. Just before he blew up at me. I step in. “I’ll be taking care of Drew.”

His glare cuts to me like a swinging scythe. “No.”

It echoes through the air, hard and ugly. And my back grows so tense it feels as though my spine is a steel rod. “Yes, I am.”

Drew’s nostrils flare. “I do not want your pity.” If words were nails, I’d have been punctured.

I affect a long sigh. “All right. Gray, cross ‘pity Drew’ off my To-Do list, would you?”

Gray chokes off on a smothered laugh, and Coach Smith has a sudden interest in his shoes. Drew’s eyes narrow into slits and, for a long moment, I’m sure he’s going to yell, but his mouth starts twitching.

“I told you she was a smart ass,” he says to Gray.

“Huh,” Gray scratches the back of his head, “I could have sworn you said ‘pain in the ass.’”

The nurse picks the moment to cut in. “Are we all set then?”

“I’ll bring the car around,” I say. Bad enough that Drew has to be wheeled out. My watching will not sit well with him.

“Anna…”

I cut Drew off before he can resume his anti-pity objections. “If it were me,” I say, “would you do the same?”

Everyone goes quiet. If I thought things were awkward before, I was severely underestimating the concept. Because what if he says no? What if he doesn’t want to be with me anymore? Does he feel anything for me?

“Yes.” He says it so softly yet with such force that my breath hitches. His darks eyes stare into mine. “Yes.”

And suddenly everything else fades. It’s just us in the room.

“And if I needed help but didn’t want to ask for it?” I ask.

His chest lifts on a breath as he looks at me. “I would never leave you.”

It hurts to swallow, and my voice comes out rougher than it should. “Then don’t ask it of me.”

When he nods, he doesn’t meet my eyes, but I know it’s because there are too many people in the room. “Get the car.”

COMING HOME HAS never felt so good. Not since before my parents died have I experienced such relief when entering my house. It’s warm, quiet, and the scent of leather and general cleanliness surround me as I hobble into the living room, my crutches thudding against the polished wood floor. I halt and look around before turning to Anna, who has taken an extreme interest in a remote spot on the wall.

“You cleaned.” The whole house gleams.

She shrugs. “Who likes returning to a messy house?”

“Anna, you didn’t have to—”

“If you tell me I don’t have to help you one more time, I’ll…” Her cute nose wrinkles as she trails off at a loss.

“You’ll what?” I tease. “Punch me? Knee me in the balls?”

An auburn brow rises, as she looks me over, her gaze stopping at my chest. “Give you a purple nurple.”

I snort, but my chest grows hot. Christ, the idea of Anna pinching my nipple is getting me off. “As long as I get to return the favor, Jones.”

Just as I’d hoped, she blushes. “Perv.”

“I prefer egalitarian lecher.” I thump further into the room and set aside my crutches before plopping on the couch. The padded leather gives around me, a familiar comfort that I sink into. I expected Anna to follow; she’s been hovering over me like she was afraid I’d topple. But she’s still standing by the door and looking at me with a strange expression, her mouth titled on a nervous half-smile.

“What?” I shift a bit in my seat, hauling up my injured leg to rest it on the chaise. Now that we’re alone and not distracted by things like hospital monitors, nurses coming and going, and my intense pain, there’s a certain amount of awkwardness between us. She’s broken my heart, and I vowed to stay clear of her. A statement that crumbled like dry sand the second she walked into my hospital room and looked at me as if I was the most important thing in her life. I’ve been waiting months for that look. But it doesn’t erase everything.

“Nothing,” she says, still watching me. “I just missed your humor.”

I’ve missed a lot more from her. “Most people don’t really get my humor,” I say instead.

And then she smiles full out. “I’d believe that.”

Finally, she comes into the house, closing the door behind her. It’s then I notice the small bag in her hand. She flushes when I spot it. “I thought maybe I’d…” Her flush washes down her neck. “Well, maybe you’d like some company for a while.”

So she’s unsure as well. I should ask her right now what she expects from me. If she wants what we had before, it will kill me. I can’t go back to that. But she has to know that. And she’s stayed by my side in the hospital, when before she would have run in the other direction.

The moment stretches, and she shifts from one foot to the other, her expression going pinched and pale as if she’s scared I’ll tell her no, tell her to leave now. Not happening.

“I want you, Anna,” I say in a low voice. “I always have. If you want to stay, you have to know I’d want that too.”

Her lashes sweep down, hiding her eyes from me as she gives a brisk nod. “That’s what I want.” The answer is barely above a whisper, but I hear it and my body responds with a flush of warmth and satisfaction.

“Well then…” I don’t know what to say exactly. Get your sweet butt over here and sit in my lap would probably sound too needy, even if that is what I crave. Hell, it’s been over a month since I’ve properly touched her.

Anna, however, has other things on her mind. “You want something to eat?”

Behind the familiar scent of home, something savory and something sweet linger in the air. “Was Gray here?”

She snorts, moving into the kitchen. “Figures you’d think it was Gray who cooked. Yeah, he was here too.”

I imagine Anna and Gray in my house together and frown. While doctors were putting me back together, they were going on with life. Neither of their lives has been smashed to pieces. And the difference between them and me is painfully clear.

Unaware of my growing anxiety, she eyes me slantwise. “You ought to have told me you had a personal chef. I wouldn’t have bothered.”

I twist in my seat to look at her fully. “You cooked for me?”

“Don’t look so shocked. I have before.” She’s scowling now.

“I’m grateful every time, Anna.”

My honesty is rewarded by her blush. “I didn’t actually cook. Gray did. He made you bean soup.” Her lips twitch. “Said the pain meds might leave you ‘backed up’ and in a state that you’d need some roughage.”

“That asshole.”

She laughs. “What? No need?”

“Hardly. But I’m starving, so I’m not turning down his damn soup.”

“Shocker.” Her expression is cheeky as she gets a bowl. “I baked.”

“She bakes.” I grin up at the ceiling, earning an eye roll from Anna. “What’d you bake me, Jones?”

“Apple pie.”

“Awesome. Bring that too.” Now that I’m out of the hospital with its disgusting, flavorless food, I’m so hungry I could eat the whole pie. That Anna made it for me makes it even better. Whatever the case may be, she cared enough to clean my house, bake me a pie, and stay by my side.

The sounds of her puttering around my kitchen, reheating the soup and getting a tray ready makes me sleepy. I relax against the couch, my lids growing heavy. It feels right having her here, like the house is suddenly a complete home. A stupid thought to fixate on, because she’s only here for a while. But I know in my bones that I want her here forever. I’m twenty-three years old, my carefully built life has just been smashed to pieces, yet I know with complete clarity that I never want to be parted from Anna Jones.

I watch her walk toward me, and my chest clenches. Pale from lack of sleep, her red hair flying wildly in all directions, she’s not at her finest, and she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

“You’re supposed to be elevating that leg.” She sets the laden tray on the coffee table before grabbing some couch pillows to stuff under my leg. Not that she gets far. A grunt of annoyance escapes her as she tries to carefully lift my leg and struggles. “Jesus, it’s like a tree limb,” she grumps.

I snort and help her haul the dead weight that is my leg up so she can place the pillows beneath it. “Does that mean you won’t be carrying me to bed?”

She shakes her head, suppressing a smile, but then catches my eye. “Are you tired?”

“Yeah.” Exhaustion has me by the balls. If I allowed myself, I’d sink down and be out for weeks. “But all I’ve been doing is sleeping.”

She nods in understanding and slips another pillow behind my back. “Then we’ll hang out for a while.”

Before we go to bed. Together. And though I’m feeling like shit warmed over, the idea of sleeping in a bed with Anna tightens my gut with longing. I need to touch her. Just feel her next to me. “Sit,” I say. “You’ve done enough for now.”

Anna hands me a bowl of soup then takes her own before complying. Without hesitation, she snuggles down, her shoulder leaning into mine as though she too needs comfort. Before I can say a word, she hands me the remote, and I grin. “You know how to take care of a guy.”

“No,” she assures, “I don’t. I’ve never done this before.”

The soup gets caught up at the sudden lump in my throat.

Anna takes a spoonful of hers before talking again. “I just know guys like their TV.”

But I don’t turn on the TV. Not yet. Frankly, I’m afraid it will be on the sports channel, and I don’t think I can stand seeing any sports right now. I sure as shit don’t want to see a replay of my leg being broken on national TV, or hear the sports casters’ opinions about my chances of recovery and what this means when it comes to the draft.

The soup turns to lead in my stomach, and I bend forward to put it down. Only I can’t reach the table with the bulk of my leg sticking straight out. I grit my teeth and itch to toss the bowl across the room.

Anna takes it out of my hand and neatly sets it on the table. “Lie back,” she says softly.

I do it because the alternative is raging and hitting the side of the couch.

She turns the TV on, hits mute, and then changes the channel before I can register what was on. She knows me too well. And I like it. When the volume comes on again, it’s some cooking show, and she takes up her position at my side. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and draw her close. She rests her head on my chest and places her warm palm on my abdomen.

We eat and watch cooking shows, and Anna grows heavier and softer at my side as she relaxes. It’s quiet, warm, and the most peaceful I’ve felt in ages. With the tips of my fingers, I draw patterns along her arm and the curve of her hip. She’s so quiet that I wonder if she’s nodded off, but then her fingers mimic mine and she’s tracing little circles along my stomach. Lust unfurls like a tinder within me, but I don’t do anything about it. Just hold her.

And when she makes a soft, half-stilted yawn, I kiss the top of her head. “Why don’t you lie down? Rest your head in my lap.”

Her green eyes look up at me, hesitant.

“I promise to behave.” It’s sort of the truth.

She scoots down. “You say that like it’s a good thing.” Then she’s resting her head in my lap with a satisfied sigh. “Forget I said that. I want to rest here for about forty weeks, if that’s okay.”

“Anything you want, baby.” I mean it to sound like a tease but it comes out husky. I clear my throat and grab the remote to change the channel.