by A. J. Pine
“I know,” she said. “I know. You’re right. I overreacted. I just— I’ve been trying to prove myself for so long that sometimes I’m afraid no one believes I can actually take care of myself.”
He grabbed her hand again, the reaction to do so feeling natural this time.
“I don’t know who makes you think you need to prove yourself,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure you can do anything, Grace. Anything. And I don’t need any sort of evidence to believe it.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “What you really don’t know…is me.”
“I can read people,” he said. “Maybe there’s shit you haven’t told me, but that doesn’t mean I’m not right. I know that whatever that asshole took from you, it meant more than just a down payment on a shop. I know that you are talented as hell. And saying no to sex for half a year…by choice?” He shook his head. “That takes a kind of strength I didn’t know existed.”
The corner of her mouth twitched, and her eyes shone, whether with the sparkle of life he’d first noticed the day he met her or with the threat of tears, he wasn’t sure. Maybe she hadn’t told him the whole story, but he could tell she’d lost big and was still going. She was stronger than she knew, and he could see that in only a few short days.
“Two kale, apple, lemons.”
Dread guy set the smoothies down on the table in front of them and promptly walked away.
“You really think I can do anything?” she asked, a hint of teasing in her tone.
Jeremy nodded, if a bit warily.
“Like…get you to drink that whole smoothie?”
He threw his head back and laughed. Maybe he was getting the hang of this friend thing.
He pulled the paper off the top of his straw and took a long, slow pull between his lips. Then he forced himself to swallow, trying to ignore the leafy bits he felt he should chew but didn’t dare. He choked it down, then held up a hand when he thought the whole mouthful might come right back up.
“I might need a minute,” he said. But when the threat of regurgitation waned, he grinned and took another sip. He still shuddered from the bitterness of the kale, but the second sip went down easier than the first.
Grace giggled. “If you don’t like it…”
He shook his head. “I love it,” he lied, and she laughed again. She didn’t need to prove anything to him, but he would prove her strength to her if he had to. Even if it meant drinking the twelve ounces of greens in front of him.
He grinned. If he was willing to do something like this, he wondered what he wouldn’t do for Grace Bailey.
And there it was again—that tightening in his chest.
Heartburn, he reasoned. Good thing I’m adding more greens to my diet.
A block away from the smoothie shop and down the quieter Larrabee Street, Grace led him to a quaint corner storefront. It sat on the first floor of what was otherwise a high-rise apartment building, next to a café called Toast.
“They’re only open for breakfast and lunch,” Grace said. “And I’m pretty sure their bacon is laced with some sort of controlled substance because I’ve actually dreamed about it.”
Jeremy salivated and checked the time on his phone. It was already noon, and the café closed at one. He was about to suggest a quick bite—to balance out the green sludge he’d just ingested—when a petite woman in a power suit, trench coat, and sneakers speed-walked in their direction.
“Tell your client our counteroffer is good for twenty-four hours. And it’s our final offer, Don. We’re willing to walk away and wait for another buyer if they don’t accept.” She held a hand over a Bluetooth earpiece and stopped in her tracks in front of Grace’s store. “Yeah, you, too. Say hi to Elaine and the kids, and let’s close this deal, goddammit.”
She tapped something on the phone, dropped it in her pocket, and finally acknowledged the two of them.
“Grace, honey, I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
Grace opened her mouth to respond, but the woman cut her off, turning to Jeremy.
“And who’s your tall drink of ginger ale? I thought you were off the man sauce for now. Or is that episode over? Because if it’s not, please tell me you’re keeping him around for when it is. And— Oh! Did you try the Pink Bullet we talked about last time, or are you still relying on the showerhead?”
Jeremy coughed while Grace maintained complete and utter composure despite the woman who must be her Realtor discussing, on the sidewalk, whether or not Grace masturbated.
“What?” the woman added. “Life is too short for mental filters. Say what you want or keep your mouth shut. You keep things bottled up inside, and you’re liable to explode.” She winked. “Yet another reason for the Pink Bullet.”
He raised a brow, intrigued by what his new friend might say in response.
Grace simply let out a long breath. “Lisa,” she said, nodding toward him. “This is my friend, Jeremy. Jeremy, Lisa’s the Realtor who, thankfully, has not leased this place out to anyone else, yet. We’ve known each other as long as I’ve been eyeing it, so she’s kind of privy to the whole cleanse situation.”
Lisa crossed her arms and gave Jeremy the once-over.
“God, you two would make fantastic-looking children.” She shook her head. “What a waste. And no, for all the condos I sell, I cannot unload this property. It’s like it’s waiting for our Gracie here.”
He grinned at the sound of the nickname. He bet other people got to call her that, people who knew the real her—all of her. People with whom she spoke freely about her sex life—or lack thereof—and whether or not she pleasured herself.
His dick twitched inside his jeans. Traitor. But how could he blame it? He was conjuring images of Grace touching herself in places that were off-limits to the entirety of the male species, and it was enough to drive him mad.
Friends, he reminded himself, then tried to drum up an antidote.
Nana bringing him cookies when he had the chicken pox as a child.
Nope. That just made him realize he was hungry for something other than kale and that he was still horny.
His ninth-grade English teacher, Mrs. Field.
Shit. No. Wrong choice. She was actually kind of hot.
Nurse Elsa, the one who always gave him the flu shot at his old pediatrician’s office. She had that mole above her lip with that one lone hair growing out of it…
Yes!
He glanced down at his pants, feeling himself soften.
At ease, soldier.
“You coming?” Grace asked, and he looked up to see her holding the shop’s door open. How long had he been lost in his head, talking himself down from—
“Yeah. Coming.” He interrupted his own thoughts. There seemed to be a correlation between what went on in his head and what took place in his pants. Best to leave the thinking to a minimum for the rest of the afternoon.
“I’ve gotta take this call,” Lisa said as soon as the two of them were inside. “I’ll head to the office area in back and leave you two to look around the place.”
Grace nodded, and the two of them were alone.
Jeremy spun slowly, taking in his surroundings. The place needed work, but it also had some leftover charm from whatever it was before. They were dusty, but the floors were a dark hardwood that could be refinished. And he could picture some sort of desk behind her, where she’d greet her clients and check them in.
“There are two rooms down that little hallway,” she said. “And then a back office. I think maybe it was a chiropractor’s before. Anyway, I know it’s not much, but it would be mine.”
He shook his head. “Not much? Grace, it’s perfect. I can see a front desk right here.” He moved around her, and she spun to follow him. “With shelves built into the front of it to display your products. Or behind it.” He turned toward the wall that separated the front of the store from the office and back rooms. “Here,” he said, opening his arms wide to line the width of the wall. “All of your home brews here.” Then
he strode past her to the floor-to-ceiling window next to the door. “And here—” He stood on the small ledge a few inches off the floor. “A sign that reads grace’s home-brewed—”
But he didn’t get a chance to finish. Because the second he reached toward the top of the window, a searing pain shot from his ass straight down his right leg, and he lost his footing, crashing to the ground where he now lay sprawled on his back.
Grace yelped and raced to his side. “Oh my God! Are you okay? What happened?” He lifted his head, but then she pressed her palm to his chest. “Wait. Don’t move. What if you broke something? Or hit your head? Did you hit your head? I should call 911.”
He gingerly removed her hand from his torso and pushed himself up on to his elbows. He winced. There it was again, white-hot pain rushing from his lower back down his right thigh.
“It’s not my head,” he insisted. “I think I did something to my back last week. Can you injure your back just by sitting?” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Shit. I sound like I’m ninety.”
Grace knelt next to him, her amber waves spilling over her shoulders. She smiled softly.
“Can you sit up?” she asked.
He hissed in a breath as he tried, then gently lowered himself completely back to the ground.
“I think I’ll just stay here,” he said, trying to mask the pain. “Do they heat this place at night? I could probably sublet my place and live here for the time being. Tell your Realtor she’s got her new renter. You can build your place around me, right?”
“Oooh, what have we here?”
Lisa’s voice rang out behind them. Since he couldn’t turn in her direction, Jeremy waited until she walked into his line of sight. When her eyes met his, she frowned.
“Oh crap. Did you injure yourself on the premises? Are you going to sue? Grace, are you two hustling me to get the rent money?”
Grace rose and rested a hand on the woman’s shoulder.
“I’m not hustling you, Lisa. You know that’s not my style.”
Lisa shook her head. “No. No, it’s not. But what the hell happened out here?”
Jeremy raised his hand from where he lay. “Can I butt in?” he asked.
Both women turned to him.
“I was just telling Grace I think I did something to my back last week. It wasn’t this bad before—obviously. I mean, it didn’t leave me horizontal. But I recognized it as soon as it happened today. It was the same as last week after sitting in that eight-hour lecture.”
Lisa put her hands on her hips. “What happened?”
He blew out a breath. As long as he stayed flat, the pain was absent.
“I stretched weird or something, and then this sharp, stabbing pain shot down my leg.”
She nodded.
“That sounds like sciatica,” Grace said.
“Oh, it’s sciatica, honey,” Lisa confirmed. “Trust me. I’m forty-seven and have been dealing with it since I was pregnant with my first.” The woman cackled. “I don’t suppose you’ve had any tough pregnancies? Puts a lot of strain on the lower back.”
Jeremy laughed, but apparently the use of his core triggered the pain again, and he cut himself short with a grimace.
“No. No recent pregnancies,” he said through gritted teeth, trying to maintain levity.
Lisa moved to Jeremy’s side, the one opposite Grace.
“Let’s stand him up,” she said. “If it’s anything like my sciatica, the getting up is the worst. But once you’re there, it’s a world of relief.”
“I work on clients with sciatica all the time,” Grace said. “She’s right. But if you can’t move…” She bit her lip. “Maybe I should just call 911.”
Jeremy let his head thud against the floor. He was supposed to be spending the day with Grace. Not making a case for why he was ready for the nursing home at twenty-fucking-six.
“Let’s do it,” he said, hoping they could hear his resolve. “Let’s stand me up.”
“Jeremy…” Grace said, her voice full of apology, and his heart sank. She was blaming herself for this.
“Let’s get me up,” he repeated, his gaze holding hers. “And if Lisa’s wrong, and amputation still sounds tempting, then we can talk about other options. Okay?”
She nodded.
“That’s the spirit,” Lisa said, and both women squatted on either side of him, each with one hand under his shoulder and the other gripping his arm. “On three,” she added. “You’re gonna have to help us, too, ginger ale. You might be too much man for us to handle on our own.”
She snorted at her own joke, but Jeremy just nodded. He could do this. He’d broken bones before—his left leg, right arm, even his nose. He could handle standing with sciatica. Whatever the hell that was.
He rose up on to his elbows.
Lisa nodded at Grace and then at him. He nodded back.
“One. Two. Three!”
Excellent. Great. He was standing, and Lisa was right. Immediate relief. But not before he swore—loudly—at the white-hot immeasurable pain.
Grace rested a palm on his cheek while he braced himself against the front window, easing some of his weight off the affected leg.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He forced a smile. “Never been better.”
She laughed. “How about we get you to a doctor?”
He nodded. “It’s a date.”
She held out her arm, and he grabbed on for purchase. Lisa opened the door.
“But for the record,” he said, as they limped to the curb to hail a taxi. “If I ever did take you on a real date, it wouldn’t end in a medical emergency.”
She smiled softly. “Be careful what you wish for.”
And he wondered—if he didn’t have to waste it on obliterating his physical pain—what that wish would be.
Chapter Nine
Grace sat in Dr. Lang’s waiting room. Jeremy had already been with the doctor for forty-five minutes. She knew her chiropractor was thorough with a patient’s first visit, but she couldn’t help thinking that the longer Jeremy was gone, the worse off he must be. She’d already canceled the two appointments she had this afternoon—regular clients who were understanding about her family emergency. Whatever Jeremy’s prognosis was, this happened because she dragged him to her stupid store that wasn’t even hers. The least she could do was make sure he was okay and that he made it home in one piece.
It was fifteen more minutes before Dr. Lang appeared in the waiting area, her dark ponytail swishing against her white button-down.
“Grace,” she said. “We’re about done, just finishing up some paperwork, but your friend insisted I come out here and make sure you weren’t still waiting. He said something about you having to work this afternoon.”
Grace shook her head. “Did you give him some narcotics or something? Because I know you’re good, Dr. Lang, but there’s no way he walked in here the way he did an hour ago and is going to walk out on his own.”
Dr. Lang laughed. “I don’t prescribe medicine, so no on the narcotics. But it wouldn’t hurt him to take a few ibuprofen tablets and try to relax the muscles a bit. I’ve asked him to take a couple of days off work if he can and to come back and see me tomorrow and Friday. Some intense treatment should have him back on his feet by the weekend.”
Grace twisted a lock of hair around her finger. She had to head back to Madison tomorrow afternoon for her weekend gig. Who was going to make sure Jeremy was okay after today?
“Would it be too much if I offered treatment as well?” she asked. “I don’t want to overdo it with him seeing you three days in a row, but I’ve worked on clients with sciatica before. Massage can help, right?”
Dr. Lang nodded. “Yes. Anything to help relax the muscles surrounding the nerve can help, especially if you’ve done this before.”
Grace blew out a breath. Okay, then. This happened because he came to her shop—well, her almost-shop—so she would help fix this.
“Then I guess that means
he’s coming home with me.”
“Where am I going?”
Jeremy limped up behind the doctor, wincing with each step. He was moving faster than he was an hour ago, but he still looked miserable.
Grace stood and put her jacket back on, then shook Dr. Lang’s hand. “Thanks for squeezing us in on short notice.”
The woman smiled. “Glad I could help.” She turned to her patient. “How are we feeling?”
Jeremy smiled. “Believe it or not, better than I did an hour ago, but I’m happy I’ll get to see your smiling face again tomorrow, Doc.” He handed her a clipboard. “Here’s my life story, including details of the accident from what I can remember.”
“Thank you,” she said. “We’ll send it to your insurance first and then bill you for any remaining cost. I’ll see you tomorrow at ten.” She shook both his and Grace’s hands and then was off to see her next patient.
Dammit, why was he so freaking charming? Four days ago, when he tried flirting with her before his massage—and after—and then made a date with Kaylee, Grace was sure she had him pegged.
But then he listened to her story on the floor of a hotel hallway. He bought her a cup of coffee and an umbrella. And he wanted to be her wingman for this crazy reality show that was about to be her life. Now all she wanted to do was take care of him.
“Wait, did you say accident? Is everything okay?”
He nodded. “One of my buddies and I were in a little fender bender a couple years ago. He slammed on his brakes so he wouldn’t hit a kid who ran into the road, and the person behind us didn’t slam on theirs in time. We both walked away without a scratch other than feeling a little sore for a few days, but Doc is convinced that’s where this all started, and it’s just been getting worse since I never knew to take care of it.”
Her eyes widened. “Didn’t anyone tell you to at least go see a doctor and make sure everything was all right? Car accidents can do long-term damage without your knowledge. And I’m just going to shut up because I sound like I’m saying I told you so after Dr. Lang already made this clear.”
He raised his brows.