Worth the Fall

by Caitie Quinn

  He picked the full cart up as if it weighed nothing and headed up the stairs at a brisk pace.

  I remembered fondly the days when my body knew what a brisk pace was.

  I listened to his footsteps pound their way up and then the snick of my door falling shut with a soft bang, then his steps coming back down the three flights of stairs. By that time, I hadn’t even made it to the mid-way landing to the first floor.

  He stood at the top, hands on his hips, looking like a cleancut, gym gladiator, judging me from the top of Mount Perfect Conditioning.

  “This isn’t going to work.” He strode down the stairs to where I was, looking as determined as he always did. Then walked past me and turned around.

  Dear Lord, please don’t let him think pushing me up the stairs by my butt was a good idea. Not only had it become painfully—literally—obvious that my butt was not all I had hoped it was, but that was really going to hurt.

  “Turn around.” Ah, Max and his gentle way of making requests.

  I turned around, having no idea what he had planned. He stepped up one more step, shoved his shoulder into my squishy midsection, and hefted me over his shoulder.

  Then started climbing the first flight as if I were a very light sack of potatoes.

  “Max,” I gasped out his name, trying to catch a breath as I adjusted to let my lungs move. “Put me down.”

  “I’d rather not leave you sitting on a flight of stairs and wondering if you made it home tonight.”

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  “Nope. Worked a double yesterday.”

  “A date or something?”

  “No date.”

  “It’s a good night to call your mother.”

  “Speak with her every Sunday.”

  Of course he did. He probably had a checklist on his fridge. Things Every Annoyingly Good Guy Should Do.

  We turned past the landing on the second floor. At this point, I was just counting the steps ‘til my gut was no longer used as a pivot point. He’d kicked my door open before walking me over to the small kitchen island and putting me down next to one of the stools.

  “Sit.”

  “Woof.”

  Max turned and gave me a look like I was speaking a different language. As if I really could speak Dog. I rolled my eyes because he brought out my inner teenager.

  “Have a seat in your own home and make yourself comfortable, Kasey, would have been a slightly more reasonable way to boss me around.”

  He ran his hand through his wind-messed hair and gave it a tug.

  “Kasey, if you wouldn’t mind taking a seat, I’ll put your ice cream away before it melts.”

  “I can put my own groceries away.”

  “Sit.”

  Well, the polite thing lasted about four seconds longer than I’d expected it to.

  And yet, I sat. I was too tired for this. The sooner he put my groceries away, the sooner he’d be gone, and the sooner I could sink into my incredibly small, old building bathtub.

  The first thing he did was put the ice cream and milk away, then he went to the sink, filled a glass with water and started opening and closing drawers. One drawer after another.

  “Where’s your ibuprofen?”

  “In the bathroom.”

  “Stay.”

  I almost made the woof joke again, but I doubted it would have gone any better.

  He came back and set the glass and pills in front of me before going back to unloading my grocery rolly cart. Soon a banana was placed before me.

  “Potassium.”

  “Yellow.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. I thought we were naming obvious characteristics of things.”

  “No. Bananas have potassium which is good for the muscle soreness.”

  “Oh.”

  I was tempted to wait and see if the next command would be eat, but figured I was going to do it anyway so why give him the opportunity to be bossy.

  “Thanks.”

  “You need me to peel that for you, Wonder Woman?”

  “No. I think I’ve got it.”

  I bit in, watching him wander around my kitchen, more at home in it than I was yet. Before I knew what he was doing, he’d pulled out my cutting board.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making stir fry.”

  Stir fry? I had stuff to make stir fry with? What was even in stir fry?

  “Don’t you have your own kitchen?”

  “Yes. But if I go make stir fry there, it will be cold by the time I get back.”

  “Max, you can’t just come into someone’s house and start cooking.”

  “If I leave, what are you going to do?”

  “Take a hot bath and then lie on my couch while wishing to die.”

  “Exactly. Why don’t you go take a hot bath, then come out and eat stir fry? Then you can lie on your couch watching the new X-Men movie and wishing to die.”

  “I don’t have the new X-Men movie.”

  “Yes, but I do. So you’re all set.” He turned back to the countertop and pulled out a skillet, obviously dismissing me in my own home.

  Well, fine. If he wanted to play butler, I was going to go take a bath. It would serve him right. Cooking in some strange woman’s house while she soaked in the tub. I locked the door behind me and turned the water on, looking for that perfect bubble bath heat level.

  A rap-rap-rap sounded on the door. Seriously, my apartment was too small for him.

  “Don’t forget Epsom salt if you have any.”

  “I’m pretending you’re not here!”

  “Fine. Pretend I’m not here in Epsom salt.”

  “Fine.” I mocked under my breath. “Pretend I’m not here.”

  “What?” His voice was farther away, probably in the kitchen.

  “Nothing.”

  I started peeling off clothing and realized I was about to get naked with a man in my apartment. Yes, he was locked out of the room, but still. I hadn’t gotten naked with anyone but Jason in years. Not that I would have been a random-naked-getter, but still.

  It took me longer to pull my t-shirt off than I wanted. I would have liked to blame it on the guy in the next room making me nervous, but it was more that I couldn’t lift my arms over my head.

  Stupid arms.

  Footsteps to the door. Pause. Rap-rap-rap.

  “Kasey, I’ll be right back.”

  “Yeah. Take your time.”

  The footsteps headed away and then the soft fall of the door echoed down the non-existant hall to me.

  I settled into my bath with Epsom salt and tried to figure Max out. I’d never met anyone as bossy as him. Even Jason paled by comparison. Max with his, sit-stay routine was getting old. But, his direct approach at least lacked the manipulation Jason’s control always had.

  I was never a bath person, so after five minutes I was already bored and wondering what someone does sitting in tepid water waiting for it to get cold. Maybe if I’d brought a book in with me. I’d ordered Jenna and Hailey’s first two books and was trying to figure out which one to start with, but unless I wrapped my phone in a Ziploc bag, there was no way I’d trust myself with it around water.

  As boredom turned to mind-numbing boredom I got out of the tub and headed to my room before Max could get back. I thought about putting on something cute, but figured that it was his fault he was here. I was too sore to try to look nice and the last thing I needed was a man, so I grabbed my yoga pants and a Sox baby tee.

  Oddly, I actually owned a yoga mat. I won it at the company picnic. It was soft and cushy and didn’t let the ground’s dampness soak through. This was what yoga mats were really invented for. I rolled it out in the living room and tried to work out some of my muscles. If I couldn’t get in and out of my apartment on my own, I was afraid Max would keep stopping by to carry me around.

  Just as I lay flat and stretched my arms up over my head, feeling my entire body expand, there came a knock at my door.
Hopefully he was smart enough to have brought my keys.

  “Come in?”

  The door opened and Max came in carrying a grocery bag. He stopped just inside the door.

  “Are you stuck?”

  “No. I’m stretching.”

  He just stared at me, flat out on my floor.

  “Are you sure?”

  It took me a moment to realize this was a real question.

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’m stretching.”

  “I thought you didn’t stretch.”

  “Well, there’s a day for everything. Obviously, I need to take better care of my body if you people are going to keep trying to kill it.”

  “Who else has tried to kill your body?”

  “Some guy grabbed me and nearly had me vomit all over him running up three flights of stairs with my gut shoved into his shoulder.”

  “You’re welcome.” He grinned, that darn dimple peeking out, and headed toward the kitchen. Laying the grocery bag down, he started pulling food out of my fridge. Apparently he’d already rinsed stuff since it was all collected in a colander on a plate. Then tossed a DVD across the room onto the couch and got back to work.

  I decided I would be forgiving and let him do whatever he wanted to in my kitchen. I was magnanimous that way. Rolling onto my side, I managed to get on my knees and push myself up using the coffee table.

  “Need a hand?”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Max, leaning against my counter with his arms crossed looking a bit smug.

  “No. I’m good.” I braced myself on the coffee table and used my arms and legs to get up. Slowly.

  “Sure?”

  “Yup. All set.”

  After the longest twenty seconds of my life, I was upright and ready to hobble across the room where I then had to lower myself onto a stool. None of that was comfortable or easy. A new appreciation for people with walkers imprinted itself on my soul.

  He set all his ingredients out in a straight row, organized and in some Max pre-approved order, and began chopping peppers. It gave me a moment to study him, and I finally noticed through the haze of receding pain that he’d changed and his hair was damp.

  “Did you shower?”

  “Yup.”

  “That fast?”

  “Yup.”

  “Shut up, Max. You’re talking my ear off.”

  He grinned.

  I ignore the dimple.

  “I figured I’d start to stink eventually if I didn’t. I did nine miles before carrying a sack of potatoes up three flights of stairs.”

  “Nine miles? What’s with you people?” Maybe it was a cop thing with him. “Is it for your job?”

  He shook his head and turned around to start the stove.

  “I do feel more confident in my job if I’m fit, but I just like taking care of my body.”

  Without my permission my eyes took in that very fit body, drifting down his shoulders to his butt.

  “Is there something on my ass?”

  Um, jeans? Very perfectly fitting jeans.

  “I thought so.” I cleared my throat, hoping I’d stop squeaking. “But maybe it was just the light.”

  Max looked up at the recess lighting, that darn dimple snuck out. “Yeah, crazy light in here.”

  “So, nine miles. That’s not something you do every day, is it?”

  “Nope. Just when I have a day off. I only do two miles each morning when I get up for work.”

  “That’s a sickness.”

  He laughed outright and it took me by surprise, the gut deep, rough sound of it.

  “Yeah. I tried to get help. No one seemed to be able to break me of my don’t get fat, stay healthy addiction. Real shame.”

  Well, when he put it like that I began to wonder what he and Hailey thought of me and my inability to do one day at the gym.

  “Shawn was horrible.”

  “Shawn?”

  “The trainer guy.”

  “Oh.” He turned back and started dicing chicken. “He was a jerk?”

  “Um, no. He was just…” With my luck, Shawn was Max’s trainer too.

  “Tough?”

  “He made me run on a treadmill.”

  “Did you tell him you weren’t a runner?”

  “Um, so yeah. He told me to walk. But there were all these buttons.” I waved a hand dismissively, as if the buttons couldn’t be explained in the normal world.

  “So, you just kept pressing buttons.”

  “Well, I mean, it’s walking. I walk every day.”

  “Today being the exception.”

  “I walked today.”

  “Okay, today being the exception of you walking well.” He winked at me and I tried to be annoyed with him, but it was slightly absurd. “So, you ran on a treadmill and that’s why you’re so sore?”

  “Isn’t that what people in your field call a leading question?”

  “Just answer the question, Tuesday.”

  “Okay, so it wasn’t just the running. Those things are deadly.”

  Max set the knife down and leaned toward me. “Please don’t try to tell me that this somehow has to do with your black eye.”

  This conversation wasn’t going the way I’d hoped. Shocker.

  “It threw me against its dashboard thing and then spit me out against the wall. Those walls are hard.”

  “Cinderblocks usually are.”

  “And then there were squats. With weights. And crunches. And these things on this ginmorous ball that I couldn’t stay on. And more weights. It felt like I was there for hours.”

  I saw the darn dimple come out as he turned his back to me and asked, “How long were you there?”

  “I guess about forty-five minutes.”

  “How much of that was on the attack treadmill.”

  “Too much.”

  “Mmm-hm.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I suspected it was his way of not having to say anything to avoid laughing at me. Which, was probably fairly nice considering.

  Max started doing something in one of my pans that smelled like heaven and I gave up caring what he thought about my workout inabilities and more about what he was going to feed me and why nothing I cooked in that pan ever smelled as good.

  Figures he cooked.

  “Do you have wine glasses?”

  Because the old cabinets were old, small built-ins, they weren’t tall enough for wine glasses, so I’d put those in the little space underneath my TV where other people probably stored movies and games. Ah, city living. After making my way across the room far more easily than earlier, I still had no interest in squatting down to get the glasses. Bending at the waist seemed like a far better option. I pulled out two glasses and made my way back to the stool where I probably should have asked for a cooking demonstration as he’d worked.

  Max stood there, just shaking his head at me.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s not nothing.”

  “You just look…comfortable.”

  I had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Of course I looked comfortable. I was aiming for a night in on my couch. Just because Mr. I’m In Control had added himself to the agenda didn’t mean I was going to dress up.

  After a moment, he added, “Yoga pants.”

  “What? Do you have a thing for yoga pants?”

  “Tuesday, all men have a thing for yoga pants. Especially when they fit like those.”

  With that, he turned back to the stove and started dishing out things into serving bowls while I pondered the show I’d just given him in my yoga pants and little t-shirt.

  Not that it mattered.

  He set a plate of stir fry and couscous in front of me and poured each of us a glass of wine before coming around and joining me at the counter.

  “I hope you like it.”

  “It smells great. I’m sure I will.” And then I bit into heaven.

  This was just not fair.

  “So, tell me something.” I
scooped more food into my mouth, not wanting to wait even knowing there were seconds waiting for me. “Tell me something you’re really bad at.”

  “What?”

  “Something you’re bad at.”

  He set down his fork and turned his body to face me being all inscrutable again.

  “Why?”

  “Everything you do you seem to be good at. Are you good at everything or do you just not do things you’re bad at?”

  Max shifted back around and rested an elbow on the counter, looking off through my wall to who knows where and downed half a glass of wine.

  “Apparently, I was horrible at being a boyfriend.”

  Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Probably that my girlfriend slept with one of my coworkers.”

  I froze, the fork halfway to my mouth, at a loss of what to say. Sure, Jason had turned out to be a jackass, but I was pretty sure that while I dated him, he was one-hundred percent my jackass. Lucky me.

  “Um…”

  “Yeah. Pretty much the normal response.”

  He went back at his food with a new focus, but I couldn’t let it go. He obviously hadn’t. That bothered me more than I could say. That this guy I was pretty sure was a pain in the butt, but a completely honorable one, would feel bad about the actions of someone else.

  “Were you mean to her?”

  “What? No.” He slammed the fork back down. “Of course not.”

  “You didn’t cheat on her, I assume.”

  He didn’t even bother to reply to that. Just gave me a look that answered that question and what he thought of it.

  “Did you break promises?”

  “Sometimes I was late because of work, but I always texted to let her know.”

  “Did you flirt with other women?”

  He looked appalled, as if men didn’t come on to women who weren’t their girlfriends all the time.

  “Why would I commit to someone if I wanted to be with other women?”

  “If you could answer that question, we could solve half of the first world problems.”

  He pushed his food around his plate, slouching a bit in his chair which worried me more than the scowling. “She said we never talked and I didn’t listen to her.”

  I sat there, trying to piece together this mystery that was Max. Obviously he wasn’t a man who spoke a lot, but he did seem to listen, even if he barreled through and did what he wanted to anyway.