GRIND

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  With both crutches in one hand, I reach for the door and pull it open while trying not to fall. My upper body clears the doorway, but the side of my injured foot brushes against the door as I hobble my way over the threshold.

  Pain shoots up my leg and the dull throb around my ankle increases. In another five minutes, I make it across the lobby to the stairwell and climb up four stairs. The fifth stair looms ahead and my body gives out. Twisting around, I sit down and gulp in a huge lungful of air. A crutch slips from my fatigued hand and slides to the bottom of the stairwell. It isn’t far, only four steps, but the thought of working my way down there to retrieve it becomes the absolute last thing I’m willing to deal with right now.

  I lean forward and put my head in my hands in a worthless attempt to hide the large tears as they track down my face. I’ll never make it up four flights of stairs. Scott left me at the clinic when his girlfriend Kayla’s shift ended, and I lied promising I'd call someone for a ride home.

  So far I’ve been able to avoid calling Aspen. She’s babysitting today and never mentioned what time Ben would be back to pick up the baby. If I called she’d race here in a hot minute. But neither her nor Finn have a car, so they’d call Jake or catch a cab… with the baby.

  I called Simone twice before I gave up and used a cab. I don’t want to bother either of them on a Saturday night. Yet, now faced with the prospect of crawling my way upstairs, I’ve run out of viable options. The pain pills weigh down my purse, I should have taken one before I left as suggested.

  “Marissa?” His masculine voice causes me to tense. I know one other occupant in this building. My landlord.

  There’s isn’t another person on the planet I’d rather see less right now. My first thought is of the stupid mat he complained about. I moved it already, but there's probably another sticky note waiting for me on the door. Rule number eleven: No crutches.

  My tears run freely, but thankfully I’ve kept any actual sobs in check. I do a quick wipe of my cheeks and pinch my eyes before I raise my head. There’s no way to hide what I’ve been doing on these stairs. Regardless, I put on my most unaffected expression.

  Lips tight and eyes a smidge narrowed, I stare at Ryland’s chin. “Yeah.”

  A pair of blue gym shorts hang low on his waist reaching to his knees. His chest is covered with a large plain white shirt. He looks as if he’s come from the gym, but it’s still hot in an annoying way only a guy could pull off. Why does he have to look so good while I'm over here a mess?

  He takes two tentative steps in my direction but pauses when my eyes narrow more. “Is everything okay?”

  Why are men so stupid? Does it appear everything is okay? How often does he find crying chicks on the apartment stairs, a pair of crutches on the ground at their feet?

  “I’m fine. Taking a break.” I try to maintain my strong appearance, but a sniffle I can’t hold back causes me to reach up and wipe my nose. Classy.

  “You didn’t make it far.” Ryland’s head moves from the entry doors to my place on the steps indicating the short distance. Bastard.

  I almost roll my eyes, but they’re tired from the crying and don’t have the strength. Silence falls between us and I wait for him to leave so I can get back to my pity party and decide which friend I’ll burden tonight.

  “You’re not going to make it up those stairs.” He takes two more steps in my direction as he states the obvious about my current condition.

  A few feet of hard white tile floor separate us, but I catch a whiff of his cologne and take a deeper breath without being noticed. Who wears cologne to the gym?

  “I’ll be fine. Thanks.” Why won’t he go away?

  Rather than answer my unspoken command to leave me the hell alone, he closes more of our distance. “Come on. I’ll take you upstairs in the elevator.”

  “I’m okay, really.”

  He blows out a breath in annoyance as his jaw tightens. “Marissa, get in the elevator.”

  A sigh escapes my lips. Have I ever given up a fight so easily? “Fine.” I give in but don’t move. Screw his snazzy little elevator. Why won't he let me sit here and be sad? There’s enough anger at his general presence to do it too, but a small part of me recognizes this as my best option. The trip to the fourth floor will take minutes rather than hours and I won’t have to bother Aspen or Simone.

  It’s the single reason I’ll let him win this time.

  I slide down the step using my hands to prop me up and reach the lost crutch, but Ryland beats me there. He picks up the wooden death spear from the floor and the second one holding a hand out for me.

  With both crutches back in place under my arms, my first step is wobbly as he walks around the corner. I’m slow and it’s three tile lengths later before he turns back to watch my sad, pathetic attempt at crutches.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Walking.” The pain worsens and I lose the ability to worry about a nice response. An ice pack is my most pressing concern right now.

  He props a hand on his hip and cocks his head to the side. “No. Put a crutch first and then move your foot.”

  I grunt at him but try to follow his quick directions. It’s as helpful as the nurse while she adjusted the crutches.

  “Have you never had crutches before?” This question annoys me more than the first and I visualize hitting him in the head with one. But I worry I’d fall over and hurt myself more.

  “No. I’m normally a coordinated person. I’ve never needed them before.”

  “Let me help.” He slides into the spot next to me and takes each crutch while wrapping an arm around my waist.

  I want to complain, but I’m missing a leg to stand on. Literally. As much as I hate to admit it, I need this man’s help.

  We make it to the elevator faster than I ever could have on my own, and Ryland uses the bottom of a crutch to open the elevator door. As we wait for the ride to start, he readjusts his arm moving it further down causing him to lean over me.

  He grips tighter and puts the crutches at an angle to better carry us both. “My God you’re short.”

  He’s so full of compliments. “I’m average. You’re unnaturally tall," I grind out.

  The door opens to a small hallway in his penthouse and we step out. Since he leads most of the way, I scan the surroundings. This may be the one peek I get of the place. It’s uninspiring. At the end of the elevator hallway, the space is large and open, but there’s no personality to be found. Well except for the numerous Post-it notes stuck all over his fridge in nice straight lines. Figures. The counter space and shelves are void of any special objects or knickknacks. Not even a coffee maker. A couch sits between the open kitchen and large television in the living room, but no special pictures hang from any of the walls.

  “Well you know what they say about tall people.” His innuendo stops my scrutiny of his home.

  I raise an eyebrow as he continues to limp us through his home toward the hallway door. “No, what do they say?” I’m clueless. I've heard feet, and hands, sure. But height? No.

  “I’ll tell you when you’re older.” He laughs at his own joke and opens his door for us.

  When we stop in front of my apartment, Ryland leans over more and rifles through my purse.

  “Hey! You don’t go through a lady’s purse.” I try to move his hand, but I’m locked tight in his hold.

  “Calm down. I didn’t see your condom stash.” He holds out my key ring and jingles the few different sets on the hook.

  “I don’t own a condom stash.” You have to be having sex to need a condom stash.

  Miscellaneous boxes are stacked in the middle of my living room, but Ryland doesn’t comment on them as he walks me to the bedroom. In any other situation, I’d be concerned he knows where he’s going, but considering he owns the place, I’ll let it slide.

  “All right, let’s go. Hop in.” He stops in front of my bed and I reach out to hold the side as I hobble under the covers.

  Once
I’ve laid down, Ryland turns and walks from the room. His obligation to his pathetic tenant is complete. I try to prop the pillow behind me and glance over my outfit. Still in my button-down shirt and blue jeans, I give only a moment’s consideration to the effort it will take to change. I’ve slept in jeans before and right now it sounds better than any kind of moving.

  Ryland’s head pops back through my doorway his hands full. Tucked under his arm is a pillow from the couch while a glass of water is in one hand and a bag of frozen green beans in the other.

  “There are no ice packs in your freezer.” He shakes the frozen vegetables in my direction. There were vegetables in there?

  “I told you, I don’t get hurt.” Limber is my middle name. I also choose not to exercise, but I’m sure my injury-free status is due to the former reason not the latter.

  “Well you’re lucky I do. Sadly, there’s none frozen at my place either so we’ll work with this for now.” He places the glass of water on the night stand next to the bed. “Lift your foot up.”

  Again for some reason I listen to his demands. I blame it on the pain. I grit my teeth and lift my twisted ankle a few inches while he props the pillow underneath it.

  “Do you need to pick up a prescription?” he asks as he balances the bag of green beans on my ankle. It’s cold, but I swear the pain recedes right away.

  I reach for my purse and pull out the bottle of pain meds the clinic filled for me at their on-site pharmacy. “Nope.”

  “Good.” He shakes the bottle a few times, causing an instant headache to form behind my eyes, and then pulls one out, handing it and the glass of water to me.

  Ryland turns and I swallow the pill as quickly as possible. I’ve never been good at forcing foreign objects down my throat. I don’t want to imagine my face as I gag on it. The pill feels stuck, a jagged edge scraping the soft tissue of my throat as it goes down, causing me to rapidly drain the glass of water.

  Wood scrapes on wood and I return my attention to where it should be, the tall hot man in my bedroom. “What are you doing?” I sputter and put the empty glass back on the stand. Ryland stands in front of my dresser, a place I’ve not given him permission to look around in.

  The giant turns with one of my pink nightgowns dangling from an outstretched finger. I send up a silent prayer it’s a decent one and not from my naughty collection or the hole-filled pair I’ve had since college. Or worse, the pants with My Little Ponies plastered all over them. They were a gift from my sister. And they’re super comfy.

  “Will this work? It’d be easier to get into. If not, I’ll get the ponies.” He grins his stupid lopsided smile I’ve started to like a little too much, and I want to die.

  “You’re not getting me dressed.”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t have anything I haven’t already seen.”

  Who did I piss off to have Ryland Bates in my apartment pawing through my clothes? “Um, no. I’ll figure it out.”

  The man catches some sense and doesn’t fight with me. Instead of pressing the issue, he folds up the nightie and lays it beside me on the bed.

  “Fine.” He turns to leave again and I panic. This time he’ll be gone for good.

  “Ryland.”

  He turns back at my call.

  “Thanks for your help. I appreciate it.” We’ll go back to our landlord and tenant agreement tomorrow, but I can’t let him go without knowing how much his help meant. Maybe the next time I break one of his rules he’ll take pity.

  “No problem, Marissa. I’ll check on you tomorrow.” With those final words he walks out of my sight.

  The front door latches before I recover from his parting remark. He’s coming back?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Objects in the room come into focus as I open my eyes, but my dream lingers right on the edge of my consciousness. The image of Ryland’s flexed muscles as he carried me up four flights of stairs last night fades as I wake up more.

  I’m groggy from the remnants of the pain pill, but I definitely remember Ryland didn’t carry me up any stairs. There were no muscles involved. There’s no reason for me to be dreaming about such ridiculous crap.

  Glass clatters around in my kitchen and I tense up on high alert. Who in the hell is in my place? I try to move my legs off the bed, but they’re stiff and my crutches are nowhere to be seen. I’m a sitting duck for whoever’s out there mauling through my things.

  “Time to wake up, Marissa.”

  Ryland? Why in the hell is he here?

  I stay silent and consider the option of pretending I’m asleep. Ryland’s head peeks around the bedroom door before I have time to adjust myself back on the bed. His smile falters into a tight-lipped frown.

  “You didn’t change your clothes.” His eyes glide up and down my body, his lopsided smile back and growing. He’s dressed similarly to last night but in different colors. Today’s gym shorts are green and shimmer each time the light catches them. A plain white shirt does a horrible job covering his chest, his defined pecs available for my perusal.

  “Holy shit!” I grip the two pieces of my button down shirt and try to wrap it back around myself to cover up my exposed bra. I tried to change last night, but the pills knocked me out before I made it to more than the buttons.

  “Don’t worry, Kitten. I’ve seen a bra or two.” He walks away from the doorway until I can’t see him any longer. “I brought breakfast.”

  He’s unnaturally upbeat for whatever time of the morning it is. I let my shirt fall open again and search for my phone, finding it in my purse with a little battery left. At least this worked out in my favor today.

  “Don’t call me kitten.” I yell my demand toward the hallway, but I know he heard me because his responding laugh makes it to me fine.

  One look at the phone display and I sigh. “Shit.”

  It’s 8:30 a.m. There’s no way I’ll be able to make it in time for brunch by nine. When we allowed Aspen to move our meeting location to Cosmo's — so she could stay warm — none of us considered the logistics of getting to the other side of the city. I scan the room to find my damn crutches in case they miraculously turned up since the last time I looked.

  “Everything okay?” Ryland asks walking in my room without warning again.

  I grab at my shirt and pull the two pieces together, giving him my best annoyed look.

  He chuckles and I narrow my eyes more. “Still nothing I haven’t already seen, Marissa. Now hurry up before your food gets cold.”

  “I can’t find my crutches.” My voice emits more whine than a twenty-five-year-old should, but I can’t bother to care right now.

  “Come on. I’ll help you.” He walks to the dark wooden dresser that came with the apartment and digs through my pajama drawer again as if he owns it. Well, I guess he kind of does, but not the clothes in it.

  Ryland pulls out a few pieces, none meeting his approval, and shoves them back in the drawer with no regard for my folding. Eventually he holds up the My Little Pony pants and a pink t-shirt to match. If my foot hadn’t started to throb again, I’d be more impressed. In a hurry for another pain pill, I nod my head in approval.

  Together we walk to the bathroom, his arm wrapped around my middle like last night. His fingers press into my side, and I enjoy the heat from where our bodies align more than I’ll admit. I’m sure it’s remnants from the pain or reverse Florence Nightingale Syndrome. I’d be languishing on the stairs if it wasn’t for his help. My feelings relate to appreciation. That’s all.

  He sits me on the toilet and lowers himself until he’s resting on his heels. His hand rubs the wrapping on my foot in slow movements that are not sexual in nature. It’d be crazy of me to find his attention to my injury sexy, so I think of the sales reports I'll need to catch up on at work. It doesn’t work, and my thoughts soon flutter back to the feel of his hands on my covered skin.

  “The swelling’s gone down. That’s good. Do you think the wrap will fit through your pant leg?” He stands and towers ove
r me.

  I refuse to make eye contact. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” Wow. I’ve used that lie a ton over the last few days. I’m not sure, but my own stubborn pride won’t let me admit that to him.

  He chuckles like he sees through my false bravado, which is annoying. Everything about Ryland Bates annoys me.

  “Well, holler if you need help. I’ll be right outside.” He leaves the pink pajamas on the counter and closes the bathroom door behind him.

  It takes a few minutes, okay like ten, but I finish my morning business and get myself dressed with minor cursing. The small bathroom allowed me to hobble from one area to another with limited problems. I only hit my foot on the vanity twice.

  I open the bathroom door and he’s right there. Inches from me. Waiting. It’s a bit unnerving, but also endearing. Has a guy ever been so attentive? Last year I had the flu and missed four days of work. Cody brought me a bottle of Nyquil and six cans of chicken noodle soup. He left with excuses about being busy at work and how he couldn’t afford to get sick. Am I really giving Ryland points for breaking into my apartment this morning?

  I shake my head to clear my thoughts while Ryland walks me to the couch and places me on one side. In front of us on top of a light wooden coffee table sits a plate of bagels with small cups of cream cheese next to them. There’s an Annie’s Café & Bookstore logo on the bag behind them, a shop on the first floor of our building.

  The table they’re placed on concerns me the most. A coffee table I’m positive wasn’t here last night, but I’ll get to that.

  “You said the food would get cold,” I call him out on his obvious lie.

  He smiles and hands me a clear takeaway cup with orange juice. “Yeah, my attempt to hurry your ass up.”