27. Thora
CHAPTER 27
THORA
I wake up in a panic, not sure where I am. And then I realize the hot coils wrapped around me are Odin’s massive arms, and … I still sort of panic. But it feels different. I’m curled on my side, facing him, and I can make out the smooth features of his face in the dim morning light that sneaks around his curtains.
He’s here because I asked him to stay last night. I remember tripping at the bar, him freaking out, and then I just succumbed to exhaustion once I realized Odin Stag wasn’t taking no for an answer. Nobody has ever growled like that in defense of my health. God, his brother even took over my bartending shift. That could have gone really great or incredibly awful. I wonder if I’m fired.
Just as the financial panic about that sets in, Odin stirs, sees where he is, and pulls me even closer to him. “You’re not sneaking away this time.” His low voice vibrates through his chest. I love the rumble of it. His body is just so safe and strong and available to me right now. It’s all very confusing and not something I’d like to allow myself to crave since it’s all very temporary .
But maybe it’s okay if I indulge for the day. Perhaps it’s okay to let him hold me while I drift back to sleep, just for a minute.
I wake up again to a gentle shake and open my eyes to see Odin’s blue ones in the bright light of full morning. At least I hope it’s not later than morning. I sit up. “What time is it?”
He grins. “Not even eight yet. But I, uh, need your help with something.”
I smooth my hair with my fingers, realizing I’m wearing a huge shirt Odin must have put on me last night. The cotton is soft and worn and smells like his detergent. I’d steal it if my parents’ house didn’t reek of smoke. “What do you need? I definitely owe you.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything. But I’d love it if you could help me with this.” He gestures at his cast. “I need to work on showering, and doing it at home is a benchmark for me.” He drifts off, staring at the bathroom.
I watch his throat work as he swallows and then turns back toward me, brows lifted in a hopeful expression. I’m touched that he’s making himself vulnerable for me after I was sort of forced to be vulnerable last night. Maybe we’re a better match than I initially assumed. Okay, we definitely are. I rest a palm on his considerable thigh. “What can I do?”
He grins. “Mostly make sure I don’t fall on my ass. I have a chair I’m supposed to use. I can take the cast off in the bathroom, but I still can’t put any weight on my foot at all.”
I nod and stand, facing the small bathroom. “It’s going to be crowded in there.”
“Think you can handle the press, Thora? I can get Gunny to help if you’re overwhelmed.”
I laugh. “I can handle a tight fit. ”
I expect him to make a joke about that, but he wheels his scooter into the bathroom and turns on the shower, setting out his towel on the counter. He starts to strip before I prepare myself, and there, in the bright overhead light, is the firm ass of Odin Stag. I can’t help myself. I am powerless to resist laying a hand on it. It’s right there in front of me.
“Don’t push me,” he says, then bends to remove the cast. I swallow, reminding myself that we are being vulnerable together. He didn’t invite me in there to fuck in the steam. I’m not supposed to think about his skin all warm and soft from the hot water. He groans in pain, and my thoughts sharpen immediately.
I step closer as he places his palm on the tile wall, peeling off the boot cast with a creak of plastic hinges. I try not to look down at his heel, where I know his incision must still be pretty gross. He breathes out heavily through his nose, meeting my eyes as he pivots into the shower and sinks onto the chair.
Odin rests his head on the wall of the shower, letting the water fall over him. I can tell he’s hurting but doesn’t want to say anything about it. I strip off his shirt and step into the shower, putting shampoo in my palms and walking toward him.
His eyes fly open when my fingers dig into his hair, but then they drift closed again as his face eases. “That feels so good,” he moans.
“Shh,” I soothe, finishing his hair and reaching for his washcloth and the bar of soap. “Does it count against your therapy goals if someone else washes you off?”
He shakes his head. “My instructions were to safely enter and exit the shower independently.”
“You did great. Where do I sign?” I urge him to lean forward, and he rests his cheek against my stomach as I scrub his back. His hands are still white knuckling the arms of the shower chair, and I’m not sure what hurts him specifically, but he seems to enjoy what I’m doing, so I continue.
“When do you have to be somewhere today? I can have my brother drop you off…” He sucks in a breath and twitches when I scrub his armpit.
“Ah, ticklish. Noted.” I move the washcloth around to his chest. He leans back again, and his eyes are half closed, not staring at my tits, though one of his hands does find my butt cheek and gives it a squeeze. Tit for tat, I suppose. “I have one exam, and then I have my final meeting with my advisor to make sure everything is all set for graduation.”
“Ung.” He turns his torso, stretching or reaching for something, and I notice a pair of tattoos on his shoulder blades.
I touch them with a soaped-up hand, tracing the outline of a stag leaping over laurel branches. “Tell me about your ink.”
He smiles. “All the Stags have that one.” He points at his shoulder. “It’s tradition.”
“And the other one?” I move to scrub that side of his back, where a blackbird perches on a Viking helmet.
“It’s dumb,” he says and shrugs. “You know, Odin. Viking shit.”
I smile. “Hi. My name is Thora. I don’t think it’s dumb.”
Odin grunts and spreads his legs on the shower chair. I can’t tell if he’s half hard or if his penis is just like that all the time. When I was up close and personal with it, the thing was massive.
“I, um, think you should do your lower half,” I tell him, and he opens his eyes, nodding. I back out of the shower and grab myself a towel from the cupboard where I saw him grab his earlier. “When does Wyatt get into town? I know he’s accompanying Fern to London on Monday…”
“He’s here,” Odin says, leaning forward to wash one of his feet. I had never noticed his feet before, but they look strong. I like the tendons and calluses I can see. He moves to his injured leg and washes a bit more gingerly, blowing out another breath before explaining that Wyatt flew in late last night, but he’s at his parents’ house since they picked him up at the airport.
“He probably went to get Fern immediately,” I say, patting my hair dry and looking around the room. “I, um, don’t have any clothes but the fucked-up ones from last night.”
Odin snaps off the water in the shower. “We washed those for you,” he says. “Give me a minute, and I’ll grab them.”
And then he grips the chair handles, nostrils flaring as he concentrates on lifting himself using just one leg. I reach out to steady him, but he shakes his head. “I’m up.” He hops a few times toward his bed, dripping water.
I laugh. “Let me at least wrap the towel around you before you soak everything in sight.”
It’s strange to be naked with him like this, blotting him dry before he eases himself back into the cast. There’s nothing sexual about what we’re doing, but it’s intimate. Maybe more intimate than anything I’ve ever done. We’re both aware of it as he tugs on a pair of mesh shorts and wheels himself from the room, returning soon after with my shirt and jeans from last night.
I step into the pants commando as Odin watches, shocked. I shrug. “I can do a test and a meeting with no undies. I’ll change when I get home.”
“Fuck, Thora.” He drags a hand through his hair. “You’re going to give me a stroke.”
“That’s what she said.” We both laugh as I gather my things and leave, promising to touch base before I go to work in the evening.
My legal studies exam is a piece of cake, and I finish early enough that I can walk to my advisor’s office at a leisurely pace. There’s not a pre-law major here at the university, but between the political science classes and my work in the student law clinic, I feel good about my prospects after my fellowship year. Everything is so close I can taste it, and I shiver in anticipation as I gently knock on my advisor’s door.
“Come on in, Thora,” Mark says, his voice cheerful.
I wave and take a seat opposite his desk. “Just here for the final checklist for Sunday.”
He chuckles. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There’s still Saturday to deal with.”
I furrow my brow. “Saturday?”
He looks at me over the folder he’s studying. “Yes, the diploma ceremony. Surely you received the invitation?”
I nod. “I did, but I just thought it was optional. I didn’t take off work Saturday.” The night before commencement is one of the busiest nights of the year at Fuel Up. Not only will it be jammed with graduating students, but their alumni parents will also be in town, craving the nostalgia that comes with cheap, well-drinks. They always tip really well, those alumni parents.
Mark shifts uncomfortably in his seat, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Thora, I, um, would really like you to consider attending. You’re a Rhodes scholar. We’ll be acknowledging that in the more intimate setting of just students from your major and?—”
I shake my head. “I still don’t have the funds I need to buy my plane ticket to BE a Rhodes scholar. I have to work on Saturday.”
Mark gives his collar another yank and leans forward. “End-of-semester awards are granted at the ceremony, Thora. Let’s say…you have a strong chance of receiving some funding.” His eyes dart between his computer monitor and my face.
I frown. “I can’t miss a guaranteed lucrative shift for a strong chance, sir. I’m really sorry.”
Mark groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m pleading with you to attend,” he says. “I’d like to offer my personal assurance that you will not regret it.”
I leave his office deeply confused. I applied for every grant I could find, every bit of funding. Fern and I spent spring break last year making lists. If there was a scholarship, I’d be aware of it. Something feels off.