Fowl Play (Tuft Swallow)

37. Kodi

CHAPTER 37

For the next five minutes, I just lay in Brian’s bed, unmoving, like he told me to.

It’s different.

As I lay there, I tilt my head from side to side, checking out the innocuous bedspread and gray-and-navy color scheme that feels like the most generic section of the “home and kitchen” department at Kohl’s. Who is this man?

I’m suddenly desperate to know the real Brian Gosling. Not the hot chiropractor I was pretending to date to get revenge on his toxic ex. But the sweet, brilliant man who can treat my injuries and make me laugh and come and experience all sorts of new and fascinating sensations.

There are some knick-knacks and personal items that lend some personality to the space: a few framed photos of him with his sensei at a martial arts tournament, an abbreviated rainbow of belts along the wall, a small pride flag hanging over a bookshelf lined with old college textbooks.

There’s no TV in his bedroom, but there is a lamp on his nightstand along with a nonfiction paperback novel, the place inside marked not with a bookmark, but a Kindle. Which I find funny.

Reading multiple books at once?

The longer I lay there, the more tired I realize I am. And thirsty. My need for a drink becomes more urgent with the salty tang of Brian’s cum still lingering at the back of my tongue.

That’s something they don’t tell you in sex ed.

My knee throbs a little, and I decide to snoop a bit and see what he’s reading. When I open the paperback to the e-reader inside, I see the screensaver is the cover for a science-fictiony, fantasy-looking type of book. It’s got big, blocky text and a picture of a muscly guy, a creepy spider lady, and a cat with a crown on it. I don’t recognize the author. Curious, I go to press the on button–

“Bored already?” Brian pops into the room, dressed only in his boxers, carrying a TV-tray of food and a bottle of water. I jump.

“I’m sorry!” I blurt out, slamming the book back around the Kindle. He snickers.

“It’s okay, baby girl. I don’t mind you looking through my book collection. Although you shouldn’t start that series with book six: you’ll be totally confused.”

“What kind of book is it?”

“Lit RPG.”

“What’s that?”

The only books I really pay attention to are the ones I see at the kiosks at the library. I tend to stick to YA or the occasional romance (if Lily can’t shut up about it), and have only ever read physical books. But Lily swears by her e-reader.

“It’s a genre that reads like playing a video game. Characters level up, fight monsters. Usually there’s a bunch of weird mechanics and equipment and stuff in there, too. It’s fun, reminds me of playing games on my old Nintendo growing up.

“After I…left home, I didn’t really have time to game anymore. I’ve thought about PC gaming but, as you know, I’m not very good at computers.” He shrugs, and sets the tray down onto my lap. It’s got legs on the bottom so it can rest on top of my lap without me having to hold it up. His laptop is on it, along with a turkey sandwich and a bowl of cheese puffs. Then he climbs onto the bed beside me and pops one of the puffs into his mouth. “Reading books that feel like video games scratches the itch.”

Another piece of the Brian puzzle. I’ve never played a video game in my life, but I don’t tell him that. “Is it any good?”

“It’s great. I read a lot. Nonfiction to keep up on new science and stuff like that, research in my field, but then I’ve got a ton of ebooks on the Kindle for when I need a break from that.”

I unscrew the cap of the water bottle that he hands me and take a long, grateful swig. Weirdly, I love listening to him talk about his hobbies like this. It makes him seem so much more…human. Less like the miracle worker who’s helping me walk again, and more like Brian, the guy who I have a crush on.

Crush.

I look down at the sandwich he made me, cut twice diagonally into little triangles, and blush. He says he has feelings for me, too. It’s a lot to take in. And maybe that’s weird, considering I just had his dick in my mouth and we’ve now both given each other orgasms, but something about that doesn’t seem nearly as intimate as me lying here in his bed, talking about what kinds of books he likes to read after he just made me a sandwich.

“What do you like to read?” he asks.

“Oh, I don’t know. I like John Green, so stuff like that is good. I’ve read a couple romance books that Lily couldn’t stop talking about that were okay. Although the hockey romances she gets into are absolutely ridiculous.”

“Hockey romances?”

“Yeah.” I sit up and grab a quarter of the sandwich. “First of all, there’s hardly any hockey in them. Instead, it’s all about how muscly the guys are and how possessive they are over the main girl.”

“And you don’t like possessive, muscly guys, huh?”

He smirks at me. I roll my eyes.

“That’s not what romance is!” My voice comes out much louder than I intend it to, and I blush, realizing that I wouldn’t mind at all reading about Brian being all muscly and possessive.

I cover up my embarrassment with a cough and a sip of water. “Besides, I mean, I like sports. If you call something a hockey romance, I feel like it should at least be half hockey and half romance.”

“And what ratio does Lily prefer?”

I roll my eyes. “Who even knows! But I feel like she doesn’t care about the hockey part at all!”

I take a bite of the sandwich, which is actually quite delicious, and another sip of the water. Brian looks down the bed towards my knee.

“I have some bad news, Kodi.”

“Oh no,” I say around the second quarter of sandwich. The way my stomach drops has nothing to do with the food, and everything to do with the strained look on Brian’s face as he examines my leg. “How long am I going to be down for?”

He shifts beside me, stroking his fingers through my hair as he answers. “Without putting weight on it? I’d say at least two weeks.”

“Two weeks??” I groan. “That’s all the way to the playoffs!”

“And even after that, you should honestly take it easy for at least another month.” I open my mouth to protest. That’s basically all the way to the championship! He puts his finger against my lips. “I know it’s most of the season. I get it. And frankly, cornhole is not exactly a contact sport: you could probably get away with playing a game or two. But you can’t be treating it like the Olympics anymore. If you want to have a leg that works come fall, you’re going to need to start treating the cornhole league like the chill, easygoing backyard beer league it is, instead of the NHL.”

I snort. “Well, if Lily’s books are to be believed, the NHL is more about flirting and foreplay than it is about training.”

“Well, if that’s the case…” He leans into me, tracing his hand up and down my bare arm. Goosebumps rise in its wake. “Maybe the NHL isn’t the worst comparison in the world.”

And then his face is so close to mine I can feel his breath on my cheek. I swallow and shift down the TV tray. “So, even with the knee, I can still participate in some…extracurricular activities?”

I rub my hand along his thigh, which is only partially covered by his boxer-briefs. I see the tell-tale ridge of his shaft shift slightly as our bodies inch closer together.

“Well, I was going to suggest we snuggle for the rest of the afternoon and watch more Bridgerton while you rest, but if you have other ideas…”

“I might have a few, yeah.” I try to give him a flirty wink, but I’m betrayed by a yawn that elbows its way up my throat. He laughs when I can’t hold it back, weaving his fingers through mine and moving my hand down between our bodies.

“Tell you what,” he says, adjusting the TV tray so it’s over his legs instead of mine. “Why don’t you save those ideas for later, when you can actually climb on top of me without hurting yourself, and for now we can stick with my original plan?”

One part of me thinks that that sounds like a great idea. But the other part, the Kodi-never-quits-a-challenge part, is dying to see if I can make him fall apart again.

But then another yawn works through me, and I realize that maybe it’s best to take it easy for now.

As he queues up the series on Netflix and I snuggle into his warm torso, it dawns on me that, without him trying to win Zeke back or me obsessing over the playoffs, it means that there doesn’t have to be an expiration date on our relationship. It’s not fake anymore. We have all the time in the world to get to know each other, watch TV, read books, and give each other mind-blowing orgasms.

And as I drift off into a nap in his arms, Rege Jean Page’s seductive voice playing in the background, I begin to accept that that might actually be a pretty wonderful thing.