Fowl Play (Tuft Swallow)

38. Brian

CHAPTER 38

I’ve never been one to want to play hooky, but Monday morning I want nothing more than to sleep in next to Kodi and spend all day exploring her one glorious moment at a time.

But her phone alarm blares at 6:00 am, startling us both out of our cozy slumber.

“I’ve got to get back to my place and get some work clothes,” she grumbles. Her eyes are squinted shut against the couple of rays of sunshine peeking their way through the gap in my blackout curtains. I pull her in closer to my body, luxuriating in the softness of her naked breasts against my chest.

“Or you could not put on any clothes,” I mumble into her hair. “Just stay here with me all day. Call in sick.”

“It doesn’t work like that. I’m the only admin at the clinic. If I call in sick, all the appointments have to get rescheduled. Which just makes more work for me.”

I rub my arms up and down her back, and her body relaxes into mine. She hums, weaving her hands around to my back and scratching lightly at my spine.

“That’s hardly fair.”

“Yep.”

“Well how about this?” I kiss her forehead and start to disentangle us, but she keeps her arms tight around me. I chuckle. “You stay here, rest, and shower, while I go to your place and pick up some clothes for you and some breakfast for us. I’ll be back before you’re out of the shower.”

“How long do you think it takes for me to shower?” She eyes me, her pride glowing from under her scrunched eyebrows.

“I’ll be quick. And you can take your time. You do have an injured knee, after all.”

Her face falls, and her arms loosen. She flops onto her back and covers her eyes with her hands.

“Fuck. That’s right. What do I need to do about that?”

“Do you still have a pair of crutches?”

She nods at me behind her hands.

“Where are they? I can grab them when I get your clothes.”

Twenty minutes later, Kodi’s made a list of all of the items I’m supposed to gather from her place and given me detailed instructions on where everything is. I scrounge around her purse for her keys once I get downstairs, giving her free reign of my apartment after instructing her on the particulars of the shower faucet and setting out a pair of towels for her.

It’s a beautiful morning in Tuft Swallow, with the refreshing morning air warming my skin on the short walk to Kodi’s place. I can’t help the smile that creeps across my face as I nod to the neighbors walking their dogs in the central square. Even the Tit Peepers with their obnoxious turquoise windbreakers and knowing smirks can’t bring down my mood.

For the first time since moving here, I feel like I belong just as much as any of the other townspeople. I’m not sure if it’s the fact that I recognize the faces I pass, or if it’s the leftover high from waking up to the face of a beautiful woman who cares about me.

Who might even love me.

My chest squeezes at the thought. Last night, Kodi and I actually connected. She was at the lowest I’d ever seen her, but she didn’t shut me out. I broke through the wall that had been keeping me from seeing the real Kodi this whole time.

Is this what love should feel like?

As I cross the street to the rowhouse apartments on Walnut and fly up the six stone steps to Kodi’s floor, I feel invincible. Like I’m walking on air and floating over the threshold instead of consciously moving one foot in front of the other.

The tidy open living room/kitchenette greets me, light pouring through the sheer curtains at the front of the apartment. I glide back to her bedroom, the clean scent of Kodi’s laundry detergent and the lingering smell of whatever she made herself for dinner Saturday night mingling in my nose and bringing me back to the last time I was here. I rifle through her dresser drawers, fighting the urge to linger and explore to see if I can find the rest of her toy collection, but pause when I open her underwear drawer.

She does need a bra and panties for today…

But she didn’t say what kind of panties. Which means I get to choose.

Kodi strikes me as the type of woman to consider herself too practical for matching sets of lingerie, but I’m surprised when I pull out the drawer and an array of brightly-colored lace and cotton greets me. While half of the space seems dominated by sports bras–makes sense–there are several colorful padded and unlined underwire bras folded neatly across from them, along with a whole rainbow of panties in every style from ones that resemble boxers to…

And then I see them. Wedged all the way in the bottom as if they’re never worn, three neon cotton thongs trimmed with lace and little bows on the front.

Bingo.

I snatch two: one hot-pink with the brand name stamped in tiny font across the fabric, and an unpatterned pair the same color as the bright orange tank top she was wearing yesterday at the golf course.

That pair I shove into my pocket. The other I place into the backpack I brought with me, along with a matching black-and-pink satiny, lacy, strappy thing from the bra pile that looks architecturally bewildering, but also like the sight of it on Kodi will drive me crazy for weeks.

Because I know she’s likely to give me shit for it, I also grab a sports bra and shove it into the bag just in case. Then I close the drawer and pick out a pair of black slacks and a silky-looking pastel blouse from the closet.

Eyeing the shoe rack, I come across the most difficult part of my assignment: getting the right pair of shoes. Like most women’s options for footwear, few of the choices are comfortable or supportive, aside from the athletic shoes that would look awful with her work clothes.

I settle on a pair of black leather flats, which will at least ensure she doesn’t have to navigate a heel with her uneven gait. Once all the clothing is packed, I gather the other essentials she put on the list for me to get for her (deodorant, hairbrush, toothbrush, and her makeup bag) and toss them in with the rest.

Finally, I dig into the back of her closet where she stashed her crutches from when she first tore her ACL.

Just as she told me, they’re buried under a whole pile of boxes and bags from her “old life,” as she calls it. Her graduation cap and gown are bundled in one trash bag that I toss behind me. There’s a crate of old binders and books, including one full of yearbooks that I’m itching to look through, but refrain in the interest of time. I glance at my watch, and realize it’s already been close to half an hour since I left Kodi back at my place.

I finally spot the rubber-capped foot of one of the crutches sticking out from under yet another box of memories. This one is older, however, and as I shift it aside, the disintegrating cardboard gives up its hold at the bottom corner, spilling out the contents in a fan of papers and composition notebooks. The one at the top is covered in highlighter and gel-pen writing, and I can’t help but glimpse at the cover as I move the pile to the side.

Kodi and Lily BFF Dream Diary: KEEP OUT!

A little lock and a heart-shaped skeleton key is drawn on the front in silver and pink paint pen, as well as a skull and crossbones beneath the warning.

This has got to be from middle or elementary school. The handwriting is bubbly and cutesy–far different from anything I’ve seen in the college notebooks Kodi brought me from her course on medical records-keeping. As I look it over, more drawings along the cover stand out: high heels and a lipstick tube in red marker, a baseball bat and a softball in brown pen, a sticker of a wedding dress with yellow highlighter impact marks all around it as if it were a superhero from a comic book.

I glance at my watch again. I don’t have the time to look through it… but the idea of little-kid Kodi and Lily scribbling their childhood dreams into a notebook while amped up on rootbeer floats and pizza at a slumber party is just too adorable to toss away.

So I zip it into the laptop pocket of my backpack, unearth the crutches, and make my way back to my girl.

I have far too much energy after I kiss Kodi goodbye in the morning. She refuses to let me walk her to work, claiming her boss would have an absolute conniption if I showed up at the door. So I watch her hobble away on her crutches from the corner of Main Street, her dirty blonde hair dark and damp and swept up into a bun. Her silky blouse and straight-leg black trousers I picked out for her hide the sexy panties and bra beneath. I grin.

She gave me so much shit for that when she came out of the shower. But I noticed she didn’t don the sports bra.

Once she turns the corner of the block and can no longer distract me, I race home, strip out of my joggers and t-shirt and hop into the shower myself. My chest fills with warmth as I breathe in the steam of the shower and see her shampoo and bodywash leaned against mine in the wire caddy hanging from the shower head. It feels good, feels right, to see her stuff here in my place.

My place. I freeze under the spray and open my eyes in surprise, realizing that this is the first time I’ve actually felt at home here.

I don’t belong in the city anymore. I’m happy not working for my old boss, trudging into the soulless clinic, treating an endless parade of hurt people whom I can’t possibly give enough help in the fifteen minutes they have allotted on the schedule.

I belong here, at my own practice, helping my neighbors and gym mates and friends, giving them the full extent of my care and helping them truly heal and live a better, healthier life. Here, with a partner who actually enjoys my company. Who may gripe and tease me when I bring her the sexy underthings at the bottom of her drawer when I’m assigned with the task of picking her outfit for the day, but through it all, actually enjoys my company. Values me. Wants me.

I remember her in her towel, hobbling out of the shower and seeing the clothing I laid out for her on the bed. Snorting when she saw the thong and matching lacy bra. Then slowly letting the towel drop to the floor and pool around her feet as she started a slow, sexy, reverse strip tease in front of me.

My dick twitches just thinking about it.

I take my time replaying the scene in my head and stroking myself, knowing that this shower is going to be a little bit longer than usual, but reveling in the knowledge that I’m self-employed and don’t have any early morning appointments I need to run off to.

I grunt out my release ten minutes later, but even as I do, I realize that thinking of Kodi going about her work tasks with those sexy underthings on that I picked out for her is going to make this a long, long day.

Should I text her?

I get dressed in my gym clothes and get my bag together to head to Put Up Your Ducks for my morning workout. I’m hoping I might be able to get in a round or two with some of the other guys so I can burn off all this extra energy. I’m so well-rested after a full night of her snuggled against me…

I should text her. I whip out my phone and glance down at the screen, and pause.

This is the kind of thing that got me in trouble with Zeke.

My hand freezes over the screen as I hover over the text icon, warring with myself.

This is what I do. Everytime I get myself in a new relationship, I get super excited and clingy and end up suffocating the person I love.

I don’t want to suffocate Kodi. I want her to actually stick around.

So I tuck my phone back in my pocket and head to the gym.

“Tap! Tap!”

Brad’s voice knocks me out of my brain fog and I quickly let him out of my chokehold. He scoots away from me on the jiu jitsu mats in the back left corner of Put Up Your Ducks, under the ridiculous mural with duck versions of all the local townspeople. He rubs the spot just under his larynx, which I notice is flushed from the pressure I was putting on him.

“Oh, fuck, Brad, I’m sorry.”

“Never let your mind go blank during a roll, man. You’re better than that.” Nick bends to help Brad off the mat, and then holds a hand out to me. I take it.

“Right. Sorry. Lots on my mind lately…”

Nick’s light scolding is nothing compared to the guilt I’m forcing on myself for potentially hurting my sparring partner. You are better than that, dammit.

“Hey, no worries, man. So long as you’re not trying to drum up business.” Brad chuckles at his own joke, and my shoulders relax a little.

I smile at him. “Your next appointment’s on me, man. I’ll keep my head in the game.”

“Or don’t! Choke me next, man, I could use a free crack or two!” D’Shawn punches me in the shoulder before pretending to try to take me down. I drop my right side into his ribs and buck him off playfully, laughing out the last little bit of stress.

It feels good to laugh like this.

It’s been years since I’ve had a group of guys I could joke around and train with at the same time. I’d had friends in Scouts back in the day, but had realized too late that it was hard to be my real self in that kind of environment. Tae Kwon Do was better, but we were all more interested in competing for clout than establishing camaraderie during practices. Classes were a single-minded, serious affair.

And when I was in chiropractic school, my schedule was so all over the place I could rarely hang out with people, or make it to the gym during open training hours with the other MMA folks.

But here in Tuft Swallow, especially during the summer, there’s always a good mix of teachers, cops, students, and various other business owners training at the gym. Nick has made it a welcoming place for beginners and veterans of different styles of fighting, and he’s well-versed enough in each one of them to supervise just about everybody.

“Man, you’re spacing out again! What’s on your mind there, Doc?” D’Shawn punches my arm again and I give myself a shake.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s nothing.” I walk over to my cubby by the wall and grab a hand towel out of my bag, then wipe the sweat from my neck and forehead.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Brad preens. I eye him warily. His tone is one I’m not used to hearing in a room full of straight guys.

At least, not ones I consider my friends.

“What do you mean?”

He smirks at me, tilting his head, and I try to keep my face neutral. I’ve dealt with more than enough bullies and assholes at the gym who try to give me shit for being bi. Since that Pecker article back when I first moved here, my sexuality hasn’t been a secret. Instinctively, my hackles raise, and I can feel the tension in my back and arms begin to coil in preparation.

“This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with cornhole practice being canceled last week, would it?” Brad raises his eyebrows.

That is not at all where I was expecting the conversation to go. “Huh?”

“Oh shit! You’re onto something!” D’Shawn pipes in. “You dawg. Someone’s been thawing out the ice queen!”

A few more heads around the gym turn in our direction, and Brad, Nick, and D’Shawn all take me in with big, goofy grins on their faces.

“Uh…huh?” I repeat dumbly.

Now Nick punches me in the arm. “Ow,” I mutter, jerking out of reach before I get a bruise from all the male bonding going on.

“You’re distracting the captain! Giving her somewhere else to focus all that ang–uh, energy,” the fighter finishes lamely.

Still not quite getting it, and still unsure whether or not the guys are teasing me, I feel my face twitch in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re sleeping with Kodi,” Nick mutters with a raise of his eyebrows.

And then I feel a sweat come on that has nothing to do with my workout.

“You’ve gotten under the steely skin of the Champion!” Brad’s voice practically quivers with glee. “I thought it couldn’t be done!”

“Hey now, Kodi’s not–”

“You didn’t go to school with her,” he interrupts me. “That girl has only ever had one mode, and that’s hardcore. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen her smile at a guy unless they scored a point.”

“Y’all talking about Oh Captain, My Captain?” Logan, one of my least favorite guys at the gym, slithers over to our group. Despite being around the same age as Brad, he seems so much younger than all the other fighters. I suspect it has something to do with his attitude problem–like that of a spoiled teenager. “I didn’t think she was into guys.”

“Watch it, Gilgax.” Nick shoots him a look.

But Logan only shrugs. “Hey man, I just call it like I see it. She never even gave a dude the time of day until Gosling here rolled into town.”

Really?

I stifle the little spark of pride that flickers to life at his words, even with the crude intentions behind them. I hope that I might actually be as special to Kodi as she is to me.

But letting that spark ignite into something more would be dangerous. Feeding those kinds of feelings only makes me commit too hard, too soon, and ends up with me looking like an idiot. Like I did with Zeke.

Sure, Kodi likes me. And I like her. We’re dating, having fun. Just because we both admit it’s real now doesn’t mean I have to make it into something bigger than it is.

“Regardless, it’s clear that whatever Brian’s doing is mellowing her out.” Brad gives me an appraising look. “So. How good is it?”

“Is what?”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Come on, is she like a dominatrix or what? You know with her best fucking friend being Slutty McRedhead she’s obviously into some crazy shit. You’re the only one to ever get her in the sack, so...” he gestures with his hands, as we all stare at him open-mouthed. “Oh please. None of you have ever wondered what she’s like in bed?”

D’Shawn shakes his head in disbelief, and Nick narrows his eyes as more heads turn in our direction at Logan’s outburst.

My hand is fisted in Logan’s Eagle View Track and Field t-shirt before I even realize I’ve risen to my feet and crossed the empty floor between us. And then my face is inches from his, his suddenly labored breath stinking up the air between us.

“Maybe the reason she hasn’t ever given guys the time of day is because they’re all perverted fuckheads like you,” I hiss.

I feel a large hand on my shoulder, and Nick’s voice mutters next to me, “stand down, Doc. This is my gym. I’ll handle it.”

With way more effort than it should take, I unclench my fingers. Logan teeters on his feet when I release him, and I realize as I take in his wide eyes and red face that I actually lifted him onto his toes a little bit when I grabbed him. He stumbles back, smoothing the deep wrinkles I put into his t-shirt. I clear my throat, suddenly aware of the dead quiet surrounding the group of us, completely absent of the thumps and hums of sparring partners or the metallic clinking of the free weights being lifted and lowered.

All eyes are on me, Nick, and Logan as the ex-MMA fighter levels him with a withering stare.

“I think your workout’s done for the day, kid. You should pack up and go home.”

“I’ll walk you out, man,” Brad adds in his cop voice, patting Logan on the back and knocking him out of his frozen fear.

I glance down at my hands, which are shaking and clenched into fists.

Where did that come from?

Just as quickly as it started, the altercation is over, with everyone starting back up with their jogging or stretches. Even the elderly couple by the resistance bands is back to their calisthenics in the corner. Nick follows Brad and Logan to the front door, making more easy-going conversation with the officer while the idiot changes his shoes. D’Shawn gets my attention with a nudge, and points a thumb over to the bench in the universal sign for spot me?

I nod, and we resume our workout.

As he’s pushing out a seventh rep, he picks back up the conversation with a grunt. “Whatever you’re doing, man, keep it up.”

“Keep what up?”

Clunk. He ducks under the bar and sits up, and we switch spots. I wedge myself underneath the bar and press upwards.

“Whatever you’re doing with Kodi.”

“I’m just,” three, “being,” four, “me.”

I wuss out after rep five, and the bar clatters against the stand. D’Shawn’s a lot bigger than I am. I can’t do too many sets at his weight.

“In that case, it seems like you two are a good fit for each other.” He takes a swig from his water bottle. “She’s been different since she started seeing you. The captain I knew at the beginning of the season never would have canceled practice just because we won a game. Maybe you’re showing her that there’s more to life than winning.”

The same little spark in my heart from earlier flickers as his words sink in. I don’t say much more as D’Shawn finishes his set, except for a good work at the end of it.

Instead, I find myself zoning out again, remembering the way Kodi looked this morning when I handed her her crutches. Not hopeless, like she had at the golf course, and not frantic or fired up, like she did whenever she talked about the cornhole league, but simply…determined.

Like she knew what she had to do, and she could get through it.

I’m still chewing on that when I say goodbye to Nick and the rest of the guys, and even still when I rinse off and change into my work clothes for the day. At my desk, after preparing everything for my afternoon appointments, I get out my phone and pull up my messages with Kodi.

The last message is from yesterday morning, before we met up with Nick and Tina at the golf course. Asking if we were planning on getting dinner afterwards. Of course, we didn’t end up going anywhere with them after–she came right back here, where we…

Flashes of our night and morning together playback in my mind, and that tell-tale flicker is back. I remember the thong and matching bra, and the embers glow into a small flame that warms my chest and belly, and even lower.

Brian

How’s your day going?

I know she likely can’t text back at work. I know that some people would find my texting during the middle of the day, after we’d just spent practically the whole weekend together, clingy or needy. I know that to most guys, like the ones I’ve dated before, like Zeke or even just normal, immature straight guys like Logan; the way I feel about Kodi after such a short time together would seem pathetic. Sentimental. Weak.

And then, three little dots appear under my message.

And I dare to allow that little flame to burn on.