Fowl Play (Tuft Swallow)

39. Kodi

CHAPTER 39

Okay, I never thought I’d be caught dead thinking this, but thongs are comfortable.

When I first flossed the damn panties that Brian brought for me this morning up my legs and over the clunky brace he’d lent me for my knee, I thought for sure that I’d be picking wedgies all day. But unlike some of the other fancy, lacy underwear Lily had forced me to buy whenever we’d go shopping together, the pair Brian picked out doesn’t even feel like I have anything on. I can’t even remember getting these, honestly, and I guess they’ve been buried at the bottom of the drawer for a while.

I blush while I’m typing up patient intake information, realizing that not only did Brian pick out undergarments for me this morning, but he was digging around long enough to pick out a pair that had to have been underneath or behind literally every other piece of lingerie I own. The very thought makes my nipples poke into the silky, unlined fabric of the strappy, matching bra he picked out to go with them, and I send up a prayer that no one can see the outlines of them poking through the thin fabric of my blouse.

Fuck. All day, it’s been like this. Every little thing makes me think of him, his kindness towards me yesterday, the way his voice was all low and hoarse when we first woke up in the morning, and, of course, the taste of his cock as it slid past my tongue and into the back of my throat when I made him straddle me yesterday.

How do other women do it??

I mean, sure, I guess I’ve had a small crush or two before. Back in middle school, Lily and I would have sleepovers and gush over some guy or another—but it was almost always her doing most of the gushing. I was far more interested in player stats and scoreboards than boys, and unless our classmates were sponsored by Nike, I couldn’t really care less about what they were wearing when they walked into homeroom.

I find myself reflecting on something akin to respect for Lily when I think about how distracted she must constantly be with her endless dating apps and hookups she has going on. All that, and she still managed to get her associates and an esthetician’s license?

Impressive.

“Miss Gander!”

I jump, despite the fact that I’m not doing anything wrong, at the sound of Dr. Cratchet’s voice ringing through the office. Other than a terse nod or a grunt, this is actually the first he’s spoken to me since my outburst last week.

“Yes, sir?”

“When you get a moment, look through these resumes, would you? I need to have the top three most qualified candidates on my desk by the end of the day.”

He slaps a pile of papers onto my keyboard, spamming the g, h, and j buttons in the process. I quickly straighten them and set them on the span of perfectly empty space to the left of my computer.

“Resumes, sir?”

He leans against the island counter behind me, and I spin around in my chair to face him. He folds his hands over his rounded belly and adopts a pensive expression.

“Yes, quite. I pondered what you said over the weekend and concluded that, despite your absolute lack of proper conduct in your presentation,” he narrows his eyes at me over the rims of his glasses, then takes a breath. “You did have a point. We are woefully understaffed. And while your degree may qualify you for the rather generous salary I pay you for menial office work, it’s rather insufficient for delivering the level of patient care for which I’ve come to be respected and admired for providing.”

I blink, taking a second to parse out the meaning behind his flowery language. “You’re replacing me, sir?”

He sighs. “Not replacing, no. The board is hiring a nurse practitioner to assist with case load and prior authorizations.”

“Oh!” A smile stretches across my face before I can help it. “That’s a wonderful idea, sir!”

“Of course it is. Granted, it’s one you should have thought to suggest ages ago if you were feeling so overwhelmed with managing your responsibilities. But alas, communication is one of the many skills lacking in your generation…”

He continues to espouse the many shortcomings of anyone under the age of forty while he pours himself a cup of the coffee I made earlier. I ignore him as I start leafing through the pile. At least he’s talking to me again, and the first words out of his mouth weren’t giving me a pink slip.

I’m going to have a co-worker!

And not just any co-worker. An actual qualified nurse practitioner: someone who can handle all of the insurance paperwork and extra responsibilities that I truthfully shouldn’t be taking on the liability for. I should stand up for myself more often!

Maybe I can find someone who our patients would feel more comfortable with, too. Someone more like?—

I shake my head before I once again let my thoughts wander to Brian. Now that I have actual important work to do today, I can’t be letting myself get more distracted.

A buzzing sound comes from my purse hanging on the hook by the records closet, and it briefly distracts Dr. Cratchet from his monologue. He glances once at my purse, then me, and we lock eyes.

“Sorry, sir. I keep it on vibrate in case there’s an emergency.”

“You’re not getting it out during the work day, are you, Miss Gander?”

“No, sir.” Tight ass.

“Good. Keep it that way.” He nods his head, then heads back to his office, mumbling something about kids and their electronic devices.

Once he closes the door, I check the schedule for his next appointment. “Mrs. Woodcock,” I call into the waiting room. “The doctor can see you now.”

The elderly woman, who’s something of a town matriarch, smiles at me from the waiting room, tucking a copy of today’s Nosy Pecker in between the seat cushion and the armrest before approaching the door to the hall with all the exam rooms. I grab my crutches and meet her at the threshold, and drop her off at the first room, pushing the call button on my way out. It takes a little longer than usual for me to get back to the office with me hobbling along, and by the time I get back to the island I can hear Dr. Cratchet greeting her.

When the exam room door clicks closed behind him, I snatch my phone from my purse to check my messages.

Brian

How’s your day going?

Butterflies.

Pathetic. I’ve got goddamn butterflies from a morning-after text.

What do I even tell him? Do I let him know that we’re looking for a nurse practitioner to expand the clinic? I snort at the irony. Dr. Cratchet originally wanted me to spy on Brian for him, and now I’m thinking about spilling all the clinic’s gossip to my boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

My fingers hover over the screen, waffling back and forth over just how much I want to share about my day. How much he’d be interested in. Normally, I’m the one listening to my friends about their days, about their drama. Now that the tables are turned, I’m not sure what he actually wants to know. Whether he’s just checking in about my knee, or my mental state, or even just to get a naughty picture of me from the employee bathroom.

Heat rises to my cheeks. Now that would be a new experience for me.

I settle for something non-committal.

Me

Pretty good, actually! I’m not fired, at least. How about you?

The three little dots appear next to his name almost immediately.

Why would you be fired?

Shit. I realize that I never told Brian about my outburst on Friday, because it would mean I’d have to fill him in on the context of my boss wanting me to spy on the “competition.” And even though that isn’t at all the reason I went to Brian for my first appointment–the butterflies soar all over again when I remember him rushing to catch me after I collapsed when we first met–I can’t deny that it would totally seem suspicious if he knew why I was able to get off work so often to go to his office.

Eh, you’ve met the Doc. I’m always on my toes.

Guiltily, I push my phone back into my purse, ignoring the buzzing that continues through the afternoon while I refocus on the stack of resumes in front of me.

By the end of the day, I have three great-looking candidates, all of whom I believe would help fill a serious gap in our town’s limited health care options, particularly for women. Of the three candidates, we have two experienced women and one recent non-binary grad from U Mass, all of whom have great references from reputable medical programs in the state and OB-GYN experience.

All-in-all, I’m feeling pretty confident in the three resumes I put on Cratchet’s desk at 5:30. But that feeling fades quickly as I have to navigate my crutches and hobble from his office, back to my desk to shut down my computer, then to the hook to get my purse, all before turning off all the lights and heading out the front door.

By the time I lock up the office, maneuvering outside and realizing I need to get myself down four steps from the landing to the sidewalk, I’m exhausted.

“Hey, baby girl.”

My body reacts instantly to his voice. Low and smooth, calming, and sending a shockwave of warmth throughout my body that makes my nipples peak and remind me of how much less fabric there is covering my intimate parts than usual.

I look up and meet his eyes. He’s on the top step, holding out a hand for me, gentleman-style, with a bright smile on his face.

“I thought you might want to lean on me instead of those crutches on your walk home.”

Okay, maybe it’s all the Bridgerton we’ve been watching together, but those old-school manners vibes he’s dishing out are making my heart beat double-time in my chest. I hardly trust my voice as my cheeks stretch in what I’m sure is a super embarrassingly cheesy grin.

“Yeah, okay.” How eloquent, Kodi. “But, it’s girl’s night, so I’ll actually be walking to the Crowbar.”

“Ah, of course.” His eyes sparkle, even as a slight look of disappointment crosses his face, and it’s like my stomach twists into a helium balloon. “Mondays, right?”

“Yeah,” I say breathlessly. Partly because of how amazed I am that he remembers those little details about my life and schedule, and partly because maneuvering the stairs outside the clinic with these crutches is a pain in the ass.

But he offers his hand for me, and the other for one of my crutches, and I accept gratefully, letting his strong presence take away the pain of my injured knee.

Lily’s already got our usual table claimed, and three pristine Cosmos in martini glasses waiting for us. Well, two of them are pristine. The other is half-drained and tipping precariously in one of her hands as she texts furiously with the other.

“Hey Lily,” I greet her, leaning my crutches against the table and hoisting myself on the high-top stool. Brian kissed me goodbye outside the main entrance, asking me to text him if I needed someone to walk me home.

Ugh. He’s so frickin’ perfect.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it.

Lily gawks at me as I claim my Cosmo and take a sip. “Oh my gosh, what happened??”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Kodi. You’re on crutches. It is very much a big deal! Is this the real reason you canceled practice on Friday?? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“No.” My face squints at the sweet-and-sour drink. I’m definitely going to need to go back to my usual gin and tonic after this. “I canceled practice because we deserved a break. We won our last game, and we had a bye weekend. It made sense.”

“Okay, who are you and what have you done with Kodi?” She crosses her arms. “Don’t get me wrong, I love this new version, but I just need to know what we’re getting into. If there’s a catch.”

“A catch to what?” Callie huffs over, pulls out her stool, and drowns her Cosmo in one, long drink, before sitting down and exhaling loudly.

We stare at her.

“What’s up with you?”

“I just almost got run over on the street. Winston was in the middle of the road, so of course I needed to get my daily squeeze, and some lunatic almost crashed into us!”

This kind of thing is more common than you’d think in this town. That goat is constantly getting people into trouble.

“Charlene, we’re gonna need another round over here!” Lily shouts to the passing waitress.

“Make mine a gin and tonic,” I add on.

“Extra lime?” The woman shouts it over her shoulder as she swings her hips past three full tables.

“Yes, please!” I lean into the middle of the table, eyeing my friends. “Do we come here too much?”

“No,” Callie and Lily respond in unison.

Then we all burst into laughter. As Callie reaches up to fix her disheveled ponytail, her elbow hits my crutches. “What the–oh no! Is one of you hurt??”

She ducks under the table to hunt for injuries.

“It’s me.”

“It’s Kodi.”

Lily and I answer at the same time.

“What happened?” Callie’s eyes go wide, and her elementary school-teacher voice comes out, the care and sympathy radiating from her sincere face. Lily eyes me with more judgemental expectation.

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s girl’s night,” Lily argues, grabbing her Cosmo from a passing Charlene before she can set it on the table and taking a big swig. “So, spill.”

I thank Charlene for my G&T (she made me a double, the saint) and sigh as I stab the lime wedges with my straw. “I fell at Birdie in the Hole.”

My two besties stare at me for a long moment before, once again, bursting into laughter. This time, I don’t join them.

“What??” I demand. “Stop it! It sucks, okay? Jeez, I was just starting to feel better, and now…”

A sour turn overtakes my stomach and suddenly I don’t want my drink anymore. I push it away from me, closing my eyes and fighting the overwhelming sob creeping its way up my throat.

No. No. Stop this. I was fine. I was?—

I wasn’t fine. I was distracted. First by Brian, and our sexy adventures last night after I lost it on the treatment table, and then with his totally sweet and flirty aftercare throughout the day today. Then I had resumes to focus on at work, and because I was sitting down the whole time I was able to push my grief aside.

I should have known that this would only come up to bite me in the ass later. I’m an idiot. And I’m broken. And?—

I’m surrounded by a squishy hug and my face is buried in a mass of red curls.

“It’s going to be okay. You’re not broken. You’re a work in progress. This is just one step back, on a long journey forward.”

I feel another set of arms close in around my shoulders, and with Lily and Callie holding me together, I let a couple tears fall. Just enough to release the pressure.

Lily’s arm snakes down to my lap, finds my hand, and squeezes it. I squeeze back, finding the strength to sniffle back up the dam that’s holding my sadness inside and locking it away for another couple hours.

And then Lily tilts her forehead against mine and murmurs, “Was it that frickin’ clown head laughing that startled you? I swear that thing scares the absolute bejesus out of me every time.”

My sob turns into a chuckle, and the dam breaks again. The sniggers and coughs shake loose the tears into more manageable streams, and I even smile a little.

“Holy shit, with me it’s windmills. I haven’t been to the golf course here yet, but it doesn’t even matter because every mini golf course has one. And there’s never anywhere I can stand that’s safe from that damn thing. I’ve been smacked on the back of the head five times on a single trip before. Five times!”

My shoulders shake as more tears and snot and coughs of laughter dribble out of me like a fountain.

“It was the bubble popper,” I grab a napkin and blow my nose. “I tripped into it with my butt and it popped me up into the air and right onto my bad knee.”

Lily pulls back from me, meeting my eyes with a look of horror on her face.

“That. Fucking. Sucks.”

I let out a little wail as another sob/laugh overtakes me. “It does!!”

The two of them let me drink and cry and snot all over them as I tell the rest of the story, from Tina charging the snack bar for an ice pack while Brian literally carried me back to the car. How he wouldn’t let me out of his sight all night, and how he walked me to work this morning and even here to the bar tonight.

They listen and nod, sipping on their Cosmos and rubbing my shoulder as I recount the pain of Brian’s adjustment, how I felt–feel–so helpless about my recovery, which seems to me to be a goalpost that’s constantly moving away from me. I complain about needing to take four weeks off from cornhole, and how I worry I’m going to be an even worse coach and captain to the team now that I can’t even demonstrate at practice anymore. At that, Lily and Callie glance at each other, and Lily places a light hand on my uninjured knee.

“You know, Kodi, that might not be the worst thing in the world.” My watery eyes snap to hers. I’m bracing for an admonishment, but instead of the usual frustration regarding the team, she’s looking at me with understanding and kindness. “You need to take it easy. And the team has been dying to have a little less drilling, and a little more fun, at practice. Maybe this is a sign. A sign to slow down, lean back, and enjoy a game for once in your life.”

“You always take the game so seriously. You know it’s okay to let yourself have fun, right?” Callie smiles at me.

I blink at them, tears slowing now that I’ve gotten out some of my angst. “But, the championship–”

“It's something we’ve won every year since 1969. Kodi, at that point, it’s not a challenge, okay? It’s in our fucking blood. We’re pretty good, you know? We’re good at cornhole. We don’t need to drill. We hardly even need to practice! We just get together twice a week to play because it’s a town beer league. It’s where single townies go to flirt with each other and teachers go to blow off steam with other adults instead of being stuck in a room with a bunch of children.”

“And where Ginger goes to show off her ass cheeks to all the eligible men in town,” Callie adds, and I snort. “It’s an excuse to get the whole town together to drink, sell hamburgers, and dress up Winston in the local colors at the matches.”

“It’s where we can get away with throwing bean bags at all the MMA fighter’s tight butt cheeks and call it an accident!”

Each item they list gets more and more ridiculous, until Lily squeals, “It’s two nights a week where we can shotgun hard seltzers and ciders in the public park without getting arrested!”

Finally, I join in.

“It’s the only place I can embarrass Logan for being a dipshit without having to face any consequences!”

They both cheer at that, and we clink glasses. A few townies at the tables around us look on curiously, and we settle back down, leaning our heads together over the hightop.

“It’s where you and Brian first kissed,” Callie whispers.

My heart squeezes. She’s right. If it weren’t for our match against Spitz Hollow and me needing to save Brian from his obnoxious ex, would we even have had a chance to try…whatever this thing is that we have?

This beautiful, wonderful thing?

Lily bolts upright. “Oh my gosh. Oh my GOSH.”

“What?” Callie and I both sober and straighten at her change in tone.

“You said Brian walked you to work this morning.”

“Yeah…”

Lily stares at me. I stare at her. Callie’s eyes dart back and forth between us like she’s watching some kind of cerebral tennis match.

“You spent the night at his place!”

My face grows so hot, I can feel the remnants of the tears on my cheeks sizzle dry. Callie’s mouth forms a perfect o and there’s a brief moment of total silence, before…

“Eeeeeeeeeeee!!!” The shrill sound of my excited besties rings out into the din of the bar. I shush them, until they settle for bouncing on the tips of their toes around me.

“Ohmygosh, tell us everything!”

“How was it? How was he? Did you finally get to feel his man meat?”

“Is your v-card punched now? Are you officially a woman?”

“Was he super sweet afterwards? Oh my gosh, did he carry you to his bed? Was it like a fairytale??”

“Stop, stop it—guys!” I finally shout at them, their questions firing at me like baseballs at the batting cages. “No, I haven’t officially punched any cards, and yes, I did spend the night, and…yeshedidcarrymetohisbed,” I mumble, burying my face in the bottom of my glass.

Callie squeals again. Lily beams.

“Okay, storytime has officially begun. Tell. Us. Everything.”

“Spill the tea, girl,” Callie agrees. “Seeing as you’re the only one getting any.”

“What? Really?” I look between them, and Lily rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, it’s been a bit of a drought for me with the move. I’m still weighing my options.” Callie sips her drink, and her eyes flash. “But it’ll pass. Especially if you whet our whistles with a little of your long drink of tall, dark, and well-endowed. Start from the beginning. So, he takes you home from mini golf…”

And I regale them with the tale of Kodi Gander’s first blow job.