9. “Sprained Ankle”
NINE
“SPRAINED ANKLE”
(JULIEN BAKER)
A s I sat next to Javi in his truck while he idled in the suicide lane outside The Surf Club, I tried to decipher what the white shoe polish on the front window was depicting without reading Tex’s white slashes that formed words.
I gave up, read the words Tex’s Daily Special: Mexican Mocha and decided the curves and jags beside it were supposed to be a sombrero…with tassels.
Javi made the turn, and my mind skipped from that to what I’d been struggling with since Javi finished the bottom half of his bagel, then took a break from breakfast to carry my suitcases up the stairs.
Nerves.
See, even before I finished breakfast, I noticed we’d slept in.
So, not only was I in Javi’s space, and I didn’t have the accoutrement for any of my morning rituals (which meant starting two days without grounding myself in my rituals, something that was not good), I also didn’t have the time to do any of them without accoutrement because I had to get a move on in order to get ready for work.
But, onward from that, Javi was taking my bags up to his room.
And we’d only had one very weird date I didn’t claim as a date until after it was over (and still wasn’t committed to that claim).
When Javi returned, he sat on the stool beside me and murmured, “You get the bathroom first.”
That was when the nerves kicked in big time.
Sure, I’d been sucking face and rolling around on his bed with him not half an hour ago.
But calmer heads were prevailing, which every girl knew when she learned the boy she was really into was really into her meant one thing.
It was time to panic.
This, I did.
“We should talk about that kiss,” I blurted.
He slowly turned his head to me, and when I caught the sexy-hot fire of memory burning in his eyes, I squirmed.
“What about it, baby?” he purred.
I wish he hadn’t purred, because now I wanted to suck face and grope him at his kitchen island.
Even so.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with it, I just…I don’t know. It’s important for me that you know I’m not that girl.”
He tipped his head to the side. “What girl?”
“I like for things to go a little slower.”
For a second, he didn’t move.
Then, roaring with laughter, he stood from his stool, bent low to me, grasped my head in both hands, tipped it to his, and still laughing, stated, “We go any slower, lil’ mama, we’ll connect when we’re eighty.”
I could feel my cheeks were aflame, and I had proof they were when his dancing eyes fell to them, and that was embarrassing, but I had to dig deep to my never very stocked reserves of bravery and sally forth.
“I just…just…just…”
Gah!
Get it together, Harlow! Just put it out there.
I drew in a breath and said, “Okay, full disclosure, I really like you and I just want that, when it happens, to be special.”
Mr. Hold Nothing Back didn’t hold back what my words meant to him (that helped with the nerves…a little).
He did this visibly.
He also did it audibly.
“Goin’ on record here to tell you what happened earlier is already special,” he said in a gentle voice, and it was good he had his hands on me, or I’d have swooned right off the stool. “But I hear you, mi pequena , and I’ll have a mind.”
“O-okay,” I whispered.
His eyes got soft and smiled before his mouth did it. Both were magnificent. He dipped in, brushed his lips against mine, then went back to his stool.
One would think this would make a girl a lot less nervous. But it didn’t.
Because I really liked him .
We had things to discuss, but so far, being with Javi was everything, and now not only because of the impact it would have on our crew, but also for me, I didn’t want anything messing it up.
We finished breakfast, and Javi told me he’d clear up while I got ready for work.
I did a wee bit of snooping when I got upstairs, opening the doors to the other rooms (there were two more bedrooms, both a lot smaller than his, one with nothing in it, one with a bunch of boxes and other stuff stacked in a corner, and the last room was a bathroom).
My suitcases were in Javi’s bedroom.
So the nerves that had receded came back.
I opened both my cases and discovered the heretofore unknown power of packing Jessie and Shanti had, because they had me totally covered.
I took everything I could possibly need to get ready into the bathroom, closed the door and looked in the mirror.
Okay, good to know.
My setting spray had magical powers. I’d never tested it to this extreme, but my makeup still looked fab.
That was a relief.
I made note of this, then commenced powering through a major freakout when I was showering in Javi’s shower, seeing Javi’s shampoo and bodywash, finding this weirdly meaningful, at the same time having visions in my head of Javi showering in this shower.
His big, strong body all slick and wet and soapy.
These thoughts led me to taking the shortest shower in my life so I didn’t work myself up to breaking my own rule, very recently laid down, about taking things slow.
I did the body lotioning, hair and makeup thing, dressed fully and took everything of mine out of the bathroom into the bedroom.
I had to swallow a scream when I saw Javi lounged in bed. He was on his phone, his back to the headboard, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, the delicious acres of skin he was presenting on marvelous display.
I had to tamp down another urge to break my rule about taking things slow.
He looked at me. He looked at the stuff in my arms. He looked at my suitcases open on the floor. He looked at me again.
He then said, “You can leave your shit in the bathroom.”
Um…
“I think I should—” I began.
I didn’t get any further because, while I was speaking, he angled off the bed, sauntered to me, got very close, and he said, “No. We’re on a roll. We’ll talk about this later.”
He then ran a finger from the dent between my collarbones up my throat to the point of my chin, all while I held my breath, before he walked into the bathroom and closed the door.
I expelled that breath, put all my stuff in my suitcases, zipped them up, righted them and rolled them to stand beside the door.
I knew he wanted me to stay.
But I could barely get through a shower without losing my resolve to spend time getting to know him better, getting more comfortable with him, and definitely having the conversation we needed to have about all the hurtful things he said to me, before we got seriously busy.
I mean, I was sensing I understood what was behind all he’d said.
But he had to share it.
I went downstairs to find that he did, indeed, clear up. The coffeemaker was sparkling clean. There were no crumbs or sesame seeds from the bagels on the counter.
It was neat as a pin.
Most girls would see the guy they were interested in could clean up after himself and have to fight doing cartwheels.
Not me.
Seeing this, a chill swept up my spine.
Of course, I thought men should be capable of looking after themselves.
Cleaning their own house. Doing their own laundry.
Being able to navigate a grocery store with more than a small amount of expertise.
Having more than a single signature dish their mom taught them to make in their cooking repertoire.
But, honest to God, it looked like the coffeemaker had just been taken out of the box.
I didn’t have time to dwell on that when I heard the shower go off upstairs.
I didn’t suspect Javi took a long time primping, and although we had plenty of time to get me to work, I hadn’t had my phone in my hand in nigh on ten hours, and I needed to catch up on my life.
I found my crossbody, pulled out my phone, and saw I had a ton of texts, mostly from the Angels, but alarmingly, there was one from my mother.
First (and yes, I was procrastinating), I went to my email in order to find the Google form so I could log in my nibbles for the Oasis meet tonight (I picked pigs in a blanket).
Then, with no small amount of trepidation, I opened Mom’s text.
As you know, your brother’s birthday is soon, so perhaps we can get together and plan?
She put a question mark at the end and included a “perhaps,” but it was still an order.
And the “as you know” intimated that it should have been me who instigated the planning.
My last birthday, they took me to Mastro’s (their favorite restaurant, it was lovely, but it wasn’t my favorite) and gave me a check for five hundred dollars, “Because we know you struggle to make ends meet considering your job.”
Easton’s last birthday, we went to Binkley’s, which was one of those one-seating a night, you-ate-what-the-chef-put-in-front-of-you, very-expensive (though, worth it) places because Easton was a foodie and had been dying to go there.
And they gave him a five-day trip to an all-inclusive on St. Thomas, “Because you work so hard, you need a break.”
Granted, when Mom handed him the envelope that included his travel details, Dad had a sour look on his face, and he avoided my eyes, because he knew I knew that all-inclusive didn’t cost five hundred dollars.
But that had been my life.
Harlow, The Disappointment.
Easton, The Golden Child.
“All good?” Javi asked, making me jump.
I looked at him.
His hair was wet and combed back but already curling around his ears.
His face was clean-shaven, which was both a boon and a bummer, because he looked good with stubble and without.
His jeans fit him their usual fantastic.
His short-sleeved, black thermal stretched tight against his pecs and at his biceps.
And again, I was struggling with my desire to take this slow.
“My brother’s birthday is coming up,” I told him.
He stopped close to me and his brows rose in question.
“Mom wants to get together and plan,” I continued.
“Okay,” he said leadingly, since it was obvious there was more there, I had just stopped talking.
“She’s a Boy Mom,” I explained.
He appeared perplexed. “A what?”
“A boy mom,” I said.