Chapter 12
BLACK & BLUE AND HARD ALL OVER
ARTEMIS
The bruise on my ass was the size of a dinner plate and roughly the color of a ripening eggplant.
I twisted around in front of the mirror in my bathroom, trying to get a better look at the damage from the scrimmage. The bruise extended from just below my butt cheek down to mid-thigh, a spectacular purple Rorschach that hurt like hell. But it had totally been worth it.
What I needed was a good long soak in a hot bath. What I had was a shower stall that definitely wasn't designed for therapeutic soaking.
But Gryff's master bathroom? That had a tub that could probably fit three people comfortably, with jets and everything.
He was at practice for another hour and his grandparents were off visiting Jules for the day. I had the perfect amount of time for an Epsom salt and bubble bath. He wouldn't mind.
Three minutes later, I was settled into the most luxurious bath of my life, my headphones in and music turned up loud enough to drown out any thoughts of tub theft. The hot water was already working magic on my sore muscles and bruises, and I was singing along to my favorite Kelsey Best playlist.
In the middle of belting out the poppiest of pop songs, I did a mermaid bathtub twirl and caught a glance at the bathroom door... open.
And Gryff, leaning against the door jamb with his arms folded, biceps bulging, watching me with a grin on his face.
I screeched and sank down into the tub so fast I nearly sloshed all the water and bubbles out. I needed those to cover my very naked, wet body.
Gryff only smiled wider. He was standing there wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist, clearly getting ready for his own shower.
Rays of sunshine from the row of tiny windows across the top of the room highlighted his chest and shoulders, like angels were about to sing songs to his muscles.
And for a second I completely forgot how to form words.
“I—“ I yanked my headphones out, my ears burning hot. “You're supposed to be at practice.”
“I was. Now I'm home.” His eyes were doing this thing where I was sure he had x-ray vision and was trying to see right through the bubbles covering up my girlie bits. “Why are you in my bathroom?”
“Your tub has jets,” I said weakly, gesturing at the fancy controls. “Mine's just a shower. I have this massive bruise and I thought maybe—“
“Is it bad?” His expression immediately shifted from humorous come-hither to concern. “Are you okay? Do we need to get you to the doctor?”
Aww, I loved this caretaker, protective side of him. So adorable. “It's fine. I've definitely had worse.” I shifted slightly, trying to show him the damage while keeping everything important underwater. “It's pretty spectacular, actually. Want to see?”
The moment the words left my mouth, I realized what I'd just offered. And apparently so did he, because his eyes went wide and something very interesting happened to the front of his towel. Something...massive.
Oh.
OH.
Was that…? Did he just…?
“I don't think that's—“ he started, his voice rougher than usual. “I mean, I should probably—“
But he wasn't moving. He was just standing there, staring at me in his bathtub, and the terry cloth tent situation was becoming increasingly obvious.
“Gryff?” I said softly.
“Yeah?”
“You're, um.” I gestured vaguely in the direction of his towel.
He glanced down, and he raised one eyebrow. Like he was silently giving his dick a stern talking to in his head. “Shit. Sorry. I should—“ He backed toward the door, one hand clutching his towel. “I'll just give you some privacy to finish.”
He paused in the doorway, and for a second something passed between us that felt charged with possibility. Then he cleared his throat and looked away.
“Take your time.” He moved to leave, then turned back. “Is the bruise really that bad?”
“Want photographic evidence?”
His towel tent got... tentier. “I'll take your word for it.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone in the suddenly too quiet bathroom. I sank deeper into the water, my mind racing around like a teeny tiny speedboat.
That had definitely been an immediate physical reaction to seeing me naked in his bathtub. There was no way to misinterpret the tent physics.
Then there was the way he looked at me. The way his eyes had lingered before he remembered to look away. The way his voice had gone rough when he'd asked if I was hurt.
Holy shit.
All of that had nothing to do with friendship and everything to do with... nope, no. Not going there. Gryff and I were friends.
Just.
Friends.
And I was being ridiculous. He'd confirmed he didn't think of me like that. I never, ever would have asked him to help me with this whole dating and intimacy thing if there was even a chance he had feelings for me.
It was just biology. Men got erections from everything, morning wood, random boners during the day, a strong breeze. Seeing any naked woman would cause that reaction. It didn't mean anything specific about me.
After I'd escaped the bathroom and retreated to my room to process... whatever that was… I found a box on my bed. It was wrapped in tissue paper like something precious, with a little bow on top.
Inside was a jersey. Not just any jersey, a Bandits jersey with G. KINGMAN across the back and his number, 62, below it. There was a note in his handwriting:
Can't wait to see you wearing this in the stands. - G
Of course he'd get me a jersey. That's what friends did. Flynn probably got Tempest one too. Not that they were just friends. Whatever.
I pulled it on over my towel and looked at myself in the mirror. It was extra roomy on me, which I appreciated. It looked like it could actually fit Gryff, but somehow that made it better. Cozier. Like being wrapped in a Gryff hug.
Not that I was thinking about Gryff hugs. Or Gryff's towel situation. Or Gryff's abs with water droplets running down them.
Nope. Definitely not thinking about any of that.
The next morning, Gryff was up and out of the house before I was even awake, but the house became ground zero for the Kingman family convoy headed to the twins’ first preseason game.
To make sure the boys felt well-loved, it took several cars to move four aunts, three sets of grandparents, two girlfriends, one sister, and partridge in a pear tree.
I wasn’t the only one repping Gryff with my jersey, the whole group was pretty even with the twin love.
But AbuelaNovela had gone fancy, which was her natural state.
Her sequined jersey with rhinestone number one featuring her own moniker caught the sun like a disco ball, temporarily blinding anyone who looked directly at it.
“The one and only AbuelaNovela, darling.”
Nobody was going to tell her the Bandits’ quarterback Jalen Heals was also number one.
Jules wore her custom jersey that had both the twins’ numbers across the back and the name FLYFF. “I called them that when I was little, Flynn plus Gryff equals Flyff. It stuck.”
“Smart,” AbueLeo said, then looked at my jersey. “And you wear Gryffen's number. Very supportive... friend.”
“Exactly. Friend. That's what I am. His friend who lives with him and supports his career. Platonically.”
Is verbal diarrhea a thing? Do they make pills for it?
Mac Jerry was handing out our tickets. Instead of being squirreled away in box seats we were going to be right in the thick of it with amazing fifty-yard line views. His wife, Sara Jayne, pulled me into a one-armed hug.
“Ah, my fellow tall girl who understands the struggle of shower heads and jeans shopping, you can sit next to me.”
She was gorgeous, as tall as me, with the kind of confidence that came from being a supermodel who'd made it in an industry obsessed with size zeros.
“Oh my god, yes,” I said, immediately bonding. “And don't get me started on people asking how the weather is up here and short men who want to go mountain climbing.”
“Ooh, I see we need drinks and a whole evening to discuss that and how you are liking LA LA land.”
Once we were in our seats, I found myself in between Sara Jayne and Tempest. While everyone else was distracted with food orders and getting settled, I took advantage of the moment to pick Tempest’s brain.
“Can I ask you something about... a hypothetical situation?” I asked Tempest as quietly as possible.
She was the only one who knew about these exercises Gryff and I were doing.
Hopefully she'd help me figure out if his reaction in the bathroom had been a sign that I was totally wrong about, well, everything.
“Ooh.” She glanced around to see if anyone else was listening. “About what might happen when one stares deeply into the eyes of very trusted, sweet, muscle-bound, caretaking certain football player?”
“Well, hypothetically, say after several days of practicing things like that, let's say, again hypothetically, someone saw someone else naked in the bathtub and... an involuntary physical reaction happened.”
“This is a little too hypothetical. You're going to have to actually tell me what happened.”
Crappola.
“Gryff saw me naked in his bathtub and he got... you know....” I wave my hand around.
Sara Jayne's head whipped around. “Excuse me, what now?”
“It's hypothetical,” I protested.
“Girl,” Sara Jayne scooted closer, “spill everything.”
So I told them, hypothetically, about the bathtub incident. Sara Jayne's eyebrows climbed higher with every detail. At some point AbuelaNovela began listening in as well while consuming a hot dog almost as big as she was.
“And these trust exercises you mentioned earlier?” she asked when I finished.
“They're just... we're helping each other with dating confidence. Eye contact. Hand holding. Basic stuff.”
“Basic stuff.” Sara Jayne's smile was knowing. “Honey, what you're describing? That's foreplay.”
“No, no, it's completely platonic. We have boundaries. Rules. It's basically therapeutic. Like physical therapy but for dating. Very clinical. Nothing romantic at all.”