Chapter 13
MILE THIRTEEN
DICKY MEN
The herby aroma of pizza fills Garrett’s vehicle as we pull up to Anker’s house. This may be my new favorite Friday night tradition. In lieu of happy hour at Harkey’s, for the last three Fridays we’ve done pizza at Ankers.
Though, Garrett still hasn’t agreed to learn to make fancy cocktails, but tonight he did agree to bring Ditka along.
It’s not uncommon for Ditka to come over to Anker’s place when it’s just us.
Plus, my brother is Ditka’s sitter on the rare occasions Garrett is out of town, so he has a litter box, treats, and a few toys for him at the ready.
Tonight, Ditka will be my cuddle buddy, while his daddy and Anker watch hockey.
They’re both diehard LA Bobcats fans, and with Anker still on crutches, they sold their tickets for tonight’s game to watch at home.
While a Friday night listening to them play wannabe hockey coach from the couch is unappealing, an evening cuddled with Garrett’s furry squish-monster and eating garlic knots is top-tier.
“Thank god, I’m starving!” Anker’s whiny bellow greets us as we walk through his front door.
“Why, hello, dear brother. Lovely to see you too,” I tease, unleashing Ditka the moment I hear Garrett shut the door behind us. The feline trots down the small hall towards the kitchen, his bell jangling all the way.
“Hello. I’m starving!” he shouts from the living room.
“Are the chips and salsa you’re eating not holding you over?” Garrett snarks.
“Man cannot live on snacks alone,” he says between loud crunches.
With a head shake, I place my cane beside the door and slip off my heels. “Should we set up at the table?”
“No need for fancy. Just pop a squat here,” Anker says through a mouth full of food.
Pop a squat? Face scrunched, I tilt my head toward the living room. This isn’t like Anker. He lives for fancy. Pizza nights aren’t merely a casual affair for him. He’s the only human I know who pulls out actual plates and wine glasses for pizza, but this has been his state over the last month.
I shuffle fully into the living room. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”
Anker is propped up on the couch, his booted left foot resting on top of a stack of pillows on the coffee table.
Mesh shorts and a hooded sweatshirt replace his typically put-together outfit.
Even with my limited vision, I can tell that he hasn’t shaved in several days, and his dark brown hair is messy.
“I see you’re in your couch potato era,” I quip with a wave of my hand.
“Says my blind sister.” He bites into another chip.
“That’s one.” With an eyeroll, I wag my finger.
Few people joke with me about my vision. Anker is certainly one of them, but he only gets one teasing blind comment a day. It’s an old rule my dad set for us as teens to ensure Anker never weaponized my disability. Though, he never would. Anker’s teases aren’t meant to be cruel.
“I’ll set things up in the kitchen and we’ll bring plates into the living room,” Garrett says, coming beside me.
“I can help, since Count Cucumber is couch-ridden… Careful, big brother, if you sit too long, you may pickle,” I sass.
“That’s a lot of judgment from the woman who remains curled up on the couch all day on Christmas with an audiobook.” Anker bites into another chip.
“Audiobook? More like one of her erotic audios,” Garrett teases, his low timbre sending heat zipping up my spine and invading my cheeks.
“Eww, Jensen… On Christmas and in our parents’ house,” he groans.
“Gives a new meaning to the term stocking stuffer.” Garrett bumps my shoulder, seeming to delight in torturing Anker.
“All I have to say is that I have a newfound appreciation for candy canes,” I coo with a wiggle of my hips.
“Oh god!” Head tipped back, Anker lets out a dramatic groan.
“Candy canes?” Garrett clears his throat.
“Don’t be judgy or I’ll make you do the dishes.” I poke his bicep. “Let’s go set up.”
He shakes his head. “Nah. You go change.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Go get cozy.” With a playful bump from his hip, Garrett turns towards the kitchen.
Stop it, stomach. I press a hand to the soft flesh of my belly, hoping the pressure will simmer down the butterflies that fluttered to life at the image of getting “cozy” with Garrett. His arm folded around me as I snuggle into his side, holding a purring Ditka as he watches the hockey game.
Bad girl. I snap the rubber band on my wrist.
The sting is a momentary reprieve from these intrusive crush thoughts, but it’s clear my attempt to Pavlov’s-dog-away this crush is failing.
Yet, I remain in this man’s presence six days a week.
Part of me knows I should pull back. That my time with Garrett should be relegated to our training sessions.
It’s something Dr. Nor and I are discussing, but I don’t want to.
“I’ll go cozy-up then.” With a bite of the inside of my cheek to tamp down my body’s reaction to Garrett, I scoop up my tote bag from the entryway and head to the bathroom to change.
The bonus of Anker’s recent love affair with his couch is that I get to rock comfy clothes all night. As fun as it is to dress cute, I love wearing leggings and a hoodie. I slip on some soft black leggings, a blue tank top, and tug on the hoodie I scooped up from the end of my bed this morning.
Pulling my hair up into a messy bun, I stride into the living room. Anker never moves furniture without prepping me and, despite his recent injury impacting his motivation to move around, he’s kept things clear. His thoughtfulness allows me unrestricted movement through his house.
“Sausage, right?” Garrett calls from the kitchen.
“Yes, please,” I shout. “Ooh…and—”
“Three garlic knots with two tablespoons of sauce,” he laughs his reply.
“Thanks!” Grinning, I swipe my hand along the couch cushion to ensure there’s nothing there and then plop down beside Anker. Within seconds, Ditka jumps up and snuggles onto my lap.
“Hey, buddy.” Anker twists to offer Ditka ear scratches. “Jensen, why are you wearing Garrett’s clothes?”
“Excuse me?” Brow creased, I look down at myself and then back at him, realization’s heat creeps up my neck.
The sweatshirt I grabbed is the one Garrett had lent me when I went to his place after Miles ditched me at the bar. The hoodie I’ve been wearing far more than is appropriate for a woman trying to get over a crush, and for some unknown reason, I am wearing it now.
“I…” I gape, trying to find the words.
“I lent it to her,” Garrett says, his tone matter-of-fact, as he enters the room with a plate in hand. “You know how cold our pampered princess gets.”
“If it’s not at least seventy degrees, she acts as if she’s been left naked in the Arctic.”
“That she does.” Garrett chuckles. “Sorry, buddy, cuddles after food.” He scoops up Ditka, who lets out a perturbed meow. “Plate. Pizza slice three o’clock, three garlic knots with your preferred sauce ratio at six o’clock, and some salad at nine o’clock,” he murmurs, holding it in front of me.
“Salad?” I lift one eyebrow.
“The only greens in your diet can’t be peanut M & M’s.” Garrett’s scold is playful.
“Peanut M & M’s are healthy. Everyone knows that. Peanuts are packed with protein.” A wry expression kicks across my face.
“I’ll be sure to share that with my patients,” he drawls. “Fork, for the salad that you won’t eat and not to stab me.” He hands me a fork and a napkin.
“Now, there’s an idea.” Placing the plate on my lap, I hold up the fork and mimic how I imagine a swordswoman would threaten her enemies.
“Don’t worry, her aim is shit,” Anker teases. “She… Ouch!”
“What was that, dear brother?” I hum, tapping my free hand against where I just stabbed him—well, rather poked his upper arm forcefully—with my fork.
“Christ, Jensen,” Anker grumbles.
“It’s your own fault for breaking our no more than one blind joke a day rule.” Smugness fills my features.
“Ruthless.” Garrett’s laugh is a low rumble that crackles awake every single one of my nerve endings.
His laugh. I bite back the giant grin lighting my face. It’s not quite the unbridled belly-deep, body-racking laugh that’s my goal, but the sound is still music to my ears.
“That better not leave a mark.” Anker rubs at his upper arm.
I raise my hand and pat his cheek.” Don’t worry, you’re still pretty. Single moms, divorcees, and married women looking to step out will still buy you espresso martinis during ladies’ night once you emerge from couchland and return to the world of functional adult humans.”
Swatting me away, he groans, “Shouldn’t you be out of your bratty younger sister phase at twenty-nine?”
“I wouldn’t have to act like a brat if you weren’t acting like a buttheaded older brother,” I coo in a saccharin-sweet voice.
“While you two reenact your childhood, let me grab my food and drinks.” With a head shake, Garrett places Ditka on the large, cushy chair in the corner. “Soda? Wine? Beer?”
“Since you’re driving me home, I’ll take a glass of red.”
“Two, please! There’s a bottle in the fridge, just bring it.” Anker shouts as Garrett strides away.
“You’re on pain pills!”
“We wouldn’t want you to end up in your own version of Less Than Zero,” I quip.
“Haven’t taken any in a week, so I can booze up… Mom. Dad.” A thin coat of annoyance laces Anker’s retort.
“Jensen, I’m also getting you a new fork, so you have no excuse to not eat the salad you won’t end up eating.”
“Okay, daddy,” I say saucily.
Anker makes a disgusted noise. “Oh god, never call Garrett that.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Yeah… Agreed. I hear it.” I dip a garlic knot in marinara, ignoring the clench low in my abdomen at the idea of me calling Garrett daddy. “Speaking of the land of the functional adult human, how are you feeling about returning to work on Monday?”