Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
IVY
Iwas up until almost three this morning, making sure my scrubs were washed and in the dryer so I wouldn’t have to scramble to find something to wear today, and I set an alarm, once every minute for fifteen minutes, to make sure I woke up on time.
Am I exhausted?
Yes.
But I’m also not going to make a complete mockery of myself today by showing up late and unprepared. Not only do I have my own water bottle with me, but I washed Xander’s as well. I’m ready to go.
I must have been hallucinating yesterday in my haze of Xander lust when I was leaving and he told me that I’m sexy when I blush. Because there’s no way in this or any other universe that Xander Hendrix thinks that anything I do is sexy.
He’s just a nice guy.
He always was. He’s a flirt, and there’s nothing more to it.
I need to remember that because I got carried away once, years ago, and it ended so horrifically that it’s a good thing that Xander doesn’t seem to remember it.
In fact, Xander doesn’t seem to remember much when it comes to me, and that kind of—and by kind of, I mean hugely—bruises my feelings.
Because when I was a teenager, Xander was the bigger-than-life athlete who came to my rescue whenever the bullies got to be too bad.
He rescued me from being shoved into a locker our freshman year.
He punched Alfie Reynolds in the face and broke his nose when he called me a fat retard at lunch our sophomore year.
I have at least a dozen more stories, all similar to that. And yet, Xander doesn’t even remember that he’d always pat me on the head and say Don’t worry about them, Red.
So there’s no feasible way that man used the word sexy yesterday.
“I was delirious,” I mutter as I pull up to his house and cut the engine.
I’m twenty minutes early because I was paranoid about being late today, so I’ll just sit out here and answer some emails on my phone.
The team wants me to report to them with my notes at least three times a week, so I shoot over the past two days’ worth of my observations.
I frown when I see an email come in from the electric company, telling me that the check I sent them for the bill for Lucky’s bounced, and I feel dread set up residence in my belly.
But before I can log in to the business account, there’s a knock on my window, and I jump, tossing my phone on the seat next to me and letting out a loud squeak.
Xander grins and gestures for me to unlock the door.
“Why are you sitting out here?” he asks when he opens the door and leans his long, muscled arm against the top of the frame.
“Because I was way too early.”
The man that stars in all my dreams shakes his head and opens the back door to grab my bag for me.
“We’re pretty casual around here, Red. Just come in whenever you get here.”
“Maybe you’re busy, or with someone, or doing something.”
Or doing someone, and I don’t want to consider that.
“I’m not,” is all he says as he leads me to the front door, which is standing open. “And for the record, I’m not with someone.”
“You know what I meant.”
“And I said what I said,” he replies, repeating what I told him via text last night. It was busy at the bar, but those texts made me smile. “What about you?”
“I’m right here.”
He takes the water bottle that he loaned me out of my hand and lifts an eyebrow.
“I washed it.”
“This is yours now. I’ll fill it up for you.”
“I have my own—”
“I left that in the truck. You’ll use this one here.”
He strides to the fridge to fill the bottle with ice and water. After screwing on the lid, he passes it back to me.
“Um, thanks. Are you always this bossy?”
“No. You seem to bring it out in me.”
I snort, not believing him at all.
“Now, answer the question.”
I sip the water, blinking at him. “What question.”
“What about you, Red?”
“Am I with someone?”
“Yeah.”
I shake my head and take my bag from him. “No. Let’s get to work.”
“Do you want breakfast?”
Okay, so the idea of another one of those breakfast burritos is tempting, but I’m here to remind us both that I can be a professional.
“I had breakfast,” I reply.
It’s not a complete lie. I had a protein shake.
“We have work to do, Mr. Hendrix.”
“Wow, you’re extra formal today. Did you iron your scrubs?”
“No.”
Yes.
“I think that blush tells me otherwise. Okay, let’s go get after it, then. I spent a little time on the . . . uh.” He shakes his head and leads me into the gym. “You know, the thing you pedal.”
“The bike.”
“Yeah, I spent some time on the bike this morning.”
Fascinating.
“How much time?”
“Half an hour or so, not long before you got here.”
“Starting without me?”
I set my bag and water bottle on the desk—the desk he bought just for me—and turn to him. “Okay, no bike for warm-up, then. Let’s start with quads.”
The past week has been more fun than I expected. I love working with athletes, and Xander is a dream. I have so much respect for his endurance, his strength.
His muscles.
But more than that, I love his persistence. When we’re in workout mode, his face is determined, and he pushes himself until I have to force him to quit so he doesn’t get hurt.
His dedication is amazing. It’s no wonder he’s done so well as a professional player.
I told Xander that I’d drive us to Bitterroot Valley today, but he insisted on picking me up. He’s not supposed to be here for another fifteen minutes, but since I’m ready to go, I pick Cally up and snuggle her, smiling when she starts to rumble that engine.
“I’m sorry that I haven’t been home much lately,” I murmur against her as she purrs in my face. “You’re such a good girl. And you’re so pretty.”
The doorbell rings, and I walk over and open the door, still holding Cally, and Xander grins.
“Hello there.”
“Hey, come on in. I was just giving her some attention, since I’m not home much these days.”
He reaches out and brushes his fingers over her head, scratches behind her ears, and she keeps purring.
“She’s cute.”
“She’s the best cat in the world.” I kiss her a few times before setting her down.
“Do you get cold, Red?”
“Hmm?” I turn with my coat in my hand and see that he’s in the middle of my living room, hands in his pockets, gazing about.
“You have blankets everywhere.”
I chuckle and slip my arms in the sleeves of my jacket. “Yeah, I run cold. I’m also addicted to blankets. I buy way too many, but Cally likes them.”
“And you paint?” He lifts that eyebrow as he turns my way, and now I feel . . . vulnerable. Uncomfortable.
Because I don’t share this with people.
“Uh, when I have time. Which hasn’t happened in a while.” I grab my scarf and hat—it might still be September, but the rink is cold—and when I lead Xander to the door, he catches my arm in his hand and turns me toward the wall where the biggest canvas leans against it.
“Tell me about that one.”
I sigh and slowly shake my head. “I’m embarrassed that you’re seeing them at all, Xander.”
His gaze whips down to me, and he frowns fiercely. “Why? It’s fucking incredible.”
“It’s just okay, and I don’t know. I never plan to give them away or anything.”
“You absolutely should not give them away. You should be selling them.”
I laugh, but he doesn’t join me.
“Tell me about that one. I’m serious.”
I sigh and stare at the canvas. “It’s mountains.”
“I will spank your beautiful butt if you don’t tell me everything about that painting right now.”
I blanch and cough, but he holds my gaze, unflinching.
Spank me. Go ahead. I consent.
I clear my throat.
“There’s a spot I like to drive to sometimes when I want some peace and quiet, and this is the view. So, a couple of months ago—or maybe longer now—I went up there with my supplies and painted this. It took me about three hours.”
“You did that whole thing in three hours?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Yeah. I’m used to painting fast because I never know how much time I’ll have.”
“I want to buy it.”
I snort and turn to leave, but he pulls me around again.
“You’re going to give me whiplash.”
“How much for the painting?”
“I’m not selling it to you.”
“Why the fuck not?”
I pull away and make it to the door this time, and when we’re settled in his Range Rover, he persists.
“I want it.”
“Xander, it’s mediocre at best.”
“Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder, and I like it. I have a spot for it in my house. How much?”
I blow out a raspberry. “If you don’t overdo it today and listen to me and follow directions, you can have it.”
Xander scowls as he pulls away from the house. “You’re selling yourself short.”
“No, I’m not. Did you bring a water bottle?”
I hold mine up and give it a shake.
“Yes, boss. I brought water. You’re so fucking bossy when it comes to my hydration schedule.”
“I need to be. You need water.”
He turns onto the highway that leads to the next town over.
“You can choose the music.”
I grin. “You sure?”
“Go for it.”
I turn to a ’90s pop station, and I don’t miss the way Xander gives me the side-eye.
“You told me to choose.” I shrug a shoulder and start singing along with Celine Dion. I’m very off key.
I don’t care.
“Are you trying to murder me?”
“Death by Celine?” I ask.
“No, death by bloody eardrums.” He sticks his finger in his ear and gives it a shake. “You’re pure magic with a paintbrush, but please don’t pursue a career in music.”
Pure magic.
Why does he have to make the butterflies in my stomach act like they’re at a rave every freaking day?
I let the music fill the silence for the rest of the drive, and after he pulls into the parking lot, he turns off the SUV and frowns.
“Are they open? No one’s here.”
“I rented it out for the afternoon,” I reply, and push out of the car.
“Why?” he asks.
“Because I don’t need some wobbly kid running into you and reinjuring your knee. I wanted freshly groomed ice with no distractions or obstacles.”
“You don’t have much faith in my skills.”
“Your skills are not my issue. I can’t have you falling today. So you have to promise to take it easy.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nods and opens the back of the vehicle, pulls out two bags of skates, and follows me inside.
I check in with the desk, and then we move to an area where we can change before getting on the ice.
Of course, I’m not changing my shoes.
But after Xander puts his skates on, he just sits there, watching me.
“What? Do you not feel comfortable with this? We don’t have to do it, just tell me if you’re having second thoughts.”
“Sweetheart, skating is easier than walking for me. I’m waiting for you.”
“I’m ready. Let’s go.”
“No you’re not.”
I frown at him. “I’m not getting on the ice.”
He shakes his head, opens the second bag, and pulls out brand-new skates.
“I brought you supplies.”
I blink at him. “How—what? Why did you do that?”
“Because I assumed, correctly of course, that you don’t own your own pair, and we’re going to be doing this a lot. I can’t have you wearing rental skates. Those come with rental foot fungus.”
I snort and shake my head.
“I can’t skate.”
“Why?”
Xander frowns up at me, and I do not want to admit this to him.
“I don’t know how. I’ve never done it.”
His sexy smile spreads over his lips. “You’re about to learn, Red.”