Chapter 13 #2
“I’ll just go.” I thumb over my shoulder and take a single step toward the sidewalk, not wanting to make this awkward.
She grabs the sides of her cardigan and pulls them over each other. “No. It’s okay. You can have a look. Just let me make sure the bathroom isn’t a mess.”
Instead of leading me to the front door, she takes me around the back, to the deck with the hot tub. A sliding glass door opens to a formal dining room that doesn’t look like it gets much use. On top of the table are two gift baskets full of treats.
“You celebrate a birthday or something?” I nod to the baskets.
“Or something.” Her cheeks flush.
“Secret admirer?” I toe off my shoes and leave them on the mat at the door.
“Also no.”
“How come I’m not allowed to bring you replacement slippers but this gift giver is allowed to send whole freaking baskets?” I ask.
“Because you’re my student. And if you must know, these are from my ex. If I could send them back, I would.” She waves a dismissive hand toward the table.
“Your ex, huh? Does that mean he’s trying to get you back?”
“Trying and failing. Give me a second.” She disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone with the baskets.
I round the table, checking to see if there are cards attached, but they’ve either been removed or they didn’t exist in the first place. One of the baskets has been opened, with a few items missing. I wait at the threshold of the room until she gives me the all clear. Then I head down the hall.
I’ve been in this bathroom once before, when I retrieved the first aid kit after she hurt her hands. Just like that time, it’s neat and tidy, smelling of Clover’s distinct perfume, or body wash, or whatever it is.
She points to the wall with the window that faces the driveway. It’s one of those frosted-glass jobs, so no one can see in, but it still provides light. There’s an obvious wet mark on the drywall. I press around the area, and it feels damp and spongy. “So, I’m gonna be totally honest with you.”
“That doesn’t sound good.” She clasps her hands.
I knead the back of my neck. “I don’t have a lot of plumbing experience, apart from knowing how to fill and drain a pool and how to use a plunger on a toilet.
But you’re right that there’s water coming in from somewhere, and I’m guessing it probably has something to do with the gutters, like you thought.
So, if it dries up, you know you’re good, but if it doesn’t .
. . Well, either way, I’d call the landlord.
And I have a few contacts for professionals if your landlord doesn’t have anyone. ”
She nods. “Oh. Well, you’re ahead of me on the plumbing knowledge because mine begins and ends with knowing how to use a toilet plunger.”
“I can give you a number, if you need one.”
“I’ll check with my landlord first, but I appreciate it.”
“Okay.” I nod, then rack my brain for something else to talk about that isn’t plumbing. “Have you had a chance to practice the moves you learned in my class yet?”
“Not yet, no.”
“Do you want to run through them? It’s always good to practice them the week you learn them, so they stay fresh in your head.
” I thumb down the hall toward the dining room.
“Seems like it might be good to have some practice if you’ve got a persistent ex who doesn’t know how to deal with being dumped. ”
“He’s harmless, just annoying.” She taps her bottom lip, maybe considering it.
“It won’t take long. We can run through them once, real quick. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”
She hesitates, but finally says, “Okay. We could do that. Should I change into something less constrictive?”
“Sure. Yeah. That works. I’ll get the living room set up for us.”
“I’ll be right back.”
She steps out of the bathroom, giving me room to leave, then disappears into her bedroom. I move the living room furniture around so we have space to practice the moves without knocking lamps over or shoving breakable things off the tables.
I pull my hoodie off and drape it over the couch cushion. I don’t have any kind of junk protection, but I can improvise.
Clover appears a minute later wearing a pair of capri yoga pants and a Stranger Things T-shirt that slides off her right shoulder as she sets her glasses on the coffee table.
She adjusts it, but it falls again almost immediately, so she leaves it where it is.
Her long hair is pulled up in a ponytail that hangs down her back.
Her feet are bare, her toes painted a pale green. I’m thinking that’s her favorite color.
“You ready to kick my ass, Clover?”
She chuckles. “Never in my life did I think I’d hear those words leave one of my student’s mouths.”
“You’re my student now.” I wink just as I remember I’m supposed to ease off on the flirting.
“Never thought I’d look forward to having my professor hand me my ass.
Should we start from the top? Review the first moves and go through them a couple of times?
” This I can deal with—teaching her things, keeping it light, not bogging it down with all my shit.
She rubs her hands together and nods. “Sounds good.”
We run through the first move, which is the arm grab, and it only takes two tries for her to get it right. The next one we spend time fine tuning, with me showing her how to get out of the hold faster, depending on the position.
When I lift her off her feet, her head whips back.
I don’t manage to give her my cheek in time, which means her skull connects with my nose.
I stumble back a step, and her heel connects with my groin.
I can handle the headbutt to the nose, but the foot to the groin at the same time is a lot.
So I land on my ass, still gripping her around the waist. That means I get another shot in the face, compliments of the back of her head.
We land on the floor in a heap, Clover sprawled on top of me. When she flips over, she ends up straddling my waist. “Is this some new move—oh! Oh my God! You’re bleeding!”
I bring my hand to my nose and feel the wet, warm trickle of blood on my fingers, seeping out and dripping down my cheek. “Tissue would be good.”
“Let me see! How bad is it?” She pries at my fingers, but stops when hers come away smeared with red. She looks around the room, maybe searching for a tissue. “Shit.” She whips her top over her head, balls it up and shoves it into my hand. “Use this.”
I don’t argue. It’s black, so at least the blood won’t show, and this seems like a nice rug, and not one she’d like covered in my blood. I should sit up, so the blood doesn’t run down my throat, but she’s still straddling my torso, one hand splayed on my chest.
In that moment, the pain dulls enough for me to register that she’s in nothing but yoga pants and a sports bra. And not one of those basic sports bras—not that there’s anything wrong with basic. But this one has a thin, mesh-looking overlay on top of lime green cups.
It’s fucking sexy, as far as sports bras go.
And her cleavage is right there, in front of my face.