Chapter 14 Skylar
Skylar
I squint through one eye at my phone tabs. I have three open on Pike, one for my chronic pain group, one for the girls, and one for my IIH group.
Screens are getting harder to look at again with the pressure behind my eyes.
There was new dizziness and migraine this past week too.
I should avoid screens altogether, but it’s beyond boring lying around doing nothing.
Since I drive so much for work, I can’t bring myself to listen to audiobooks or podcasts in my downtime.
Chastity’s name pops up in the forum. I send a quick message to see how they’re doing since their Chiari decompression surgery. I’m organizing a few events they can participate in during recovery. Then I return to Pike’s tabs.
After Emy and Analia found out he was famous, they sent an email titled Pike!
! with a compilation of interviews and articles.
I’m through most of them. I’ve watched the video of him singing in his polar bear outfit at least twenty times (he warbled through a funny version of “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepsen—his voice really is awful) and countless interviews of him after a win (he won his first Olympic gold at seventeen).
I can’t get over how happy and carefree he used to be.
His snowboarding videos make me dizzy with all the air rotations, so I have to take breaks, but they’re surprisingly soothing.
The tricks are incredible, and Pike, well…
the hype wasn’t for nothing. He gets bigger air, pulls extra rotations, invents his own moves. Who knew this sport could be so hot?
I still haven’t watched his accident. If he wanted me to see it, he’d send it to me.
Analia is talking about her interstitial cystitis in our chat. I’m lying here with a heat pack, waiting for my cannabis to kick in while OD’ing on aloe vera capsules.
Make Kalle take care of you tomorrow, I write. From what I’ve heard, Kalle is incredibly attuned to Analia’s needs. It must be nice to have someone who cares that much. Someone who doesn’t dismiss you when you’re flaring.
Kalle’s actually here now, she says.
ciao kalle, Emy says. is he sleeping over again?
I open a private chat with Emy. On Valentine’s Day?!?!
He made me dinner, Analia says.
but it’s saturday! Emy says.
Since Analia is a homebody and Kalle is super social, their schedules don’t mesh, so they usually hang out on Sunday afternoons.
Well…
I hold my breath while Analia types.
After a few minutes, Emy screams in our private chat. DID THEY GET MARRIED AND NOT INVITE US!?
I laugh, then have to put my phone down. Laughing, sneezing, and coughing all hurt—another reason I think my pressure’s elevated.
Analia leaves a small paragraph. I finally told him I’m on the ace spectrum, probably leaning more gray ace.
I was like, shaking nervous because he, you know, has a lot of casual sex and is a super commitment phobe.
I was worried he wouldn’t understand and think I was weird, but he hugged me and said he had a feeling. I cried (in a good way).
awwwww! Emy sends a ton of hearts. i’m so happy he was sweet about it!
And that you finally felt okay telling him, I add. From everything you’ve said, I can tell he cares so much about you.
Kalle said he felt like hanging out tonight, so we’re watching a movie after dinner. But first, heat pack. He’s doing the dishes right now.
She sends us a sneak picture. Kalle’s standing in front of a dishwasher, hamming it up with a sponge in one hand and a soft smile for Analia. We’ve seen pictures of him before, but never this candid. Never full body.
He’s wearing fitted sweats and a white shirt that says MALE MODEL, and yeah, he looks like one, with lean muscle, sharp cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes.
His blond locks fall sexily around his face, a few inches shorter than Pike’s old, wavy mop from his snowboarding days.
But where Pike’s thick hair always had a way of falling into his eyes, Kalle’s is sun-lightened and has that effortless, windswept look of a surfer.
Emy shoots me another private message. yummy. if analia doesn’t want him, think she’d mind if i took him for a spin?
Based on the photo, I say, I think he’s just as in love with her as we think she is with him.
i know, sweets. i would never.
Sorry to change plans, Analia says. I’ll still be available.
Pike has sent you a message.
My heart plunges as if I’ve been caught looking at something naughty. I drop my phone on my face.
Pike’s sent me a few messages this week to check on me. We’ve avoided talking about the kiss, which hopefully means he’s forgotten my awkwardness.
“It was a good kiss,” he said.
Good was too underwhelming for it. If that’s how he kisses when it’s fake, my thoughts and prayers are with all the women he kisses for real. Good luck resisting that broody, talented mouth. Try not falling under his spell. It’s taken me days to break free.
I can’t believe the only thing I told him afterward was my insecurities. But this man has kissed a lot of women. I didn’t want to be the worst he’s ever had. Not that it felt that way to me. His unfocused, lust-filled eyes even suggested otherwise.
I have something for you. Up for a quick visit?
Uhhh…
I feel bad putting attention back on Pike and me when Analia just came out to Kalle. How quick? I’m with the girls.
I wanted to drop something off. In the neighborhood.
He’s nearby? Why are you in the neighborhood?
…to drop something off. For you.
I’m in my pajamas.
You’ve seen me in my boxers. I think I can handle some pjs.
What he doesn’t get is my version of pajamas are panties and a cami. I throw on the nearest clean things I can find, deep purple leggings and a baggy, mustard-yellow sweater.
Brb Pike is here randomly sorry, I shoot off, then throw my hair in a scrunchie even though it hurts. It’s too wild and frizzy to stay down without product. There hasn’t been any product, let alone hair washing, in at least three days.
I yank the door open out of nerves, the motion making me double as dizzy.
And oh.
Pike stands in front of my door with red roses. “Hey.” His lips quirk into a bashful smile. “I’m sorry I got us stuck in the snow and made you flare.”
I’m so caught off-guard. A girl should not be surprised by her fake boyfriend. Especially when the last time that girl saw him, he was all hard muscle beneath her, hands gripping her shirt like he could rip it off, his five-o’clock shadow grazing her cheeks.
I subdue the lurch of need that slams into me.
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” I say suspiciously.
“It is.” His eyes drag over me. “You’re so colorful.”
I look down. My purple leggings scream at me. The sweater is one of my favorite comfy tops, but I usually wear jeans to balance out my hair. “I said I was in pajamas.”
“I like it. My favorite Gnu was purple and yellow.”
“What’s a Gnu?”
A warm, amused smile blooms across his face. “A snowboard. Gnu’s a brand.”
“I look like your snowboard?”
“She was a good board. I won my first gold with her.”
“Your boards have pronouns.”
“I don’t have them anymore. Besides the one. Never mind. You look good, is what I’m trying to say.” He hands me the roses. “Can I come in?”
“Are you sure you want to? It’s suck city in here.”
He unzips his backpack. “This is probably unexciting, but I figure it’s what a boyfriend would bring.”
He gives me a Tupperware, still warm, with a note attached to it.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Here’s some chicken soup
Just for you
It’s incredibly dorky…and undeniably precious.
“You know.” He looks at his feet. “Keeping with the poem theme.”
“You do realize we’re fake dating, right? You don’t need to bring me anything.”
“I wanted to. Probably Emy and Analia already hooked you up, though.” He glances around my apartment. “Can I meet them?”
“They’re not here.”
“I thought you were with them?”
“I was talking to them online.”
“Ah.” He follows me into my kitchen, taking in my apartment. This is the only room that hasn’t been destroyed this week, mainly because I use paper plates. No cleanup involved.
He picks up one of the flameless votive candles I’ve placed everywhere. “Romantic. Expecting someone?”
“No. Light sensitivity.”
My vases are up on a shelf I can’t reach without a stool, but Pike easily selects an elegant one and fills it up with water. I can’t believe he came all the way out here.
“I was thinking we should take another picture. One I can send my mom. Being Valentine’s Day and all.”
Of course. His mom. “Right, right. What do you need? Me gushing over your romantic gesture?”
A line creases his brow. “Does that bother you?”
“Why would it bother me?”
“I don’t know. You sounded sarcastic.”
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “Pain gives me a short temper.”
“No worries.” He comes to stand behind me. “Whenever I take prednisone, I get angry at everything.”
His arms ease around me until I’m sandwiched between the countertop and his warm body. My muscles go liquid, remembering the way he pressed against me in bed. The way I pressed against him while we kissed on his wheelchair.
Shivers run over my skin. I fit perfectly against him. Like we really belong together.
“Is this okay?” He rests his chin on my head, then quickly moves. “Sorry, your head, right.” He holds out the camera and presses his cheek to mine.
Pike smiles, unlike in our bed picture, where he looked sleepy and sated. I’ve fixated on that photo a hundred times. One thing I’ve learned about Pike from my stalking? He usually smirks when there’s a woman on his arm. Now, he looks more relaxed, like he’s happy he gets to take care of me.
The way Kalle smiles at Analia.
I’ve never had a man truly care about my pain. While many have made me feel good physically, they rarely held me tenderly like this. I slip out from his arms. I want him to look at me like that for real. If only because no one ever has.
He zooms in on the picture. “Do I look overly happy when you’re not well?”
“No, you look sweet.”