Chapter 8: Home Game: Chapter 8

I WOKE up feeling drugged and disoriented. It was dark, quiet, and I felt like I was lying on a giant warm cloud. For one long moment, I wondered if I had died. Then pieces of my miserable life washed over me. Seeing Ryan. The hospital. Losing my bag. Ryan telling me to sleep in his bed.

What time was it? I lifted my head. A muted television sounded outside the room. I slowly crept down the hall. Ryan sat on the couch, which he had already made into a bed. He was wearing a pair of shorts but no shirt.

“Hey,” he stood up, displaying a rock-hard chest. “You’re awake.”

I avoided looking at all that bronzed, smooth skin.

“What time is it?”

“Just after 10 PM. How are you feeling?”

“Stiff.”

He studied me. “You should eat something.”

The thought of eating made me nauseous, but that was probably because I hadn’t eaten in a while. “Okay.”

He stood up and pulled on a shirt. “I can heat you up some soup.”

“Okay.”

I slid onto the stool at the island and watched as he pulled out a bag of Happy Planet soup from the fridge. This guy didn’t heat a can of soup like the rest of the world. He bought fresh, organic, locally made soup that probably cost the same price as five tins of soup. He didn’t speak as he read the instructions.

He cut up bread and cheese and put it in front of me. Suddenly I was ravenous. It was soft and fresh and tasted like heaven.

“This bread is so good,” I said, my mouth full.

He leaned back against the counter and watched me eat.

“Sorry I look so gross,” I said, when I caught him eyeing my face.

“You don’t look gross.”

I put my bread down. I knew what was coming. I needed to get out of this guy’s hair. This was the second time he had saved my butt, and I didn’t want us to get to the point where he told me I needed to leave.

“So, I need to leave,” I said. “Would it be okay if I took a shower before I left?”

He crossed his arms and stared at me. His expression didn’t change. “Where will you go?”

“Does it matter?”

“I want to understand what your game plan is. You have no money. You’re hurt and you can’t work for a while with that shoulder, at least not in a restaurant.”

“Don’t think that is any of your concern.”

His eyes narrowed. “What were you doing out there?”

“Where?”

“At that restaurant? Late at night.”

“None of your business.”

“Was it drugs?”

My mouth dropped open. “No!”

“Why were you out there?”

“What, are you my social worker now?”

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“Tell me why you care.”

“Because I don’t understand you. I don’t understand your world or how any of this happens to a person.”

“I worked late that night.”

“At that place?”

“No. I work at a fast food place and my manager, when he hired me, told me he could schedule me for just mornings because that way, I can still get back to the shelter in time. But lately, some other staff have night classes, so he schedules me in wherever.”

He was listening intently.

“So, I got off work at 11 PM. I had no place to go.”

“How did you end up in the middle of an industrial area in a rainstorm?”

“Why do you care?”

“Just tell me.”

I glared at him with my one good eye. “Fine. I go there because the waitresses are nice and they give me free food. They don’t care if I fall asleep in my booth for an hour or two. They look out for me and they know me.”

“Jesus.”

“I took the bus out there but it was closed because of some power issue.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“It was raining so hard. And the bus only comes once an hour. I thought if I hid in the back, I would be safe.”

“But you weren’t.”

I looked away. Ashamed at how my lips were trembling. “I should have walked, but I was so tired and cold. I didn’t want to get drenched.”

“Zoey.”

I held up my hand as if I could ward off the sympathy in his voice. “Don’t.”

“You don’t have to be so strong all the time.”

I looked back at him. “Yes. I do. If I don’t play it smart and stay tough, this is what happens to me. Or worse. I got lucky. That is what the nurse told when I woke up. She looked at me and told me I was lucky. My kind of luck is that I didn’t get raped or murdered.”

I couldn’t read his expression.

“Happy now?” I snarled, feeling humiliated that I had shared all that with him.

“Stay here with me.”

My heart beat. Thump. Thump. Thump.

“You don’t want that.”

“Just stay until you’re healed and back on your feet.”

“Why would you even do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re stupid. You know nothing about me. I could rob you blind or mess up your place.”

“Are you going to do that?”

“No!”

“Do you have any other options?”

I wanted this so bad it hurt. I could sleep and shower. I could wash my jeans. But I knew firsthand that kindness came with a price tag. Everyone wanted something in return. That was just the way the world worked. I studied Ryan, wondering what he would want from me. At some point, the other shoe would fall and he would take his payment. All men did. There were no free rides in this world.

Although I couldn’t imagine what he would take from me. After meeting his agent this afternoon, I was certain I wasn’t his type. But lots of men weren’t that discriminating. A fuck is a fuck.

“What do you want from me?”

He gave a disbelieving laugh. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit. Everyone wants something. I fuck no one and a blow job is probably as far as I would go, but you need to spell that out up front. I mentally need to prepare myself for that shit. I don’t want to wake up with your dick in my mouth.”

Shock crossed his face. “I don’t want a fucking blow job.”

I had given exactly one blow job in my life. It had been in grade twelve. I had the biggest crush on a guy. He had turned out to be a jackass. He was nice until I had done the deed and then he told the whole school I had sucked him off.

I studied Ryan. It probably wouldn’t be too bad. At least he looked like he showered.

“Every guy wants a blow job.”

“I don’t want a blow job from you.”

That stung. He didn’t have to sound so repulsed. “Too good for me?”

He stared at me in amazement. “How are we even talking about this?”

“What do you want then?”

“I don’t want anything.”

“You want me to believe you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Yes.”

I crossed my arms. “What if you’re some kinky fucker and I wake up in the middle of the night and you’ve hog-tied me?”

He held up his hand. “Stop. God. Please stop with the visuals.”

I looked around. “I don’t like a free ride. It makes me feel weird. So you need to be upfront with what you want from me.”

“Nothing.”

I looked around the kitchen. “I can help clean up around here.”

“I have a cleaning lady.”

“I can do your laundry.”

He rubbed his hair, making it stick up everywhere. “Why can’t you accept this for what it is?”

“Because that’s not how it works.”

Our gazes met. Me challenging him. He slowly shook his head. “Fine. When you are feeling better, we can talk about you helping out. Maybe my expenses or something.”

“What else?”

“Let’s get you on your feet. Then we can discuss that.”

“Fine,” I said, feeling grumpy. I hated being in limbo. “But you know my terms.”

“I can promise you, I will never ask for anything sexual in payment, okay?”

I watched as he poured soup into a bowl and then set it in front of me.

It was the best soup I had ever had in my life. Ryan cleaned up the surrounding kitchen while I ate. Again, I thought of his agent. With her red lips and red high heels. The woman screamed sex. I looked back at Ryan, wondering if him and his agent had crossed that line. They seemed chummy.

“Won’t I be cramping your style if I stay here?”

He was wiping the island. “Nope.”

“Where will you bring your action?”

“Who says I have any action?”

“Guys like you always have some action happening.”

“Guys like me?”

“You know.”

He stopped wiping. “Enlighten me.”

I studied him for a long moment. The guy was really good looking with his high cheekbones and that wide smile. “You’re not ugly.”

He snorted.

“In high school, the jocks, even the fat football guys, got the chicks. With your job, even if you suck at it, I bet you get your fair share of chicks willing to give you as much action as you want.”

“I don’t suck at my job.” He pointed at my bowl. “Are you done with that?”

“Yes.”

He put it in the dishwasher. “I’ve got enough shit on my plate. I don’t have time for that.”

“I know, but if you change your mind, I can always take off and give you some privacy.”

He tossed the rag in the sink. “I don’t need privacy.”

“Fine.” I slowly moved off the chair. “Is it okay if I take that shower now?”

“I put towels in the bathroom for you.”

I STOOD IN THE BATHROOM, unable to get the scrub shirt off my body. The taut cotton didn’t stretch and my arm was too sore to lift it over my head. I had a couple options. I could skip the shower, but I felt so gross and itchy. I really wanted a shower. My second option was I could ask Ryan for help.

I walked out of the bathroom. He sat at the island counter, looking at his phone.

“Can you help me?”

He lifted his head.

“I can’t get this shirt off.”

His expression was a mixture of disbelief and dread.

“Can you help me pull it over my head?”

He moved closer and then just stood in front of me. Unmoving.

“You want me to lift it off?”

“Without hurting my shoulder.”

He didn’t move a muscle.

“It’s not like you don’t have the practice,” I complained.

He reached forward and lifted the shirt up from the front. He pulled it up over my head but my shoulder started to pull up.

“Wait,” I said as pain shot through my body. “My shoulder.”

“Okay, uh, lean over,” he instructed.

I did, and he grabbed the fabric from my back. He pulled the shirt halfway up my back until my shoulder screamed in pain.

“Stop,” I said, in agony. Now I was bent over, my shoulder twisting, stuck with the shirt halfway up my body, over my head.

“Zoey,” he said, a bit desperately.

“Get it off,” my voice sounded muffled. “Get it off.”

He tugged again, and I squeaked in agony.

“Hang on,” he said. And then I felt his hands bunch at the shirt’s front and then with a mighty rip, he tore the green scrub shirt open.

I stood looking down at my exposed chest in shock and put my good arm across my breasts. He was standing in front of me, staring at my stomach with a mixture of horror and concern.

Mortified, I turned and hobbled back to the bathroom, my face in flames.

I stood under the shower, watching as brown rivulets of rusty blood swirled down the drain. I took inventory of my body. My concave abdomen was covered in purple-blue bruises, from my ribs down to my pelvis. My shoulder was also covered in dark bruising. My eye was still swollen shut, but my fat lip was receding. Bruises covered my legs and arms. From falling or being kicked, I wasn’t sure. No wonder Ryan had looked revolted by my body. I had never looked or felt worse.

I realized after I got out of the shower that I had no shirt to wear. I put on my underwear and debated my options. Wrapping myself in a towel, I decided I would have to ask him for yet another favor and borrow one of his shirts.

But when I opened the door, the hallway, living room, and kitchen were dark. The guy had gone to bed.

I shut off the bathroom light. Fine. I could just sleep in my towel and deal with the clothing situation in the morning.