J—

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Everything this girl does is a mating dance.

Her smile.

Her chivalry.

Her spontaneity.

Her surprising love of Wendy's Frosties.

And … she made pasta.

I would never think of making my pasta, so her idea of simplicity is my idea of going the extra ten miles.

"Is it too presumptuous of me to sleep on the sofa? I can get a hotel room." She yawns, glancing at her watch. It's nearly eleven.

"You can sleep anywhere you want." I lower the recliner and sit up straight. When I lift my gaze, Lisa gives me a raised brow.

I bite my lips together. "That sounded a little too …"

"Welcoming? Suggestive? Sexual? Tempting?"

"Stop." I laugh. "You and your one-word replies are too much."

"Do you need help getting to sleep?"

"Help?"

She scoots to the sofa's edge and rests her elbows on her knees. "Help to get up the stairs? Help to get into your pajamas? Help going to sleep?"

Standing, I rest my weight on my crutches. "I'm good. You can sleep in the bedroom across from mine. Pinstriped comforter. I can shut off the lights from my phone."

She eyes me as if I might have a different answer.

"Night, Lisa."

"Night, Jennie."

I hobble up several stairs and glance over my shoulder as she retrieves her bag by the front door. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being here. For saying everything you said. And for listening." I sigh. "Seriously, for listening. You have no idea how much I needed to apologize … to explain my actions. A weight lifted. I didn't realize how heavy that weight of guilt was until today. I never thought I'd see you again, so I shoved everything to the back of my mind like one does when they lose someone before saying everything they wanted to say."

With a concentrated expression, she nods several times.

"Well, that's all," I murmur.

When I emerge from the bathroom, Lisa's in the guest room with the door shut. I close my door and climb into bed, turning on the TV to distract my runaway thoughts until I fall asleep.

..

Several hours later, I shoot to sitting, choking on a gasp. I hate this anxiety. It's more debilitating than my injury. If it's not the need to move my ankle, it's the feeling of my lungs burning with the need to breathe when I was trapped under the water. Sweat trickles down my back and between my breasts. I tear off my shirt.

"Jennie?"

I startle, hearing Lisa's voice.

"Wh-what are you doing?" I pull my sheet over my naked chest.

She's on the floor with a pillow, blanket, jogging shorts, and sports bra.

"When did you come in here?"

"When I thought you were asleep." She sits on the edge of the bed, brushing my hair away from my face. "I wanted to be here if you woke up."

I glance at the T-shirt I discarded to the floor. "Why are you being so nice to me?" I whisper while tears burn my eyes. This isn't how I wanted her to see me.

"Jennie?" She cups my cheek with her hand.

I shift my gaze from the T-shirt to her

"All I've ever wanted is to be nice to you."

I blink, letting the emotions spill over my cheeks. "I'm s-still so a-ashamed for how I t-treated you."

"No," she whispers, keeping her hand pressed to my cheek while her lips press to my other cheek.

I freeze, and so does she.

My breaths leap over each other until I reach a solid pant.

Something's buzzing, a vibrating sound. Lisa deflates a fraction, bowing her head. The vibrating noise continues. With a sigh, she squats by my bed and retrieves her phone.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she says, holding her phone to her ear. After a few seconds, she rubs her temple. "It's the middle of the night. Why aren't you asleep?"

Another long pause.

"You'll just have to make it work. What do you expect me to do at this hour?" Lisa scratches the back of her head, then claws at her hair and grumbles. "Stick a pillow between your legs."

I hear a voice on the other end, but I can't make out what's being said.

"There's probably a complementary bottle you can use. Check the bathroom. Good night." Lisa tosses her phone on the blanket by her pillow. She takes a few long breaths before sitting on the edge of my bed again.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

"My dad doesn't have his pajamas."

"Where are they?"

Lisa pinches the bridge of her nose. "At home."

"Isn't he at home?"

"He's at a hotel."

"Why is he at a hotel?"

"Because I thought he needed to get out of the house."

"You kicked your dad out and sent him to a hotel?"

She laces her fingers behind her neck. "He's at a hotel here in Nashville."

My face scrunches. "Your dad's here? In Nashville? And you're … with me?"

"Correct."

"Lisa, that's …"

"It's fine."

"It's not fine. He's calling you in the middle of the night; clearly, it's not fine."

"I forgot to pack his pajamas. He's a guy. He can sleep in his boxer shorts."

"Doesn't seem like he can."

Lisa chuckles. "He likes to sleep in long pants because it prevents chafing on his inner thighs. Apparently, he moves around a lot in his sleep. Now he's worried his legs will be chafed in the morning, and I didn't pack lotion for him."

"Lisa." I cover my mouth to muffle my laughter while my other hand keeps the sheet to my chest. "You need to go be with your dad. You don't have to stay with me. Really."

"He's fine." Lisa sounds so exasperated, and it's kind of funny. It's kind of cute.

I can't believe she brought her dad with her just so she could see me again.

"What can I get you?" she asks, resting her hand on my leg.

"Um …" I nod toward the floor. "You can get my shirt for me."

She glances over her shoulder at my shirt and then turns back to me. "I like your shirt on the floor."

I shake and shiver with a nervous laugh. "Lisa," I murmur.

"Jennie …" She scrapes her teeth along her lower lip while tugging at the sheet, inching it down my chest a little more with each tug until my breasts are exposed, nipples hard and sensitive. With her eyes on me, she ducks her head until her lips are at my nipple. I feel her warm breath on my flesh, and I swallow hard. But she doesn't move. It's as if she's waiting for permission. Breathing is its own challenge; if she thinks I can eke out a single word, she's crazy.

Instead, I run my fingers through her hair, and that's all the permission she needs. I almost fall apart when her lips cover my nipple.

When her hand cups my breast.

When her other hand rests high on my leg where the sheet's fallen to the side.

What are we doing? Where is this going? Does it have anywhere to go? Do we have anywhere to go?

"L-Lisa …"

"Hmm?" She hums over my breast.

"I'm … I'm in a boot."

Her gaze lifts to mine. "Do you want me to stop?"

It's an unfair question for several reasons. I'm in nothing but a flimsy pair of panties. She's shirtless. I can't walk without crutches, yet we're discussing sex. At least, I think that's implied. And when she asked me if I wanted to stop, the pad of her thumb teased the crotch of my panties.

I gulp with a tiny headshake.

Lisa grins, and her tongue teases my nipple again. Then it flicks my navel. I ease back onto my elbows as she brings my good leg to the side to wedge her torso between my spread legs.

"I'm sorry you have anxiety," she says while her lips ghost along my stomach to my hip, where her fingers curl into the waist of my panties, pulling them down my legs.

"It's okay …" I whisper despite her hands and lips stealing my voice.

When she can't move my panties past my boot, she frees them from my good leg and leaves them dangling below my other knee.

I haven't shaved anywhere in weeks, so I'm conflicted. Should I feel desired knowing that she wants me even with my ungroomed parts? Or should I feel embarrassed?

"Je … sus …" My hips jerk when her tongue slides between my spread legs.

Desired. I'm going with desired.

A hairless body is overrated. Why do women try so hard? I've never encountered a man who gives a shit.

Lisa's slow and methodic. She's deliberate with each stroke, like with every thrust of her lower body into the mattress. My good foot rests on her ass, and every time her glutes squeeze, I come closer to orgasming. I collapse onto my back, twisting side to side, pumping my pelvis against her mouth.

Broken ankle. What broken ankle?

Anxiety. What anxiety?

She crawls up my body. When her lips tease my ear, she whispers, "Can I go further?"

"Y-yes." I claw her back. Her chest teasing my nipples makes my legs shake.

With an impatient hand, she shoves down the front of her shorts and briefs and plunges into me like a girl who hasn't had sex in years. I don't dwell on how long it's been. I'm not stupid. I know I wasn't her last sexual encounter.

She groans while her tongue probes the inside of my mouth. My knees draw toward my chest. It's an indescribable feeling. My doctor should have prescribed sex instead of the pain meds that had me yoyoing between grogginess and uncomfortably irritated.

"You're goddamn perfection," she says through labored breaths over my mouth before kissing me again.

Perfection?

So many emotions surge through my body and settle in my chest from that one word. Three years ago, I thought she was almost perfect.

I haven't felt this level of euphoria in a long time. Endless weeks of pain, anxiety, and depression have plagued me. I yell, "Dear god, yes," and fall into a limp pile of flesh and bones.

Lisa collapses, her body weight pinning me to the mattress while she chuckles with her face buried in my neck. "Dear god, yes …" She repeats my words as if nothing has ever given her such satisfaction.

I grin even though she can't see it. Should I be embarrassed that I'm so vocal? Maybe. I'm too busy being thankful that Teddy isn't here. I wouldn't be able to look him in the eye ever again.

"Thank you," I say, catching my breath. "I needed that."

Lisa's body shakes with light laughter. "You don't ever have to thank me for … that."

"Well," I feather my fingers along her back, "you deserve something—a medal, a gold star. Maybe a cookie bouquet. At the very least … a high five."

More laughter vibrates her body before she eases off me. "How's your ankle?" Concern lines her face while she pulls up her briefs and shorts.

"Fine." I sit up. "Can you hand me my shirt now?"

She plucks my shirt off the floor and turns it right side out before sliding it over my head and helping me thread my arms through it.

"Thank you."

"Need help getting to the bathroom?"

"Nope." I stand and slide my crutches under my arms more confidently than one should be, with their panties hanging from their boot.

Lisa stands in my way, giving me a funny look.

"Excuse me," I say.

She holds up her hand. I stare at it. What is she doing?

"High five."

I try hard to keep a straight face, but it's impossible. After all, I did suggest the bare minimum of a high five. "Well done." I slap her hand.

She grins. Then she steps aside so I can clean up and piece myself back together.

"So …" I steal her attention away from her phone when I return. "That, uh … happened."

Lisa gives me a reassuring smile, instantly putting me at ease. "I regret nothing."

"I'm not on the pill."

She maintains her smile, but her throat bobs and her eyes widen slightly.

"Still no regrets?"

It takes her a few seconds, but she manages to ease her head side to side in tiny increments.

"I'm not leaving my job. You'll have to move here. Or we can have shared custody, but I plan on breastfeeding for at least a year, so you can't have our baby in Kansas City until she's weaned." I sit next to her and prop my crutches against the nightstand.

"Why would I live in Kansas City if my baby's here?"

"Your job. Family. Friends." I scoot around to get my legs under the sheet.

Lisa eyes me when I lay my head on the pillow, demanding my full attention. Her expression softens, and she shuts off the lamp by my bed and crawls next to me, enveloping me in her arms while kissing my head. "Why do you think it's a girl?"

"That's your response? Not an apology? Not an ounce of panic? Are you kidding me?"

"You thanked me. We high-fived. Now I'm supposed to apologize and panic?"

"I'm on the pill," I mumble in defeat. "But would it kill you to show a little more responsibility?"

"I know you're on the pill. They're on your nightstand."

How is she still one-upping me?

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