Page 29 of Paths
I think my jaw hit the floor and look back at Foxy, who winks at me. He even raises his arms with his hands up, giving them a couple pumps toward the ceiling to raise the roof.
My eyes go big. “We do not bump and grind, Foxy.”
He narrows his, I think trying to make them sultry or something, and does a little wiggle dance move in his chair. “We could—that was my next move. Just you and me, blue eyes. I was gonna break out the Marvin Gaye.”
Butch laughs, but still has the decency to stick up for me. “The only bumping and grinding you’ll be doing is in your dreams. There aren’t enough blue pills in the Commonwealth of Virginia to push you over the top.”
Foxy finishes his dance and reaches for his cup of coffee. “My testosterone is strong, my friend. Sometimes I don’t even need my little blue friend. I got it goin’ on, as the youngins say.”
“Here’s your donut, sugarlump. It’s the last one.” Betty sets the small paper plate on top of the empty stack in front of Grady. He wastes no time picking it up and taking a huge bite.
“Grady is Maya’s boyfriend,” Erma informs Betty what she missed out on during her trip to the donut table. Erma turns to Grady. “How long have you been dating? Maya hasn’t mentioned you.”
Even though she didn’t ask me, I insist, “We’re not dating.”
Grady washes down his donut with a big gulp of milk and tips his head, ignoring me. “Long enough, even though it feels like only yesterday when she threw herself at me for the first time.”
I turn in my chair to fully face him. “I did not throw myself at you.”
He settles his blue eyes on me and winks. “If that makes you feel better, baby.”
Flabbergasted, I insist more emphatically, “I had a good reason!”
Grady turns back to his harem. “Does time really matter, anyway? Time is insignificant. Have we been together twelve years?” He looks back at me and my breath catches at his words. His expression and voice are meaningful when he speaks straight to me. “No, but even years mean nothing if they’re bad. I think when you know, you know.” He looks back to his adoring audience. “Maya will get that eventually.”
“Trust me, when you get to our age, time is nothing if not significant,” Betty confirms.
“I think you’re lovely,” Erma adds, as she looks admiringly up at Grady.
“He’s a charmer and a looker,” Miss Lillian Rose states before glaring at me. “What’s wrong with you, Maya?”
That’s it.
“Our time for dominoes is almost over,” I announce and push my chair back to stand. “Finish up and put them away, but leave the boxes on the tables. I’ll come back and collect them. You, Mr. Prince Charming,” I point at Grady, “come with me.”
Grady grins as Erma croons, “Ahh, she calls him Prince Charming.”
I roll my eyes and turn to leave the commons area, assuming Grady will follow. I quickly march through the halls until I get to the clinic. The current physical therapist is off today, so there are no appointments or anyone about.
I get to the back room and open the last door. After Grady follows, I slam it, closing us in.
Grady looks around, probably wondering what we’re doing, but I don’t waste any time. I have Wii games on the schedule and need to get that going soon. Moving to the cart parked at the side of the room, I roll it to the vinyl-covered exam bed.
Between what happened last night with Weston, Grady being wonderful yet annoying by insisting we’re something we’re not, and finally, wondering what Weston’s next move might be, my emotions are all over the place. I’ve officially lost my patience.
“Take your shirt off,” I clip.
Grady half-grins, half-frowns and immediately starts to unbutton his shirt. “If you say so.”
I do my best to be professional and not ogle Grady undressing, so I look away and snap the stickers onto the electrodes. When I turn back, he’s standing bare from the waist up, his jeans are sort of loose and sitting low on his hips where I can see the band of his underwear peeking at me. I have to exhale quickly when I see his iliac furrow for the second time. It’s so deeply defined, I could barely handle it during our first PT session, and now isn’t any easier.
Looking up from the beautiful V below his abs, I chastise him for last night. “You shouldn’t have carried me to bed. That wasn’t a good idea, you really could’ve reinjured that joint.”
He continues to grin. “I didn’t think you’d sleep well with me on your miniature couch. Maybe next time we’ll just start off in your bed.”
I bite my lip, and regret bringing it up at all, so I change the subject.
“Sit,” I demand. When he settles on the vinyl exam table, I take a step toward him and start peeling the stickers one by one. I adhere them to his muscles, framing his shoulder, and then have to bite the inside of my lip when I place three on each of his pectorals.
