KICK IT | JENLISA

57

Jennie

Be nice... what a sack of horse shit.

Irene's words echoed as I drove to Lisa's house for her seventh week of personal workouts. Be nice. Niceness accomplished nothing. Pregnancy hormones obliterated Irene's common sense.

I paused on the rough brick covering Lisa's front porch. The sun beat down and seared my scalp. She couldn't... Lisa cracked the door open and stepped aside. "Hey."

My eyes travelled down Mt. Muscles' white tank top and grey shorts. I frowned at her feet. "What are those?"

"You, of all people, should recognise Crocs." The failed shoe model lifted one heel at a time, which squeaked her black rubber soles on the floor. "They're awful. How do you wear these? My feet are sweating out the holes."

"Keep your personal hygiene problems to yourself." I frowned at her paddleboard-sized feet.

Her eyebrows raised at my front entry statue impersonation, and a twinkle flashed in her eyes. "Coming inside, or are you eye-fucking my feet? Didn't know you had a thing for them."

She's teasing. She'd better be teasing, or those Crocs are going right up her... be nice, Jennie. I could be nice. Has her house always smelled this homey? "Yep." My feet were rooted to the spot. "I mean, no feet. Cover those mukluks. Can we talk?"

Not surprisingly, her expression turned into not impressed, and a placating whine slipped out, "Now you want to talk to me?"

"Yes." I forced a smile.

"Fine." Two thick, sinewy forearms strained across her chest. "But not if you're smiling at me like that."

The shadow lines of definition down her forearms were seriously distracting. Raised tributaries parted at the back of her hand. Fuck, those veins continued up her knuckles. She was a nurse's wet dream. Sweat dampened my armpits. Had she always had those? Who turned the furnace on outside? A breathless version of my voice rushed out, "Like what?"

"Like you're plotting my death behind those teeth." A low laugh bounced her shoulders.

My lips relaxed, which widened her grin. Lisa's dimples were so pronounced, oh those holy dimples. Sabotaging beats pounded in my chest, and I dipped my chin. The back of my neck was an ant seared under a magnifying glass. Metaphorical smoke rose off my skin. I flicked the pad of my middle finger at my thumb's cuticle. "Look, I'm... sorry, Lisa." Fuck, those words stung to admit to my Crocs. More cuticle picks commenced. "I reacted badly and didn't mean to make you feel slighted. What you did with the truck was nice and..."

A rough and warm touch met my cheek. "I'm not bothered by your reaction, Jennie." Lisa's hand stole my words. Too much softness clouded her eyes. I could handle her teasing. Her frustrations soared my ego. Anger? Bring it. Pity and sympathy twisted my heart. Irene and Jackson gave me more than enough of those, to the point there was nothing left to wring out. From her? Big fat nope. "Lisa, I..."

"Do you play golf?" Her head tipped back, eyes serious as they waited for my reaction. A small smile played on her lips, an invitation.

"Huh?" I blinked at the randomness of her question but nodded. My brain dissolved into the same puddle of mush it poofed into after realising the truck wouldn't start, and Niagara Jennie showed up. Whatever the fuck tethered Lisa's hand to my cheek, lightening sensations floated through me. It sizzled my thoughts into sidewalk scramble eggs. Otherwise, I would've answered that I played on my high school's team. Or resisted more about accepting Lisa's offer. And pounding beats wouldn't be tattooing a hole between my eyes.

"Good." A hint of uncertainty flashed in her eyes. "I've got a charity game that I need to bring someone with me. So, if you go, then consider us a clean slate."

My heart balked at the word 'us.' "I'm good."

Her frown creased a line between her eyebrows. She dropped her eyes and hand, but the skittering beats in my chest remained. "I get it, you don't..."

"I'm good at golf. Yeah, if it helps you out. But let's get to work before I change my mind about being seen in public with you."

In forty-five minutes, Lisa demonstrated her shoulder's progress by how lower she settled into the poses. Her shoulder's range of mobility was vastly improved. Showing no signs of restraint, mental or physical, she was close to not needing my help anymore.

Lisa's closed eyes fluttered during meditation, so I placed a towel over them. Her nose wrinkled, and she removed the cloth. "Why do you use this smelly shit?"

I gasped and palmed my chest. "Lavender is relaxing for some people."

She sat up, then handed the towel back with a sigh. "I'm not one of those people."

My hand patted her shoulder without teasing her. "It's okay to be a work in progress, Lisa."