Hartley winked. “Next time.”
I was drained. All day I’d wanted to quiz Hartley about what would happen next. I’d wanted to know where we stood, even if it was difficult to ask. But just then, with the memory of the gleaming white ice dancing before my eyes, it was enough to rest against his shoulder. He put an arm around me, and we barely spoke at all before the bus pulled up on College Street.
“Where did the sleds come from?” I asked as I maneuvered out of the van.
“I saw them in a storage room last year — like a dozen of them. So I asked the facility manager if we could use them.”
“And the ice time? That couldn’t have been easy.”
“That’s Bridger’s doing. Coach is still pissed at me.”
“Will you thank Bridger for me?” I said quietly.
“Sure.”
As we approached the front door to McHerrin, Dana caught up with us. “Hi guys.” She squinted at me. I’m sure I looked like a train wreck, with red eyes and a sweaty brow. “Everything okay?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “But I need a shower. You’re home early.”
“My groupies are headed to a bar, but since my fake ID sucks…” She shrugged. “I’m going to make some tea.” She swiped her ID to open the front door.
I wanted to thank Hartley again, but his phone rang. He checked the display, and then he answered. “Hey, Mom,” he said, trapping the phone beneath his chin. “Yeah, I did call you. There’s something I wanted to tell you, and you’re going to love it.” As he went into his room, I heard him say, “I’m finished with Greenwich, Connecticut.”
I left Hartley to his call and headed for the shower.
The reason might sound silly, but I pinned up my hair before stepping into the spray. The icy smell from the rink lingered in my hair, and I wasn’t ready to wash it away. I was happily rinsing the sweat off my body when Dana came into the bathroom. “Corey?” she called.
I stuck my head out of the curtain. “You’re supposed to knock!” Dana knew I was a psycho about privacy.
“Sorry.” Her grin was mischievous as she shut the door behind her. “But Hartley just came looking for you. He said, ‘tell Callahan that I’m waiting up for her.’” She giggled. “I swear I kept a straight face. Almost.”
“Wow. Okay.”
“So…” she gave me a devilish look. “I came in here to tell you, in case you were on the fence about shaving anything…”
I pulled the curtain closed. “My God. You’re giving me a complex.”
“Why?”
“I’ll bet Stacia has her garden tended professionally.”
Dana hooted. “But she’s history, Corey. Tidy pubes and all.” I heard her leave the bathroom, giggling.
After I’d dried off, I wrapped the towel around myself and transferred to my chair. As I rolled past Dana in the common room, she asked, “what are you going to wear?”
“Excellent question. Let me see.” I stared into my dresser drawers far longer than I’d ever done, finally settling on a skimpy camisole top and yoga pants.
“Perfect,” Dana said when I emerged for her approval. “Sexy, but it doesn’t look like you’re trying too hard.”
“Dana? You’re making some high-level assumptions here, I think.”
She shook her head. “I saw that boy’s face. I think he drooled a little on our rug. Did you put on slinky underwear?”
“I don’t own any, so I went without,” I said, running a brush through my hair.
She squealed. “I guess you don’t need my help.”
“Sure I do. Big decision: the sticks or the chair?” This was the real fashion question in my life.
Dana considered. “The chair. Definitely the chair. It will be easier to tear your clothes off that way.”
I wheeled toward the door. “Is this the point where I’m supposed to say, ‘don’t wait up?’”
She arched her eyebrows. “I’ll expect a full report.”
I gave Hartley’s door two knocks, feeling self-conscious. But I could hear the low thump of house music coming from inside his room, so I opened the door. Inside, Hartley was holding a basketball in the middle of the room, wearing jeans and nothing else. My mouth went dry at the sight. Though the light was low, I could see each perfect muscle on his chest, and the trail of fine brown hairs running down the center and into the waistband of his jeans. He shifted, tossing the basketball aside. And then he was coming for me.
For me.
It’s not easy to get close to someone sitting in a wheelchair. So when he leaned down, I wrapped my arms around his neck. His skin was velvet under my palms. Hartley put his hands on my hips and lifted me right out of the chair, pulling me to his chest. He slung one arm under my bottom and just held me there, nose to nose, studying me with his serious brown eyes.
“Callahan,” he whispered.