“Sorry.”
“Yeah, right,” he said wryly. “That was probably payback for using your floppy bunny as a lawn-dart target.”
He couldn’t see her face, but he heard the smile when she spoke. “I forgot all about that. Jackson got grounded for three days and my mom had to sew all the little holes together. She told me he was a war hero who was going through surgery to get patched up before receiving a medal from the president.”
“Your mom was always good for a story. Jax and I counted on her to give us all our background information for our pretend missions as kids.”
“Mom was something special all right. I still miss her bedtime stories.”
Lucie’s parents had died in a car accident the summer after he and Jackson graduated high school and she was just thirteen. Jackson chose to raise Lucie instead of pawning her off on another relative, which is why he wasn’t as far in his MMA career as Reid. It was an honorable thing, and it was obvious he’d done a damn fine job, too.
Just then it hit him. “It’s a guy, isn’t it?”
Her hands stilled for only a moment, but it was long enough to give him the answer he was looking for. “Is it tender when I press here?”
Like bad heartburn, an unfamiliar lividity rose up for the general male population until he could aim it at the one who deserved it. Pushing up with his left arm he swung his body around to face her.
“What are you doing? I’m not done.”
“You are until you tell me who he is and what the hell he did,” he growled.
“Reid—”
“Quid pro quo, Lu. You tell me who made you cry and why, and I promise to not find out on my own, hunt him down, and kick his teeth down his throat for putting that look on your face.”
He almost regretted throwing down the harsh threat when her face blanched, but if that was the only way he could get her to open up, then so be it. “Here, hop up on the table. We’ll switch places,” he said as he stood. When she opened her mouth to brook an argument he narrowed his gaze to show her he wasn’t kidding. With a resigned sigh she did as he wanted, albeit not happily.
“There, now you’re the patient.” Despite the pain it caused in his shoulder, he braced his hands on either side of her hips, preventing an escape should she decide it was the better alternative. “So, Miss Miller,” he said looking into her soft gray eyes, “tell me where it hurts.”
…
Lucie still couldn’t believe Reid was in her therapy room. When they were younger she’d trailed after her older brother just to be in his best friend’s presence. But since Reid had always treated her like a big brother would, much to her young heart’s dismay, she’d always looked up to both him and Jackson.
Now she was having a hard time looking away from him.
He’d always been toned in high school, but this was ridiculous. The man redefined Michelangelo’s idea of perfection, making the Statue of David look like a flabby wuss. His dark blond hair was cut close to his head and brushed forward and to the center, creating the tiniest of faux-hawks, and giving his model-perfect good looks a slight edge. Then there were the tattoos…good Lord, the tattoos.
Black tribal designs wove an intricate pattern around his upper right arm, over his shoulder and pectoral muscle, and snaked midway up the right side of his neck. Down the right side of his ribcage was the phrase Fight To Win in script letters, ending at the cut muscle that slashed diagonally to his—
“Lu?”
She met his discerning hazel eyes. “Hmm?”
“You gonna start talking or do I have to revert to tickle torture?”
Nice, Lucie, real smooth. Get a grip, would you? It’s just Reid.
She rolled her eyes and glanced away hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears she barely managed to hold at bay. She smiled, needing to keep the conversation light. Needing him to not grill her about what happened. “I’m not eight years old anymore, Reid. Pull a stunt like that I’ll slap you with a sexual harassment suit.”
Gently grasping her chin he tipped her head back to meet his gaze, and with the single use of her name, “Lucie…” the floodgates cracked to let the first tears stream down.
“God, this is so stupid. Really, it’s nothing,” she said, swiping at the tears angrily with her fingers.
“When a man makes a woman cry, it’s not nothing.”
“He didn’t mean to; he doesn’t even know he did. It’s just…” She took a deep breath and released a shaky exhale. “I’ve been in love with him for years and he’s never noticed me. Not like that anyway. Just before you showed up, he asked me for my best friend’s number. He wants to take her to the hospital charity ball.”
“Will she go?”
“No, Vanessa would never do that to me. It hurts to know he’d seen her one time and ever since then he’s wanted to ask her out. We’ve spent countless hours working together, but he just doesn’t see me.”