Pain twinges in the center of my skull, one I can no longer ignore, and I rub my temple.
His brows pull down. “Headache?”
“Hmm. I thought it would disappear by now, but it seems to be getting worse. Sorry if I’m not the best conversationalist right now.”
He takes a napkin from the dispenser and hands it to me. “It’s fine, but your mascara is running, and the bridge of your nose is turning purple. What’s going on?”
I dab at my eyes. “I banged my nose on a mop. You might have enjoyed it.” A rueful smile crosses my lips. “I’m shocked it isn’t bleeding.”
“Come with me.” He stands and holds out his hand, and I hesitantly put mine in his.
“You want to look at it? Why?”
“I’m a football player. I know my injuries. The first thing we need to do is put some ice on it and make sure it isn’t fractured. I also want to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”
“From a mop handle?”
“Trust me, anything is possible, plus nose hits sting like a bitch. I’ve taken a few of them just messing around with the guys. Where’s the kitchen?”
“Um, behind the counter, through the swinging doors.”
He doesn’t release my hand as we pass a wide-eyed Babs at the counter, checking out the teen girls from earlier. Eyeballing Graham, they squeal in excitement, then take their purchases and rush over to us. One of them grabs his sleeve, and he disentangles himself and tells her that he’s on his private time.
“Does that happen a lot?” I ask as we leave them behind.
“Hmm, you may not know this, but I’m famous.”
“Did the player that pulled your face mask get fined or what?”
“Technically, the defense would have gotten a fifteen-yard penalty, but since I crossed the goal line anyway, it didn’t matter,” he says. “We won. It was a high-pressure game, and people react on instinct. Sometimes the caveman takes over on the field.”
I stop, surprise flickering over me. “Wait. You actually have empathy for him? Even after all the problems it must have given you?”
“I believe he didn’t mean for what happened to happen. It’s a risk we all take when we put on the uniform. I’m angry it’s fucked with me for months, but I’ve been cleared to play. I’ll start this fall.”
I frown. After discovering who he was, I watched the video of his tackle several times. He’d fallen into a tangle of arms and legs, then lay on the field while everyone else got to their feet. He didn’t move. Not an inch. The crowd hushed. The other team prayed. His team formed a wall around him for privacy as the paramedics used a defibrillator to bring him back. I’ve had a similar thing done, to shock my heart back into normal rhythm.
We walk into the kitchen, and our hands drift apart. Tilting my chin up, he searches my face. With surprisingly gentle fingers he touches the top of my nose. Concern etches his features. “I don’t feel a break, and it doesn’t look misshapen. Your eyes look fine but might bruise later. Do you feel nauseous or dizzy?”
“No.”
But my heart is suddenly thumping like a snare drum.
Dammit, I like this vulnerable side of him, his care. True, he’s a towering man with muscles, seemingly invincible, but there’s a gentleness about him that makes my heart tighten.
He smells intoxicating, and with our faces this close, I notice the feathery lines at the corners of his mercurial eyes. I see a small scar on his temple. I take in the strong muscles in his throat, the light dusting of dark hair I see below his neck. I wonder if there’s a lot of hair on his chest. My mind wanders, and I imagine his abdomen, if he has a six-or an eight-pack; then I’m tangled up in thoughts about his penis—is there a curve, which direction does it point, is he circumcised, if his height and broad shoulders suggest a girthy cock, and what color the spring of hair would be—
And nope. I have a cat.
“Yeah, I don’t think I have a concussion,” I say as I ease away, grab a ziplock bag, and fill it with ice from the machine.
Leaning against the stainless steel counter, I press the bag to my face, focusing on the bridge of my nose and not the man next to me.
“So, tell me about this fight with the mop. You lost?”
“I banged it while pushing the bucket we use to mop up spills. Some of our employees didn’t show, so I’m doing odd jobs.”
“Ah.”
I exhale. The mop incident is just another reminder that the store is going away. My stomach churns all over again. “I guess you saw the sign on the door. We’re closing for good. Our people are skipping work to look for other jobs. My gran worked here for years. My siblings and I ran around, had meals in the kitchen, played hide-and-seek . . .” My voice trails off. I even got to first base with my crush on the velvet settee upstairs.