What I Need

Riley turns at the sound of my entrance from where she’s standing at the stove. She flashes me a smile, then immediately rounds the counter and starts moving toward me.

My eyes fall to her tanned legs shifting under the hem of my hoodie she’s still wearing. Looks like she’s claimed that as hers.

I smirk around the paper in my mouth.

“Here. Let me take that,” Riley says, reaching up and taking the paper. She leans around me to push the door shut. “Hey, you got a boot.”

I hear her observation and watch her eyes fall to my foot when she straightens back up, but I got a question of my own that needs answering, and I don’t waste any time asking it.

“How was your test?”

Riley lifts her eyes to my face. She blinks, looking like the fact that I’m asking this means something big to her, which has me wondering about that shithead again, then gives me a proud smile and lifts her chin, stating, “I think I nailed it.”

“Babe.” I steady my crutch, then hold my hand up for her to high five.

She does, giggling.

“When do you find out?” I ask her.

“Couple weeks probably,” she answers, rolling her eyes and sighing heavily. “It takes my teacher forever to grade anything. She likes to torture us.”

“Make sure you share with me when you get the word. We’ll celebrate.”

Riley smiles big, letting me know she likes that plan. Then lifts the paper in the air she took from me. “Where do you want this?” she asks.

I gesture at the kitchen with my head. “Tack it up on the fridge for me, will you? It’s my schedule for PT.”

“Oh,” she says with interest, unfolding it to read as she turns around and heads where I direct her.

I follow behind but cut a right and make for the couch.

“Hey, I can take you to all of these,” she comments. “I don’t have class Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. This is great.”

“Huh,” I mumble, keeping a straight face when Riley peers back at me with suspicion in her eyes. “What? That’s what they had open. I had to take what they gave me.”

She squints, trying to see through my bullshit. Her cheeks lift before she turns back around. “Dinner’s ready. And don’t worry. I didn’t skimp out on the meat,” she informs me. “There's basically an entire cow in there.”

I'm chuckling, halfway to sitting down, but hearing she has dinner ready, I stand tall again.

“No, sit,” Riley orders from the kitchen. “Relax. I’ll bring you a bowl.”

I give her a smile. “Appreciate it, darlin’.” Then I lay my crutches on the floor beside the couch and fall back onto a cushion, propping my foot up on the trunk to keep it elevated. I drop my head back and look up at the ceiling. “Can you grab me a beer too? I’m fucking beat.”

I should sleep good tonight, as long as Riley doesn’t come crying to me again. And she shouldn’t. I think I cleared her conscience.

“Do you want your pain meds?”

“Nah. I’m going to hold off,” I reply. I scrub my hands down my face, ignoring the pain in my calf and ankle and the urge to rip this fucking boot off, then hearing Riley approaching, I lower my hands and drop my head to look over at her.

“Here you go,” she says sweetly, stepping between the trunk and the couch and passing me my bowl. “I’ll get your beer.”

“And a bowl for you. You’re eating with me,” I tell her.

“I already ate.”

“Oh.” I crane my neck to watch her walk back to the kitchen.

Damn. I was wanting her to enjoy this with me.

“Yeah, sorry. I kinda ate while it was simmering. I was starving,” she explains. “The only thing I had for lunch was a soft pretzel at Costco.”

“You get your shopping done?”

“Yep. Got ten boxes of Raisin Bran. I think you’re set through the weekend,” she jokes, rounding the couch again with a beer for me and a glass of something for her.

“Cute,” I tell her, taking the bottle she holds out.

She laughs quietly and takes a seat on the far cushion, left leg bent up off the floor and body angled toward me. “Hey, who’s that guy in that picture with you on the fridge? The one in the uniform.”

“My brother, Jake.”

“Is he in the Army?”

“Marines,” I answer, taking a sip of my beer and then setting it beside the couch. I scoop a heaping bite of chili into my mouth and chew it up, adding, “He’s stationed in South Carolina. You might meet him. He’s coming up in a few weeks.”

“You two look alike,” she shares, gathering her hair over one shoulder and then dropping the side of her head on the cushion. “Except,” she looks at my arm, my chest, then lifts her gaze to my face, shyly adding, “I think you might be a little bit bigger.”

“Yeah?” I smile. “Make sure you tell him that. The little punk thinks he can beat me.”

Riley laughs. “Are you close in age?”

“Four years. He’s twenty-six. We've always been tight though.” I point my spoon at the bowl after swallowing the last of my bite. “This is good fucking chili, babe,” I tell her, meaning that. “I hope you made a big batch `cause I’m going to tear this up and will absolutely be going back for seconds.” I take another bite, watching Riley’s pink lips curl up before she takes a sip of her drink. “Here.” I say, scooping out more. I hold the spoon out in front of her face. “Come on. You know you want this.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">