towards the house.
“Yeah, it’s my shampoo. Does it smell bad?” I grab my ponytail and take a whiff of my hair. I don’t smell anything offending.
“No, definitely not bad.” He mumbles something under his breath that I don’t quite catch. I have to remind myself to breathe. We’re almost there.
There’s a path and a set of stairs that lead to the outdoor deck resplendent with a lounge area, a shaded cabana, a fire pit, and an outdoor shower. Gingerly, he places me on one of the sofas in the cabana and excuses himself to get an icepack.
I take in my new surroundings and I’m quite impressed. There’s ample furniture in a sleek, modern style that has a nautical feel. The cabana has a canvas roof so I’m protected from the sun, which is good because I don’t think I’ll be able to walk right away.
In the blink of an eye, he’s back with ice for my ankle along with a compression wrap. He’s also carrying a pillow and what appears to be a bottle of ibuprofen. “OK, first, we need to take your sneaker off so I can get a better look at that ankle.” Pulling up an ottoman, he straddles it directly in front of me. Then, gently, he lifts the offending foot and places in his lap. Carefully, he removes my sneaker and touches the ankle. Satisfied that there isn’t a bruise or a bone sticking out, he asks me to rotate my ankle. I follow directions diligently and point my toes like a ballerina, indicating north, south, east, and west with my big toe.
“Great, it looks like a slight sprain. We’re going to ice it for fifteen-minute intervals and you’re going to stay off it for an hour or two. You have anywhere you need to be for the next few hours?” He’s looking directly at me trying to gauge my reaction.
“Are you a doctor or something? You seem to know an awful lot about ankle sprains.” I avoid answering his question about staying for an extended period of time.
“No. I’m definitely not a doctor, but I do know a lot about sports injuries. I’ve sprained my ankle more times than I can count. Trust me, you need to keep it iced and keep the swelling down or you’re going to injure it further.” While we’re talking, he finishes wrapping my ankle, and now he’s folding a pillow in half on the end of my sofa lounger. “And keep it elevated. We need to minimize the blood flow to restrict the swelling.” He sure sounds like he knows what he’s talking about.
There are two angels on my shoulders. One is screaming at me to run and get out of there as soon as possible. She’s telling me that I don’t know this man and that he shouldn’t be blindly trusted. Perhaps he has reasons for wanting to keep me here that aren’t honorable. He’s more than attractive, he’s beautiful. That means he’s most likely a player who knows how to deliver a line to land a girl directly into his bed. I have no intention of becoming another notch on his bedpost.
The second angel is telling me that fate has brought us together three times and if I don’t stay to find out why, fate will continue to put him in my path. She’s also reminding me that I feel a strong attraction to him. Then, the final straw: she shows me my distrustful dog curled in a ball right by his feet. Animals have instincts about the intention of humans, and Maddy seems to be completely at ease with Evan’s intentions.
“OK, I’ll stay.” At that moment, he has a look of satisfaction on his face. Is he pleased with himself or pleased that I’m staying? I guess only time will tell. Before I can say any more, his phone rings.
“Excuse me, Juliette, but I have to take this.” Evan steps a few feet away, but I can hear every word he says. “Hey, Adam, wassup? No, I can’t right now. Sorry, I have company. No, you don’t know her. Listen, I. I don’t need to be reminded. But. OK, OK. Yeah, I’ll call you later.” That was a strange
Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child