I adopted her soon after I signed the divorce papers. I’d walked into the humane society feeling lonely and abandoned, looking for a feisty feline to have a healthy, lifelong love-hate relationship with. One look at Foxxy and I knew she was who I’d been searching for. She’s everything I want to be. Brave, bold, absolutely beautiful. And she takes no one’s shit.
Foxxy’s a badass bitch.
I hear the physiotherapist giving my roommate a long list of homework as their session draws to a close. He advises Jude to keep at it if he wants to restore his movement and range. But to be honest, the man’s words don’t seem to hold too much enthusiasm.
The injured footballer isn’t discouraged, though. Even after his PT therapist leaves, my roommate is still on the floor stretching, pouring himself into every exercise.
I stand there for a second, admiring the movements of his powerful masculine form. Just looking at him makes my palms damp and tingly. I wipe them down the back of my leggings.
“Hey,” I say from the doorway and Jude turns his neck to look at me. “Uh, I received a confirmation email about the bill you paid off. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
He sighs, and the sound of his frustration fills the room. “Sure. If that makes you feel better.” His tone is flatter than I’ve ever heard it before, completely devoid of his usual playfulness. As I’m about to turn and walk away, he adds. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’ve been looking for somewhere else to stay. I’ll be out of your hair soon. I won’t be here to get in your way with my physio anymore.” He rolls to his other side, working on his good leg.
My body stills, and I experience a weird sense of grief as I stand there staring at his back. Gone? Like, moving out. Already? And suddenly, I’m asking myself if Jude leaving is what I really want.
“Okay,” I answer because I’m not sure what else to say.
I shuffle toward the stairs, but I turn back one more time. He’s still on the floor. Jaw still tight. Face still red with strain. But he pushes through it, continuing to put in the work. He’s in so much pain, and my heart hurts for him.
I feel compassion because, in this moment, he’s not an arrogant demi-god who seems to have the world in the palm of his hand. He’s just a guy fighting to keep his dream alive.
He rolls again and his eyes meet mine. I can relate to the weariness I see there. I recognize that hungry need for support, connection. And I feel an almost primal urge to fill that need for him right now.
I stop thinking, analyzing. Instead, I move toward him. Before I realize it, I’m stretched out on the floor next to him. Oh my god. What the hell am I doing?
Jude’s handsome face turns toward me and telegraphs a confused look.
Feeling self-conscious about my sweaty post-workout state, I brush hair back from my eyes. “I know it’s not any of my business,” I start, “and I’m obviously not an expert. But I thought maybe you could use some company? I mean, we could try a few of the exercises together. It might help?”
He searches my face for the longest heartbeat and I hold my breath. “Okay,” he says, voice softening.
I blink. “Okay?” I guess I sort of expected him to tell me to get lost.
“Yeah.” He blows out a breath. “I could use some company, actually.” He smiles.
I smile back. “Cool. Let’s do this.” I’m all business now, excited about the prospect of helping him in any small way I can.
We lie next to each other, doing leg raises. We start slow. It’s awkward. But I mirror Jude’s movements, patiently counting out each rep.
I’m aware of everything. The heat rising off of his flushed skin, the sweat rolling over his taut muscles, the delicious scent of his perspiration mixing with his pussy-watering cologne.
But my workout partner is focused on finding his rhythm. He’s all clear-headed determination.
After a gruelling set, Jude glances at me with a breathless smile. One of those genuine ones that grabs me by the feels and pulls me right into his web of magic.
My body feels like it’s been dipped in liquid electricity. Every nerve ending is aware and alive.
Taking only the briefest pause, he quickly starts up a new set.
I can’t help staring. He seems to sense my gaze on the side of his face. “What is it?” he whispers through his pain.
I shrug. “I-I see how hard you’re working for this…It’s impressive.”
Playfully, he glances down at his body. “Woman, these muscles of mine don’t come without hard work.” He tries to feed me another one of those brash, zero-shits-to-give grins that fools everybody else. But I don't buy it. I see the fear. He's afraid that his dream might be slipping through his fingers.
I speak softly. “I’m serious, Jude. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to be in your situation.” I bite my lip. “Almost everybody I know would have given up by now.”
He pauses his leg lifts, and collapses into the hardwood floor. His eyes fall closed. His words shake with conviction when he speaks. “I can recover from this, Iris. I know that with every fiber of my being. But nobody believes in me,” he confesses softly. “Not one fucking person. That’s why I’ve gotta believe in myself.”
I don’t know what comes over me in that moment. All I know is I find his hand where it’s resting on the floor beside me and I snake my fingers through his. “I believe in you…”
There aren’t words to describe the look that comes over his face. His brows dip down. His eyes go glassy. He squeezes my fingers. “Thank you.”
My throat is clogged with nerves. I swallow them down. “You shouldn’t move out,” I say quietly. I use up all my
