BOOKSDRAMA Skate the Line: Chapter 33
I wait patiently on the couch and run my fingers through the strands of my hair. It’s still damp from my shower, but I figure working with damp hair will be easier for Rhodes.
Before he carried Ellie on his back to put her to bed, I made him sit beside me on the couch to watch me braid her hair. He sat quietly with his heavy brow folded, concentrating on the steps. Our elbows brushed, and surprisingly, I didn’t jolt away.
Heat pooled in the quiet parts of my body, but the nerves that usually cause me to act like a spaz didn’t rear their ugly little heads, which is both a comforting and worrying thought.
It’s all because of those pesky thoughts I had last night with his drunk-texting. Once he explained himself, it left me feeling like one of his past nannies. I made up this entire scenario in my head that he was the one who wanted to rid me of my fear by erasing some other man’s touch.
Talk about being absolutely delulu.
A thrill moves through me when I hear his heavy footsteps descending down the stairs.
He appears a moment later, and I quickly dart my attention to the TV, which just so happens to be showing a hockey game.
Gray sweatpants are hung low on his hips, paired with a black T-shirt and a backward hat. Seriously? He has every right to change into something more comfortable, but doesn’t he know the rule about gray sweatpants?
They’re simply not allowed unless you’re trying to draw attention to a particular area.
I refuse to look.
“Okay, Ms. Edwards. Your student awaits.” Rhodes plops down onto the couch beside me, causing me to fall into him.
He catches me by the arm before I land in his lap and props me upright again.
I attempt to clear my thoughts and reach for my sleepytime tea—something Rhodes already made fun of me for, calling me an old lady.
Which I took as a compliment.
My nana drinks sleepytime tea, and I wouldn’t mind turning out like her.
“Okay,” I sigh and place my tea back onto the coffee table. “Do you remember the steps?”
He thinks for a moment. “No.”
I gasp. “What?”
He gives me a lopsided grin. “I’m kidding, Sunshine. Of course I remember the steps. If I can remember various hockey plays, I think I can remember a few steps for braiding.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’ve seen you attempt a braid. I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“I can do it.”
His cockiness is highly attractive.
I hide a smile. “We will see.”
Sliding onto the floor, I push the coffee table a few inches forward and make some room. I sit cross-legged in front of him. “Go on, hotshot.” I peer over my shoulder at him.
His brow furrows for a quick second before he smooths his face and scoots closer. Each of his legs falls beside me, the soft fabric of his sweatpants brushing my arms.
My heart beats a little faster when he gathers my hair and pulls it behind my shoulders. The briefest thought of the last time someone touched my hair slips in, and I tense. My fingernails bite at the flesh of my thigh as I dig them into my skin to ground myself.
“Sunny.”
I jerk. “Huh?”
“You’re shaking. Are you that afraid I’ll fuck up this braid and get tangled in the strands like I do with El?” Rhodes chuckles quietly, and I try to relax.
“No. Sorry, go ahead.”
Rhodes leans forward, wafting his aftershave in my direction. He reaches for the brush and settles back on the couch again. My breathing slows with the sweeping motion. There aren’t any tangles—something I’m sure he’s grateful for.
“Are you going to tell me why you just got nervous?”
“I didn’t get nervous.” The four words fly from my mouth quickly, telling my lie right away.
I make a face and pout. I try again. “I wasn’t nervous.”
Rhodes continues to swipe at my hair with the brush, moving slower and slower. Is he trying to calm me? Because if so, it’s working.
The third period of the hockey game starts, and I stare at the TV, watching the men work back and forth on the ice. I’m not sure if it’s the sleepytime tea, the calming sensation of someone brushing my hair, or Rhodes’s presence, but I find myself opening up to explain.
“I was afraid,” I admit. “But only for a second.”
“Afraid?” He separates my hair into three sections.
“The last time someone touched my hair…” I hesitate.
“You don’t have to explain,” he says.
I’ve never told anyone this. Not even the nurses when I went to the hospital.
“It might be good for me,” I whisper.
Rhodes reaches around and tips my chin backward slightly. I scoot farther against the couch, getting closer to him as he begins to intertwine the strands of my hair.
“I didn’t realize he’d pulled my hair until a few days later when some clumps fell out in the shower.” Rhodes’s fingers pause for a few seconds before he goes back to overlapping the strands. “I guess I blocked some of it out, but after I calmed down, I remembered waking up with his fingers woven throughout my hair.”
“You woke up like that?”
I swallow. “That’s how it started. I was asleep, and he took advantage of that. I freaked out, obviously, and—”
Rhodes tenses. His breathing turns erratic. I follow the hockey players back and forth on the TV, attempting to think of anything other than that night.
Rhodes mutters under his breath. “He hurt you.”
I say nothing.
He did hurt me.
Both physically and emotionally.
“He did,” I say. “He refused to believe that I wasn’t in love with him, and he slowly became consumed with the idea of there being an us.”
My hair slips from Rhodes’s fingers, and it’s parted in three sections again. “Remember,” I say, “every other strand.”
I hear his teeth rub together with frustration.
“So he was obsessed with you.” He crisscrosses strands of my hair and scoots closer, likely trying to get more of a grip on them.
My pulse thrums. “I guess. I found a drawer full of photos of me beside his bed. A secret camera inside my bedroom…” I shrug, trying to play it off. “He hated that his son grew close to me, even though I was his nanny. He became jealous.”
“Jesus,” he mutters.
Silence fills the living room, except for the sound of the hockey game playing in front of us.
I relax farther onto the couch, unknowingly getting closer to him. My eyes start to droop the longer he works with my hair. The braid is loose, with strands of hair falling into my face, framing it, but progress is progress.
“There,” he says, sounding pleased with himself.
I lean forward and touch the back of my head. I faintly run my fingers over the braid, proud that it isn’t as messy as I’ve seen him to do to Ellie’s.
Peering backward, I smile at him. “Not bad, Volkova.”
He leans backward onto the couch with his lip lifted on one side and puts his hands behind his head. It screams cocky, and the only thing I can think is that the way he’s sitting looks like an open invitation.
Which it absolutely is not.
However, his muscular thighs are spread open, and his lap is there for the taking. The smirk on his face makes me do a double-take.
Jeez.
He’s too hot for his own good.
“You’re a good teacher,” he says, nodding to the couch cushion beside him.
I gingerly step to the right and sit down. There are seven minutes left in the game, and it’s tied.
A minute passes, and suddenly, a blanket appears in front of my face. Rhodes isn’t even looking at me as he hands it out for me to take.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He says nothing, but the silence between us is anything but awkward.
I’m relaxed in his presence, which is sort of a big deal, even if he is unaware.
My eyes grow heavy, and I lean my head onto the couch pillow beside me with my fresh braid falling over my shoulder.
The buzzer sounds, and I’m brought back to reality.
Did I doze off?
I glance at Rhodes, and he’s watching the TV intently. My gaze falls to my curled legs beneath the blanket. His arm is resting on top of them.
Butterflies fill my stomach, which is ridiculous.
He must not realize he’s touching me.
I remain unmoving and place my attention on the TV so he doesn’t realize I’m gawking at him.
Two sports reporters are taking turns going back and forth about the game and the upcoming schedule.
My pulse quickens when they say Washington.
The hawk logo appears, and my blood pressure rises.
I zero in on the TV, knowing I should look away, but it’s like a car crash. I shouldn’t look, knowing the feeling it’ll give me if I see his face, yet I can’t move.
A knot forms in my throat. I drive my focus to Rhodes’s arm resting on my legs.
He makes me feel safe, and I’m not sure if that’s delusional or not, but out of desperation, I grab a hold of that feeling to keep me grounded.
Before there’s any more talk of Washington, the TV shuts off.
I turn to Rhodes, and he’s staring intently at me. Those vivid green eyes move over my face, like he’s trying to read me.
Good luck.
It’s a mess in here.
“I need you to know that I would never betray your trust like he did.”
My heart moves. “I know.”
His eyebrow rises. “You do?”
I slowly nod.
With a furrowed brow, he asks, “How?”
“I’ve learned to trust my gut,” I admit. “And my gut tells me that you’re safe.”
He visibly relaxes. His shoulders loosen, and his chest deflates. “Good,” he rasps.
He removes his arm from my legs to sit upright.
I do the same. The blanket falls from my legs, and I move to stand.
We both head toward the stairs, turning off lights as we go.
Before I start up the stairs, Rhodes’s hand grips mine gently. I turn, and he’s peering down at me. The moonlight from the window shines on the side of his face, encasing the firm look in his eye. “I would love nothing more than for Ellie to grow closer with you.”
I blink through the surprise of sincerity in his voice. It’s the simplest statement, yet it carries such a punch.
“She needs someone like you,” he adds. “She needs more than just me.”
How can he think that?
Placing my palm on top of his hand, I shake my head. “You’re wrong, Rhodes.”
Shadows dig into the confused lines carved into his face.
“She doesn’t need more than just you.” I smile softly. “Give yourself some more credit, Oscar.”
I wink at him and drop my hand.
There’s a twitch of his lips that I think about the entire way to my room.
For the first time since moving into his house, I go to sleep with my door cracked instead of closed.
Which is huge.