some whirling cloud that was going to drop me on top of a witch in striped stockings.
I slid into the car, backed out, glanced at the sign that said Merkofsky’s Auto Repair, and hit send on my phone.
As I started toward the highway, the phone rang, and Sean’s voice said, “Hi! How’d it go? I hope it wasn’t too awful.”
“Sean”—I laughed—“you won’t believe what just happened.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sean
“Crap. It feels great to lose the coat.” Bubba groaned with pleasure, tilting his face up to the sun.
We were sitting on the grass in the park near the student union, enjoying a lazy Sunday. It was seventy degrees outside on this April day with nary a cloud in the sky. The waters of Lake Mendota were calm and blue. It felt incredible after a long Wisconsin winter—not to mention my overnight stay in the hospital the previous weekend. It felt fantastic to be alive, and warm, and back where I belonged. The oddest couple at UW Madison had returned triumphant—if a person can be considered triumphant while wearing a neck brace.
The sunshine did wonders for the view as well. Bubba was wearing a white football jersey with cut-off sleeves and shorts made of navy sweatpants material. His biceps, as he leaned back on the grass, legs outstretched, were monumental. And those quads. I got breathless at the mere sight. Interesting Pavlovian response.
I cleared my throat. “I’m beginning to understand why Greek gods wore those short one-shoulder togas. The less fabric that covers your physique, the better you look. Whereas some of us are most appealing swathed head-to-foot.” I was thinking of my pink sweater. The neck brace was not so sexy, no matter how much skin it covered.
Bubba turned his head and raked his gaze over me. My legs were outstretched, too, and you’d think I was seven foot tall instead of five ten based on the amount of time he took to gaze-crawl down my body. The invisible touch gave me goosebumps. Under my tangerine-colored T-shirt, my nipples peaked. Oh erectile tissue, you are so easily provoked!
“I know you’re kidding me right now,” Bubba said. “Cause you’d never insult my skills as a personal trainer by disparaging your body.”
“Heaven forfend.”
“You are one buff-ass lightweight. All those sweet little muscles. You’re 100 percent perfect, Sean McKinney.”
I laughed. “Perfect? Highly dubious, sir. You’ll be working to get me bigger as soon as I’m cleared to go back to the gym.”
He considered this, looking me over carefully again. More goosebumps rushed in where angels feared to tread.
I had to admit, the body I now sported was much improved, at least according to the mirror. Sometimes, I forgot I was no longer Mr. Wet Noodle. Thanks to Bubba, I’d toned up everywhere and developed calves, quads, biceps, triceps, abs, pecs, and shoulders. They were modest hills compared to Bubba’s Mount Vesuvius of a body, but they were there, nonetheless, visible to the naked eye and everything. Formations of firm tissue existed where previously they had not.
“Maybe a little bigger,” he finally conceded. “But not too much. I love your body. Wouldn’t want you to look like me. See, a guy like me, mass is the only thing I’ve got.”
I gave him a sharp look and was ready to repudiate that statement when he did it himself.
“Nah, that’s not true. I’ve got a lot goin’ for me, especially now I have you. What I mean is, I’m kind of ordinary looking, ya know? People would hardly see me if I were regular sized. To make myself extraordinary, I need the mass. But you don’t need it. You’re extraordinary already.”
I blinked. Four months ago, I’d been such a nerd. I was a twenty-year-old virgin. No one had ever looked at me twice. If I was extraordinary, it was because this man had seen me as such, and seeing me that way had made it so.
Just as I was feeling warm and fuzzy about myself, someone walked up behind me and lightly flicked my ear, just to reintroduce humility to the moment.
Rand and Tray stepped in front of us in all their perfection. Tray grinned. “Hedgehog! Bubba! ’Sup? You seen PJ?”
“Nah. You need him for something?” Bubba asked.
“Heard he’s over here selling tickets. Wanted to see for ourselves,” Rand said.
“Tickets for what?” I asked.
Tray ignored my question and gave me a disturbingly soft look. As a team captain, he was a veritable drill sergeant. I wasn’t familiar with his nice face. “How you feeling, Hedge? Whiplash can be a