together mixed with familiar laughter, I exhaled the fear that had been coursing through me.
The stair rail bore my weight as I made my way down to the kitchen. Rounding the corner, Otis stood holding a champagne bottle in one and a champagne glass in the other. He was naked.
“Oh my God!” I covered my eyes with my left hand and leaned against the wall with my right.
Startled, he jumped in front of his equally naked friend. The glass she was holding slipped out of her hand and scattered upon impact to the floor.
“Jurnee?!” Otis shouted.
Reaching to clean up the mess, I stepped on a piece of glass. Stumbling back on my injured ankle, I went down to the ground in pain.
“Jesus. Fuck!” Otis moved further away from me.
The pain was so bad that I didn’t care who saw me crying. Unfortunately, all the tears I had been holding in since hurting my foot earlier came pouring down my cheeks too. There was no stopping it.
“Oh fuck, you’re hurt. Don’t move.” He headed for the doorway with his friend.
I sobbed as I tried to use one of the island chairs to get up, but fell back down. Blood spread across the floor like a spaghetti sauce spill with the first paper towel wipe. Getting onto my knees, I was suddenly lifted like I weighed no more than a rag doll.
“Jesus, Jurnee. I told you not to move. Do you ever listen to anyone?”
Thankfully, Otis had slipped on a pair of shorts. He carried me into the living room as I stated the obvious, “I’m bleeding.”
“Yes. Yes, you are.” Otis placed me down on the sofa. “What are you doing here?” He ran his fingers through his wild hair.
“I sprained my ankle in the park today. Anderson brought me here because it was closer than his parents’ house.”
We finished the end of the sentence in unison. My eyes were glued to his with every movement as he looked at the bottom of my foot.
“At least when you set out to do something, you do it right.” He stretched his neck to get a better look. His hands dragged down the front of his shorts like he was either preparing for his turn in a playground game or had sweaty palms.
“Don’t move.” He took two steps toward the opening of the living room and stopped. “For the record, when I say don’t move, I mean don’t move.”
I put my hands up in surrender. The pillow Anderson had wedged under my leg was still on the end table at the end of the sofa. Checking to see if Otis was coming, I threw my legs off the sofa and began to scoot down toward the pillow.
“You absolutely can’t help yourself, can you?”
Wrinkling up my face, I shrugged my shoulders. “I was just going to get the pillow to put under my legs. The doctor said I should keep it elevated.”
Otis reached for the pillow and carefully placed it under my legs. We both stared down at my ankle. He moved the chair closer to my feet, then picked up a paper towel and wiped the bottom of my foot with it.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to take the piece of glass out of the bottom of your foot.” His words were focused and intense, his voice calm and steady like it was a procedure he had been training for years.
“It’s gonna hurt.” I sniffled, and the tears that had subsided returned full force.
“No, it won’t.”
“Yes, it will.” I pouted, wiping the tears off my cheek.
“No, it won’t.”
“Yes… ouch. It hurts.”
“Yes, but it’s also out of your foot.” Otis placed the jagged piece of glass on the end table and wiped the very center of the bottom of my foot.
“This might–” I hissed and drew my legs to my body, “–sting. Please don’t cry. Should I call Anders–”
“No!” I snapped.
“Huh. There’s a story.” He stood and looked down at me with a huge grin on his face. “Now, I’m going to go clean up the glass and check on the lovely lady in the other room. When I come back, I want to hear this interesting story you have for me. And if you move a muscle while I’m doing any of those things, I’ll call your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend, Otis.” I crossed my arms over my chest like a spoiled little girl waiting for her demanded treat.
Otis laughed as he left the room. He continued laughing in the kitchen where I heard