I suddenly wonder if that’s what this is about, but I’m taken off guard when Anthony removes his shirt, exposing his beautifully sculpted muscles and smooth olive tan skin. The hair on his chest, just enough to make him irresistibly sexy. I catch myself staring for a little too long, much to my dismay, and I quickly avert my gaze.

He acknowledges my keen interest however, and smiles pridefully. “You stay here. Do not go anywhere or do anything stupid.”

What on Earth does he think I’m going to do?! Call the cops? Run to the neighbors for help? Actually, I had considered both options for a split second, but I am coming to the realization that although Anthony could be incredibly creepy at times, he is relatively harmless…or so I believed.

I’m clinging to my wrist tightly, still wincing from the discomfort. I try to get up to grab an ice pack from the freezer, but he beats me to it and places it there before turning toward the bathroom. I feel an instant surge of relief, not from the soothing cold, but because I hear the shower turn on.

I have a few moments to formulate a plan. Maybe I can call Candace and convince her to take pity on him? Maybe he can stay with a friend? Surely he has a co-worker, someone who will let him stay at their place for a while. There has to be someone in his life who doesn’t have a significant other or kids to worry about.

As I sit in careful contemplation, my eyes drift downwards, catching and falling upon what appears to be a note on the floor. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it until now. It’s sitting, literally right in front of the door. I bend over carefully to pick up the tattered piece of sticky note paper so I can read the angry, terrible handwriting:

Stay the fuck away from him or there will be trouble! 

For a moment there before reading it, I assumed the note had been written by Adrian, or possibly his teacher, like a teacher-note that had fallen from his backpack. After reading it, however, it becomes very clear to me that it’s about Anthony. I scoff at the nerve and audacity of whoever wrote this vulgar threat and decide to shove it under the fruit bowl on the kitchen island before Anthony should see it. 

Was it some kind of prank? I think immediately of Candace. Did she write this?

“Laura?”

I jump at the sight of Anthony, dripping wet, with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“You wouldn’t happen to have something I could wear?”

“Oh…” I shift around on the bar stool in an effort to get up and grab him something, but then realize that nothing in my wardrobe could possibly be suitable for a man. “I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

He doesn’t appear too bothered by my response. He returns to my bedroom and comes back with his pile of dirty clothes in his hands. “I’ll just have to wash these then.” 

He adjusts his towel, making it tighter around his waist, the casual bulge underneath becoming somewhat obvious. Once again, I have to stop myself from looking at him and getting turned on.

“Guess I’ll have to wait around while they get washed…that is, if you don’t mind?”

I shake my head slowly, but I know what he is trying to do. “What is this?” 

“What is what?” He is trying to play dumb.

“What is your plan?” I ask, finally. “You can’t hang around here all day!”

“How is your wrist?”

Great, here we go. Let’s avert the subject. Anthony was good at this game.

“My wrist is fine.” 

That was a lie. I’m fairly certain it’s sprained, but definitely not broken. It still hurts, nonetheless.

Anthony makes his way to me and takes it in his palms again, studying it closely, as if he were an actual doctor. “It’s a little swollen,” he proclaims. “I think you sprained it.”

“I know,” I say quickly, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of being right.

“Oh, you do?” He steps in closer, so that his chest and broad shoulders brush against me. He’s too close for comfort once again, but this time I don’t fight it. There is something different about his demeanor now. He’s playful, and almost…nurturing. 

He sets my wrist down slowly and catches me off guard by swiping the hair out of my face gently with his fingertips. I can’t help but look up at him. His tender eyes have always been so expressive, and this time they are showing telltale signs of affection and sincerity. His son has inherited those same eyes, and one day he will use them to his advantage, too. I’m sure of it.

What is happening? I can feel all sense and reason slipping away. All that matters in this moment is him, as he leans in cautiously to press his luscious lips against mine. His kiss is soft and subtle, lasting just long enough to be more than a peck. I find myself yearning for more, but he is pulling away looking quite serious all of a sudden.

“You should wrap your wrist.” He starts to make a move toward the washer and dryer in the hall closet with his dirty bundle of clothing in hand. “You got anything else you want to wash?”

“There should be some stuff already in there,” I responded absentmindedly, still taken back by the tender moment between us, my body flooded with emotion. He starts the washer and slants his eyes toward mine waiting for me to take notice of him. 

I finally lift my head to meet his gaze. 

“I’m going to the store as soon as my clothes are dry. I’d like to grab you some bandages to wrap your wrist. I already checked your bathroom cabinets. All you have is band-aids and Neosporin.”

I start to imagine him rummaging through my cabinets, and the thought of it bothers me so much, that I let out an exasperated moan. “Anthony, please don’t go through my things.” I try to ask politely, knowing all the while that I sound whiny. 

My eyes wander to his beautiful torso and sexy biceps. The temptation is a little too much for me. “I also need you to put a shirt on.”

He smiles sneakily and retreats to my bedroom. I sense he is up to no good now. He returns minutes later wearing the only pink shirt I own. It is stretched to the max by his broad shoulders, and it happens to have the words, “Cougar Mom,” written across the chest with a picture of a cougar ready to pounce beneath it. I was given that shirt as a funny gift two years ago by my best friend on my birthday. 

As I scan Anthony’s lower half, I see that he is wearing a pair of my skinny jeans. His package is creating a very obvious bulge around the zipper, and my eyes widen at the sight of it. His thighs are stretching the denim taught. I look up at him, perplexed and confused. He is trying desperately not to laugh. 

“Anthony, what in Lord’s name?!” 

He can’t contain himself. He begins to laugh like a hyena, and before long, we are laughing together hysterically. 

“I dare you to go to the store like that!” I tease him, but he is already heading for the front door, his giant wallet and keys shoved carelessly into the tiny butt pockets. I am completely stunned and amazed he can fit into my jeans, just barely.

“Please don’t rip my pants,” I say. “Those are like, my favorite pair!”

He winks at me and closes the door behind him. I still can’t believe what is happening. I’m an emotional wreck from this day.