Matrimony Homies

14: Clingy (Loren)

While Harry negotiates with Mr. Martin, the hotel manager, to return the bicycles, I gingerly put one foot in front of the other, entering the lodge with the key card Harry handed off to me. Stupid, stupid Loren. I could kick myself – if my thighs still worked. For fuck's sake, with all of the spin classes I have taken over the last year, my thighs can't handle a little bike ride?

Once at my room, I collapse face first onto the bed, releasing a groan and praying the earth will swallow up both me and the bed because there's no way I can face stupid, perfect Harry while I'm this humiliated. Footsteps enter the lodge, and the door closes, the lock clicking into place before the heavy trainers of a certain someone invade my space.

"Go away," I mumble into the duvet. "I am mortified."

"So I gathered, Freak, even though you've no reason to be. I should have paid closer attention." His voice is soothing. Dammit. I want him to be sarcastic or angry or rude. But nooooooo. Mr. Nice Guy appears.

"Not your fault. Should've told you."

"No point in quibbling over that now. Get your swimsuit on."

His words cause me to twist my head enough to glare at him. "I am NOT going swimming right now."

"Who said anything about swimming? I've ordered ice for a bath to help your sore muscles. If you want to do it naked, I guess that's okay, but I'm not sure how our tenuous truce would handle that." His steps retreat, and the door squeaks as he starts to pull it closed. "Please? It will be good for you." The latch catches as the door is completely shut.

'Tenuous truce'? What a positive spin on this weekend which has been...complicated at best. Planting my face back into the bed covering, I groan. How am I to contort my body into a bathing costume when it hurts to breathe?

Following his knock, he calls out, "I don't hear you moving around in there. Do you need help?"

"NO!" I scream the word into the duvet, so I pick up my head and repeat it. "NO!"

Grunting, I twist over onto my back, my glutes screaming with the soreness. Really should have stretched before riding. Dammit. With a final sigh, I reach for the button and zipper on my capris, releasing the catch and sliding open the fly before slipping my fingers under my knickers and pushing the whole bunch down my thighs. Gritting my teeth to keep from crying out in pain, I sit up and manoeuvre the clothing from my legs, dropping it on the floor. Sucking air through my mouth, I draw my tee over my head, followed by unfastening my bra and dropping it on the bed behind me.

That part hadn't been too bad. At least my upper body isn't squealing in pain.

Cautiously, I stand, not moving once I'm on both feet, but simply standing and scanning my body to ensure I can maintain an upright position. Thankfully (or mercilessly) my legs haven't actually dissolved. Bending over my suitcase situated on the floor, I rummage and find my high-waisted bikini, my head spinning with the pain I feel in my hamstrings. As quickly as humanly (and humanely) possible, I pull the bottoms over my bum, releasing a groan.

"You okay in there?" Harry calls.

"Go away!" I reply, hooking the top before reaching to my neck and tying the ends. I adjust my breasts inside the padded cups, wishing I had brought something less...enticing.

Hobbling to the door, I open it to find Harry standing just outside, as though he hasn't moved the entire time I'd been changing. His eyes sweep over my bikini, and his brows draw together.

"I was planning to wear this one at the pool to attract the hot single guys," I explain.

"It will definitely work at that," he murmurs, his eyes circling back to my cleavage before he shakes himself. "Do you need me to carry you?" he asks considerately.