Chapter 25

Rowena

With a grunt, I pushed the table up against the wall of my little closet office. I took a step back, dusting my hands off as I inspected my handiwork.

“That’ll do, I guess,” I muttered. One of the janitors had let me take an unused table from one of the storage closets to serve as a makeshift exam table. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do; after all, I needed someplace to examine any patients that came in.

If any patients came in.

I sighed and wandered over to the open door of my office. The flyers seemed to be attracting a little bit of attention, but not enough to bring anyone to me.

In time, though. I was sure of it. I just needed to wait.

I sank down into my little folding chair and arranged my things on my desk carefully, and then I waited with my hands folded in front of me.

Outside the room, students bustled past, some peering into my strange little office. I plastered a smile on my face, hoping to seem inviting and professional despite the literal pipes coming out of the walls.

However, as time passed no one came. Eventually, I turned my attention to my textbook, deciding to spend the time studying if I was going to be stuck sitting here for who knows how long.

But I wasn’t sure exactly how long I had been studying when I suddenly heard a knock on the door. I excitedly jerked my head up. “Hello, welcome to…” I began, only for my voice to trail off when I saw who stood in the doorway. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Don’t look too excited to see me or anything,” Eric teased as he walked in.

“Sorry,” I said with a slight laugh. “I just thought that maybe my flyers had attracted some attention.”

“They will.” Eric plopped his bag down on the floor beside my desk and looked at me. “I need medical assistance, Manager,” he said.

I looked up at him with a curious expression. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I think I pulled a muscle.” He flexed his shoulder uncomfortably and made a face. “Manager, I need your help.”

Standing, I gestured to the makeshift exam table and had him sit on it. He hopped up onto it with ease, and sat still while I began poking at his shoulder.

“It seems fine,” I said thoughtfully. I took his arm and moved it back and forth. Eric showed no signs of pain the whole time. If anything, his shoulder muscles seemed perfectly balanced and healthy; a far cry from the pain he had been claiming when he walked in.

Finally, I placed my hands on my hips and glowered at him. “Did you actually hurt yourself, or are you just pitying me and wasting my time?” I asked.

“No, I really did!” Eric exclaimed. “You’re the best combat manager in this school, and I had to come see you. And besides… you don’t look busy.” He gestured around at my textbooks scattered across my desk.

I rolled my eyes, knowing that he was just playing nice, but still I kept poking at his arm. He was right, after all; it wasn’t as if I was particularly busy. To get back at him a bit, though, I dug into the muscle with my fingers.

But he showed no reaction whatsoever.

“Your shoulder is fine,” I said, stepping back. “You can get down now.”

He thought for a moment, then smirked at me. “It actually wasn’t my shoulder that I hurt. It was my leg.”

“Seriously, Eric?”

“Just humor me, alright?” he asked.

For a few moments, I just stared at my brother. But his blue eyes seemed sincere; even if he really wasn’t hurt, I couldn’t deny him service. And besides, maybe if others saw him in here getting a check-up, they’d come and try it out as well.

“Alright. Lay down on the table.”

Eric did as I asked with a grin. His long legs hung over the end of the table a bit as he laid down, but it worked well enough. I then carefully slid his shorts up a bit to reveal a toned, muscular thigh, which I began to poke at with my fingertips.

“Ah!” Eric winced and drew in a sharp breath. “Ouch!”

“I know you’re bluffing,” I teased as I grazed his skin with my fingers, checking the muscles for any irregularities—which, of course, there were none.

In fact, Eric’s leg was a perfect specimen. I knew that he had perfect form as a Griffith, of course, but…

“I never noticed how powerful your quadriceps are,” I said thoughtfully as I worked. “Impressive, Eric.”

Eric smirked and lifted his head just enough to look at me. “You think so?”

“I know so.” I smacked at his quad with my fist and the skin barely budged. “You must have one of the lowest body fat percentages I’ve ever seen.”

“I try not to eat too much,” he said as he laid his head back down on the pillow. “Although, that pasta you made the other night has been calling to me.”

I laughed. “It’s a healthy recipe. I’ll make it again.”

“I’d eat an entire pot of that stuff in one sitting, you know.”

I almost snorted at my brother’s good nature. It was true; he was so active, he could eat like a horse and not gain any weight. It was something that a lot of people envied, including myself.1

I never really cared too much about my weight—in fact, sometimes I wanted to gain a little weight since I was still a bit too slim for my liking thanks to not having my wolf—but the thought of being able to eat whatever I wanted sounded like a dream.

“Hmm,” I muttered as I moved down to his calves next. Perfectly formed, as expected. I paused then, looking up at him. “You know, I’d be curious to see your running statistics,” I said.

“Quite the specimen, eh?” Eric asked.

“Yeah. Sure.” That time, I actually snorted. Eric could be so full of himself; and I was certain that all of his lovers didn’t help any with his massive ego, either. They just made it bigger.

“Well, maybe I’ll race for you,” he said casually. He sat up, flexing his leg in and out. “If you heal my leg first.”

A soft laugh escaped my lips as I stood in front of Eric, watching him flex his powerful legs. Maybe seeing him race would be intriguing, I thought to myself.

Suddenly, however, there was another knock on the door. This time, another familiar voice called out before I could lift my head.

“Rowena?”

I recognized the voice as belonging to Adrian. I suddenly jerked my head up, my eyes widening; but in that instant, I accidentally banged my head against Eric’s. Hard. I reeled backwards, clutching my head as a yelp escaped my lips.

Across from me, Eric winced and rubbed his temple.

“Ow,” Eric said, maybe even for real this time—although I couldn’t quite tell which one of us was more hurt than the other. “Manager, now I think I need to be treated for a concussion.”