“Six and a half miles. Race you to the top?” Maritza assumes a makeshift starting line position before a sly smirk claims her pink lips. Her posture relaxes and she bends at the waist, stretching before glancing up at me. “I’m sure six and a half miles is nothing for you.”
“Why would you say that?”
Her eyes widen. “Um, have you looked in the mirror lately? You’re jacked. Ripped. Whatever people call it these days. Clearly you know what the inside of a gym looks like.”
“Kind of you to notice.”
“I don’t run,” she says. “And the number of times I’ve hiked, I can count on one hand.”
“So why’d you agree to go hiking today?” I study her face, willing my gaze not to fall to the hot pink sports bra that hardly contains her cleavage or the black shorts that leave very little to the imagination.
Maritza shrugs. “Because I’ve never hiked this trail before and we’re doing all these quintessentially Hollywood touristy things. It fit the theme.”
I chuckle. “All right.”
“Don’t you mean ‘fine’?” she teases.
“Fine.” I stretch out for a minute before doing a quick jog in place. Taking a swig from the water bottle I brought, I eye the trail sign ahead and watch as a skinny, blonde-haired woman jogs by with a fit and lean yellow Lab.
We head up the trail, and I stay a bit behind her because it’s the proper thing to do … and the view is killer. It isn’t until we’re a good mile and a half into our hike when Maritza stumbles over a boulder sticking out of the ground and goes flying.
I try not to laugh despite the fact that it was fucking hilarious.
“Don’t laugh.” Maritza reaches for her foot and moans.
“Oh, shit.” I drop to her side, examining her left ankle.
“Don’t touch it.” She swats me away.
“I’m not going to touch it, I just want to look at it.” With gentle hands and barely any pressure, I examine her ankle the way I would an injured soldier’s on the battlefield. “You think you can stand on it?”
“Um, no.” Her eyes brim with tears and she glances away. “And for the record, I’m not crying. It’s just … the pain is making my eyes water.”
“Here. Let me help you up. If you can’t stand, I’ve got you.” I don’t give her a chance to refuse, instead I slide my forearms under her arms and slowly bring her into a standing position.
With her left knee bent, she taps her toe on the dirt before attempting to stand.
“I can’t,” she says. “I swear, Isaiah, I’m not being a baby. It just really fucking hurts. I don’t think it’s broken, I think it’s just … really twisted.”
“Fine,” I say, placing myself in front of her. “Hike’s over.”
Draping her arms over my shoulders, I then reach for the backs of her thighs.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Climb onto my back. I’ll carry you back to the car.”
“You’re going to carry me on your back for almost two miles?”
“I don’t suppose you saw any wheelchair rentals on your way up the mountain, did you?” With her legs wrapped around my hips, I hook my hands behind her knees.
“Smart ass.”
She’s leggy but light and this is going to be a piece of cake. I’ve carried grown men farther distances than this before.
Twenty minutes later, we arrive back at the street parking, and she carefully slides down my back, leaning against the passenger door of her blue Prius for support.
“You going to be able to drive home?” I ask, examining her ankle, which is already starting to swell like a son of a bitch. “Damn. You got yourself pretty good.”
Crouching down, I give it a closer look. Maybe she could drive herself home just fine, but she’s not going to be able to get out of the car once she gets there, not without some help.
“We need to get some ice on that,” I say, frowning. “Give me your keys.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m taking you home. Unless you want to ride in my car … I just figured you’d feel safer in yours. You know, since we’re strangers.”
Digging into a little zippered pocket in her tiny shorts, she hands me a valet key, which I use to unlock her passenger door. Helping her in, I get her seatbelt and tell her to keep her ankle elevated. Rounding the front of the car, I climb into the driver’s side.
I’ll have to Uber it back here to get my car later.
Pressing the “home” button on her GPS, we turn ourselves around and head down the steep hills that led us to this mountain trail, coming to a stop just before a busy road filled with lunch hour traffic.
“You doing okay?” I ask, glancing at her while we wait for the light to turn green.
Biting her lip and wincing, she nods. Her ankle is resting on her dash and I swear it’s growing bigger by the second.