Hooked|zach herron

Wildcat

Zach.

The bathroom light is still on when I get home. This is not unusual, because Harper never remembers to turn it off. I'm not sure if that's more or less annoying than all the moisturizers containing SPF and the multiple types of pain relieving cream she's covered the space around the sink with.
So, I don't think anything of the light pouring out from under the bathroom door when I walk past it, assuming Harper just forgot to turn it off again when she left this morning. I also assume I'm the only one home, because the house was silent when Jonah dropped me off on his way to dinner with Eli, her grandparents, and Milo.
I'm in the middle of emptying my pockets and changing my shirt when I hear a shriek.
It makes me jump, then rush into the bathroom to figure out what is going on, without considering the consequences.

I find Harper standing in the bathtub, only wearing her teeny tiny spandex and a tank top.
"Zach!" She shouts, and I smack my hand over my eyes.
It doesn't do much to obscure my vision though, and it only takes me a second to survey the room.
There's several empty plastic ice bags on the floor, and the eight inches of water Harper's in the middle of are more frozen than not.
"What are you doing?" The question is more than a little judgmental.
She sighs, "You can put your hand down, Zach. I know you can see me. You're acting ridiculous."
"You want to talk ridiculous, Wildcat?" I focus very hard on looking her in the eyes, and nowhere else, "You've turned my bathroom into Antarctica."
Harper grins, "It'll melt."
"Sure, but not before global warming kills us all." She opens her mouth to protest, but I step closer, "Seriously, what are you doing?"
She bites her lip, then hooks her thumb in one side of her shorts to pull them down an inch, "I twisted my ankle during practice, and landed on my hip."
There's a massive red splotch forming there, "Damn."
"I'm on the roster to start tomorrow, in an actually scrimmage," Harper grimaces, "I can't afford to let this get worse."
"And an ice bath is going to help?" I've heard of athletes soaking in ice before, but the most experience I have with that is Jack pouring a bucket of ice on my head for refusing to get out of bed, and that wasn't really intended to help anything.
"Some, at least," Harper looks down at the water, and shivers.
"Couldn't you have done this on campus? Doesn't the university have, like, trainers or something?" This doesn't feel safe.
She picks her foot up out of the water, and points to her ankle, "If I show this to my coach, I'll be scratched tomorrow."
There's a red mark on the left side of her foot too, and her ankle is already swollen, "Okay. How do I help?"
"You don't have to," She starts.
"I found you screaming in my bathtub. I'd like to help."
"I wasn't screaming."
"Hellion," I shake my head, "Don't you want to get this over with?"
Harper gives in, "You can time me. My hip needs to be submerged for ten minutes."
"Okay," I pick her phone up off the sink, and she lowers herself into the water, hands gripping the sides of the tub like a lifeline.
Harper grinds her teeth, then demands, "Distract me," staring up at me adorably miserable in a punishment of her own design.
So I sit down on the edge of the bath and start rambling.
I keep talking, when three minutes in her teeth start chattering, and after seven minutes when her lips take on a blueish tint.
She is shaking, by the time her ten minutes are up, and I haul her out of the bathtub by her forearms then pull her against me.
Harper's an athlete, and it's obvious in every line of her body. Her legs are powerful and muscular, there's clear definition in her abs, and even her forearms are toned, so she's not exactly a delicate person. She is, however, still small. Harper's almost short compared to Eli and Angi, maybe five-five at the tallest, which makes it easy to tuck her under my chin.
She's kind of perfect, and I would enjoy holding her a lot more if she wasn't a human popsicle dripping freezing cold water on my feet.
I pull a towel around her, running my hands up and down her back, trying to warm her up. Harper sinks into me, then mutters against my collarbone, "Do you just hate shirts or something?"
I laugh into her hair, "I was changing when I heard you scream."
"I didn't scream," She protests, but doesn't try to push me away.
"Sure," I mock, "You just exhaled so loudly I thought you were getting murdered."
Harper does shove me off then, "Go put clothes on, Zach."
"I'm only following orders because I need to order dinner," I tell her as I leave, "Do you want anything?"
"Carbs," Harper doesn't even have to think about her answer, "Lots and lots of carbs."
"It's hot that you know what you want," I smirk, and she shuts the door in my face.