Zenon's Game Chapter 191

Zenon had asked to take me on a date, somewhere special. I got dressed for it in his room, since we'd started to leave clothes behind in each other's rooms. He'd left me to get dressed in private, to put on some make up and to think.

My job, Bianca, the blackmailer. Maybe they were all connected. After all, things started going wrong when the blackmailer started leaving threatening messages, stealing my mother's necklace, painting our door.

Zenon knocked on his own bedroom door. He opened it and saw me wearing what I thought was a good winter date outfit. White turtleneck and blue jeans.

"You look beautiful as always," he said.

He had showered in Jake's bathroom. He was already dressed and ran a towel through his hair, shaking it dry.

I stood nervously by the desk. I don't know why I still get nervous in front of him. The butterflies still emerge.

"Let's move on from the rubber incident," Zenon smirked, obviously amused by the whole situation.

We hadn't talked about the con-do-ms, but eventually we'd have to talk about the wider subject. I think.

I had no idea where he was taking me. We walked down the stairs and passed his disapproving parents. We got into his car and he drove us off Dupont Avenue.

We drove past a sign and I did a double take as I read it. We'd been here once before.

Of all places, I never expected us to come here.

"You wanted me to be more open," Zenon told me, glancing at my bewildered expression in the passenger seat, "That's what I'm going to show you Candy; a part of me I keep private."

He parked the car.

What did I think about before you?

I wondered how long Zenon's been on my mind but then I realized that since we met, he hasn't left it. He's stubborn like that.

I watched his teeth brush against his bottom lip as he glanced in the side mirror and switched lanes. He is so hot, even on a cold day like this. I resisted the urge to pull him towards me and kiss him.

Cool down, Candace. I fanned myself and reached for the air conditioning.

"Let's hear what you got," Zenon told me, as he picked up speed on the highway.

I connected my phone to his speakers and hit play on my latest favorites. Sound blared through the car since Zenon listens to music at a ridiculously high volume.

I gave him a little intro as the first song came on, "I'm into UK grime now."

Stormzy was first on my playlist.

We drove past a sign I've seen once before, and I turned the music way down.

"What are we doing here?" I asked, bewildered and looking in all directions like a cuckoo.

I never expected for us to come here on our date. I've been here once before – with Zenon.

The sign said: Professional Sports Physical Therapy and Rehab Center

"You wanted me to be more open," Zenon told me, "That's what I'm going to show you Candy; a part of me I keep private."

Rehab?

What have I missed?

I remembered when he made me come here to sign something. It was back when I was paying down my debt on his broken laptop.

I'd refused to sign it – but he never explained what that was about. Or why we were there.

And I didn't ask. I let it go without questioning. I didn't really think much about it, but I should have.

Hindsight's 20/20, isn't it?

"Is everything OK?" I asked him, trying to read his expression, "Are you OK?"

How injured was he?

My mind went to the more extreme options. I couldn't help but think about Fault In Our Stars, Titanic and Sponge Bob. They weren't the most logical go-to's, but my mind is an odd place.

"Today," he answered, "I'm way more than fine."

We were on a date in a physical therapy and rehab clinic. Zenon was really re-inventing the wheel with this one. I know dinner and a movie is a cliché but this...

"I don't know what to say," I commented as we walked hand-in-hand through the carpeted hallway. "Are we having dinner here?"

Zenon replied and kept it mysterious. "You'll see."

It was a very nice clinic. There was art on the wall and decorative living rooms. Coffee table books and matching bowls decorated the surfaces. The staff walked around in white clothing, but no lab coats.

"You come here often?" I asked him.

"Nice pick-up line," he said.

I could see the playful twinkle in his eyes. He was messing with me. Out of the two of us, he used pick-up lines way more than me. He was the player.

"You think I'm trying to hit on you?" I asked my boyfriend.

"I think you don't need those lines anymore."

He smirked and brought his arm over my shoulder, pulling me closer towards him. I wrapped my arm around his waist, because it would've awkwardly been wedged between our bodies if I didn't move it.

"I'm genuinely asking if you come here often," I mumbled into his shirt.

"I do," he answered.

My heart sunk. Why does he come here? How is he injured?

We walked past signs that pointed to 'fitness and nutrition consulting' and 'performance enhancement sports training' and towards the department that said 'physical therapy.'

We stopped at the end of a hallway and faced a wall of photos. A wall of athletes; gymnasts, swimmers, football players... and a basketball player I knew very well.

He's photogenic. He's got blue eyes that looked straight into the camera and a cute face. He looked a few years younger than who he was today.

We've come a really long way just to look at a photo but maybe if I stare at it, he'll think I get the point...

I really don't get the point.