Page 123 of Wanted Beta

“It’s understandable. You don’t have to explain anything.”

He takes a first aid kit from a cupboard and leads me over to a bar stool by a small table across from the ovens. I sit down and roll up my sleeves.

“Sorry, I have a tendency to talk too much,” I admit. “I’ve always been like this. My mom told me I came out babbling away, and I guess I’ve never really stopped.”

He smiles as he sets the kit down. “We all have our little quirks.”

“What are yours?” I ask, while he opens the kit.

“I’m used to fixing things without any help,” he admits. “It means I don’t always talk things out with my pack like I should. I can be too quiet. Too solitary. It’s something I’m working on. I don’t think talking is a bad thing. You shouldn’t apologize for it.”

He brings out a tube and sets it down. Then he picks out antiseptic wipes.

Great. This is going to sting.

That’ll teach me to keep scratching wounds that aren’t itchy.

“You should go to a doctor,” he says, as he takes out a wipe. “This might help for now, but it’s probably better if they give you the right stuff to help you heal up.”

“A paramedic looked me over when I got out of that closet.”

“Paramedics aren’t doctors.”

“They’re close enough.”

“This might sting,” he warns me. “You’ve broken the skin in a couple places.”

I brace myself for the burn. It’s not so bad.

It’s a little gross that I made myself bleed out of psychological itchiness, but it’s kind of nice to be looked after like this. The cold cream he smooths into my skin feels amazing.

“Oh wow, that feels so much better.”

He wraps gauze around my wrist when he’s done, and I slip my sleeve back down over the bandage. He holds his hand out, and I blink at him.

“I didn’t scratch this one.”

“It’s still sore, and the skin looks dry. The same salve should help.”

“Oh,” I murmur.

He takes care of it, and I sit there, enjoying being looking after.

It’s been a long time since I let anyone do something for me.

I have to admit, it feels really nice.

“That should do it,” he says. “But I’d feel a whole lot better if you’d go to a doctor.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him, pulling the other sleeve down. “Whatever that stuff is, I’ll get some and keep using it.”

“I’ll do it for you, when you’re here,” he offers, clearing everything away.

Right, because I’ll be here every day next week.

I should really wrap my head around that.

I’m taking a week off my dull-as-dishwater college course to play entrepreneur and help these guys make their restaurant a success. It’s equal parts exciting and nerve-wracking.

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