Page 99 of A Whole New Play

Right?

“It’s just an interview,” I find myself saying. The need to reassure Carter is undeniable.

His expression is carefully neutral when he raises his eyes, but I can see his apprehension. “Yeah… just an interview.”

Silence hangs between us, filled with unspoken thoughts and questions.

I hate being the cause of Carter’s unease, but I don’t know what else to say.

We’re together, and I’d like to remain that way, but I can’t tell him I’ll turn down this job if it’s a good fit. I can’t promise to prioritize our relationship over my career. I know Carter. He wouldn’t want me to do that.

But I can’t deny there’s a strong feeling twisting my stomach, telling me to reassure Carter I’m not going anywhere—that I care more about our budding relationship than the opportunity to be a CFO at the age of twenty-four.

And that terrifies me.

I clear my throat and stand. “Well, it’s late. I should get to bed.” I grab my tennis shoes that I’d tucked against the wall. I’d been so lost in my head, I’d forgotten to take them off the moment I walked in the front door.

“What happened to your back?”

I straighten and look down at Carter, confused. “What?”

He gets to his feet and walks over. His eyes are focused on my back as he reaches out. His fingers trail over my skin. “You’re bleeding.”

Bleeding?

I look over my shoulder to try and see what he means when it hits me. “Oh, yeah. Some jerk ran me off the road when I was walking. I had to duck under a barbed wire fence to make sure they didn’t hit me.”

“What the hell? Barbed wire? Have you cleaned it?”

“Not yet.”

Carter curses and then grabs my hand. Without a word, he pulls me to the bathroom underneath the staircase.

I gasp when he picks me up by the waist and sets me on the counter.

My skin tingles from his touch even after he releases me to dig in the medicine cabinet by my head. I clear my throat. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for the healing ointment.” He pushes aside a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and finds the yellow and red tube he’s searching for. He takes it and the bottle of rubbing alcohol from the cabinet before closing it.

His arm brushes against my thigh as he reaches for the glass container beside me. He takes out two cotton balls, unscrews the rubbing alcohol, and then soaks the cotton balls. “Lean forward.”

I do what he says.

Carter steps to the side of the counter and gently dabs the cuts.

I hiss at the sting.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I’ll be quick.”

“It’s fine.” I bite the inside of my cheek and force myself to keep quiet as he continues cleaning the scratches.

The stinging subsides. Carter grabs Q-Tips and gently applies the healing ointment over the scratches before covering them with bandages. “There. That should help them scab overnight. You probably won’t need to wear bandages in the morning.”

“Thanks.” I look back at the mirror and examine his work.

“You’re welcome.” He clears off the counter, avoiding my searching gaze.

“Carter?”

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