Page 4 of Taking Root

She snorted. “So that’s what you’re up to now.” Once the words left her mouth, her eyes flashed in panic. Danny lifted her Aviation, obscuring her features as she chugged the rest of the drink.

Her words jangled around in his head like an alarm. Now. Like she’d known him before.

The familiarity couldn’t be coincidence.

She tapped the counter, chewing on her lower lip like she’d take it right off. That—the motion, he’d seen her do it years ago. The memory flickered in and darted away at hummingbird speed before he could catch it.

“All right, spill,” he said. “Where have we met?”

“Can I get the check?” she called to Mitch, her dirt-stained sneaker tapping against the leg of the barstool. Danny glanced his way, even though she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I think you’re mistaken. I’ve never lived in Charleston before.”

Pure lie. He’d maneuvered around enough patients to know when they spun some silver bullshit or even the subtlety of when they were telling the truth but omitted necessary information. Danny Reynolds didn’t stand a chance at competing with slick lines he’d faced from addicts trying to score a scrip. Before he could respond, Mitch sauntered over to interrupt.

“Drink’s on the house,” Mitch said, oozing the effortless charm that brought ladies lingering around the Gin Mill in droves. “I don’t tolerate any threats against patrons in my bar, so consider this my way of apologizing. Hope you’ll swing back in here soon.”

Danny rummaged in her canvas bag and pushed a couple of bills his way. “Take this at least. I appreciate the warm welcome, douchebags aside.”

Mitch tipped two fingers in a salute before scooping the cash and hustling to the opposite end where one of the regulars smacked the countertop.

“Sorry if I was one of the douchebags who ruined your night,” Adrian said before he could steal the words back. He scratched the nape of his neck, too tired to process much more. Still, he hated the idea of her hustling out the door thinking he was another jerk bothering her at the bar.

Her brows lifted in surprise. “Douchebag? Not in the slightest. You were one of the highlights.” The dazzling grin she flashed shot right through him, stirring coals that had been dormant for far too long.

“Don’t suppose I’ll be seeing you around?” he asked. The need to know more burned inside him like a rising flame. Where he knew her from, what she hid, and what her lips tasted like. The last one had his libido thrumming, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested from the moment he caught sight of her.

“If you’re lucky, babe,” she responded in a husky as sin voice, winking at him as she rose from her barstool. He wasn’t ashamed he watched her walk the whole way to the door, the swing of her hips mesmerizing. Twelve-hour shift down and barely any sleep, yet his pulse pumped like he’d popped Ritalin. The scent of lavender lingered in the air even after she left.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, dragging his attention away from the now closed door. Lex.

“What’s up?” he asked and lifted his fingers, trying to grab Mitch’s attention for the check.

“So…there’s blood all over your kitchen, and it’s not my fault.”

Oh, fuck.

***

Adrian raced up the steps leading to his front door, his keys jangling in hand. His heart hadn’t stopped racing since he’d gotten the call from Lex and bolted out of the bar.

His key squeaked in the lock as he jiggled it—as of late the thing got stuck more times than not. The polished silver handle almost came off as he yanked the door open. Even as the sun began to set, chipmunks scampered around on his rooftop, kicking up their normal ruckus. His house had been gorgeous two years ago when he’d bought it, but back then he’d also had a fiancée and a future planned. Half the time when he got home from work, he wanted to collapse into a dead sleep, not update the light fixtures and slap a fresh coat of Ethereal White on his foyer walls.

“Lex?” Adrian called as he stepped inside. Obi-Wan, his green-eyed tabby, slunk up and offered a couple of mournful meows. Of course, a half hour past the normal mealtime and the tabby began the dramatic process of starvation. Adrian leaned down to run his hand over Obi-Wan’s fur before scooping him into his arms as he continued toward the kitchen.

“Here,” his sister called. At the sound of her voice, the knot of panic in his chest unwound. A moment later, she appeared in the hallway heading in his direction with a definite limp. Lex cut a striking figure wherever she went, like her larger than life personality bled out onto her features. She had thick brows like slashes, jet black hair she wore in an angular pixie cut, and hazel eyes she kept rimmed with kohl like war paint.

“What the hell was the call about blood in my kitchen?” He rounded on her, his patience at a minimum. Obi-Wan slipped out from his arms to scamper over to his food bowl, meowing until Adrian followed and unleashed the kibble.

Lex grunted and jabbed a finger at her leg. “I was chopping vegetables and missed.” Why she invaded his house to dice them up in the first place was beyond him—days like this, he regretted giving his family members keys. The leg of her jeans had split open, presumably from the knife, and a blood-soaked white towel was strapped around her leg. With duct tape.

A groan slipped from him. “Lex, I’m a doctor. My bathroom’s stocked with anything you’d need to sterilize and bandage a gash. Why the hell did you go for a towel and duct tape?”

She shrugged like a cat that fell and pretended nothing happened. “Well, there’s stir-fry in the kitchen, so come eat.”

Adrian let out a sigh. “I’m going to grab the bandage and disinfectant. The duct tape’s robbed my appetite.” He stalked down the hall, passing the galley kitchen as he headed toward his downstairs bathroom. The rich tang of soy sauce filtered through the air, and his stomach rumbled in response. At least, until he caught the smudges of blood on the floor Lex had attempted to clean. He quickened his pace to the bathroom closet, grabbed a saline solution, a clean rag, and a gauze pad and wrap. “Get your ass in here, Alexis,” he called in what everyone termed his parent voice.

“All right, Mom,” Lex muttered as she stalked into the bathroom and took a seat on the toilet. Before he could instruct her, she ripped off the bands of duct tape, the skritch echoing around the room. The towel fell off, and the slice in her leg gushed.

Adrian’s shoulders fell as he sighed. He’d have to disinfect his entire house at this rate. He knelt to the ground, his kit in tow, and set to work cleaning off the wound. She grabbed the rag from him and wiped the cut herself, so he prepared the gauze pad. The skin where she’d ripped the duct tape looked red and raised, but his sister’s pain tolerance was legendary.

---