Page 38 of Daddy's Wild Girl

That was her fourth fall in less than half an hour and it was by far the worst.

She could be injured. She could have hit her head. She was wearing a helmet, but that didn’t mean she was completely protected from being harmed.

“Bebe! Bebe!” he yelled, running onto the concrete half-pipe.

“Hey, man! What are you doing?” the young boy yelled.

Corbin couldn’t call him a man when he looked like he was just out of diapers.

“I’m checking she’s not injured, you idiot!” he yelled back

Bebe was lying on her back, her eyes open. Shit. Shit. Shit.

She blinked up at him, her hand over her stomach as she opened her mouth. “I’m . . . I’m okay.”

“You don’t sound okay. Where are you hurt?” He kneeled next to her, running his hands lightly over her.

“Hey! Shouldn’t you take a girl out for dinner first?” she said breathlessly.

“Bebe, are you all right? Does anything hurt?” he asked urgently.

“Anything? Nope. Everything . . . that’s another story.” She closed her eyes. “Ouch.”

“Don’t close your eyes, sweetheart. If you have a concussion, you shouldn’t go to sleep.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” she said. “I just think that every inch of my skin is now bruised and that I’m not going to be making it to salsa dancing tonight.”

“Salsa dancing? Tonight? You know, when we asked you about a schedule, things like skateboarding lessons and salsa dancing should have been on it.”

“Oh. I thought you just meant boring things like jobs and appointments.” She coughed, then groaned.

“Hey, Bebe, you getting up? More people want to use the pipe.” The young boy sauntered toward them, and Corbin felt himself lose control of his temper.

It was like a cord that snapped.

Standing, he moved around Bebe so he stood between her and the idiot. Then he loomed over him, letting this dipshit feel every one of the eight inches that Corbin had on him.

“She will move when I ascertain that it’s safe for her to do so. And not a minute before. And since you seem to have little to no brain matter residing between your ears, I’m going to tell you this as well. You’re not gonna complain. You’re not gonna say or do anything. You’re gonna turn around and move away from her. Get me?”

“Hey! You can’t speak to me like that!” the boy protested.

“Did she pay you for this lesson?” Corbin asked.

“Well, ah, yeah,” he said, scratching his long hair. He probably had lice.

“Then you have a duty of care to her, don’t you? And if she’s hurt while you’re giving her a lesson, then I believe you’d be liable, wouldn’t you?”

“Hey, man, it’s just a casual lesson. Twenty bucks for half an hour. Bargain.” He held up his hands, backing away. “I don’t owe anyone anything. And I don’t own this place. Something happens to her here, it’s not my problem.”

“Hmm, tell me, do you declare the money to the IRS? Pay tax on it?”

Now the guy was pale, his legs shaking. “What? What are you trying to say? That you’ll tattle to the IRS on me? That’s low, man. Real low.”

“Then you better leave. Now. Before you really piss me off.”

The guy turned around and ran.

“That wasn’t very nice, scaring him like that with false threats. Pretty sure he pooped himself.”

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