Page 46 of Never Say Yes To A Stranger

It’s all I can do not to moan and whimper and beg her for more. I could have a professional masseuse and any doctor I want here in a matter of hours. But the only touch I want is hers.

She runs her palm down my back, over my T-shirt, and back to my neck. “It’s been eleven months since I last saw my family. I know that when I finally do get to go back home, or they come out here, they’ll have aged. I’m at the point in my life where I’m adult enough to realize that everything and everyone gets older. People start falling apart, and they’re not here forever. I hatethat I’ve already lost almost a year with them. I’m worried about them. They’re worried about me. I miss them terribly. I guess…I guess that’s me talking about me.” She stops massaging and cups my good cheek, tears dancing in her eyes. “I’m worried about you too. You’re so rock hard that you survived plummeting off my roof, but I think at the center, you’re not so hard.”

I take the cloth from her hand and dab my lip, keeping the ice pack in place. I need my phone to make some calls. I’ll tell her where it is, so she can help me get it. I’m not going to expire on the spot, but I need another pump, or at the very least, some insulin, the pen needle, and something to check my blood sugar until I get the pump up and running to do it for me again.

“Good thing I have a tough shell, then. Nothing reaches the squishy parts,” I say.

I lift my shirt basically as a distraction, but then I survey the destruction, and…it’s not pretty. It’s worse than it looks. Ignacia doesn’t faint, but she does gasp again. “That’s going to need some hydrogen peroxide.”

“Yeah.”

“And some stitches,” she adds.

“No, just a first aid kit. I have one in my room. And my phone. Could you help me get them, please?”

She wants to talk more and break me with her soft words falling from her sensual lips. She also wants to share her huge, wonderful, sunny, and happy heart with me. But I can’t let that happen, so I keep my T-shirt lifted, letting all the gore show.

“Yes.” She swallows so hard that it sounds like she’s choking. “I’ll be right back with the stuff.”

Falling off the roof saved me from having a heart-to-heart up there. I’ve done a lot of things in life to avoid getting mushy, but that’s a first.

Hopefully, it’s the last.

A few more days. I need to manage not to get myself killed. I need to remind myself to use my brain, not do silly things like climb out of windows, let Ignacia climb on top of me in bed, or let her tell me I’m worth something, something great. I can’t let her think that. Because she’s wrong.

Soon, she’ll find out how not worth something I am.

Too soon.

Fuck.

Chapter thirteen

Beau

Opening my eyes the next morning is a big nope.

Trying to get out of bed to empty my bladder is even worse.

I basically drag my sorry, bruised, near-broken carcass down the hall and then fall back to sitting on Ignacia’s bed. She didn’t kick me to the guest room last night even though I was disruptive enough, spending half the night patching myself up and getting insulin delivered because I couldn’t get a pump on short notice, no matter how much money I had. One will be arriving by nine this morning. Last night, I understood there are real medical emergencies in the world, and flying in a doctor who’s head of such and such just because I can afford it will be a dick move when the world needs every available doctor working every available hour they have.

In short, this morning, I feel like an epic death, but I’m still alive. Hell must have been closed for business last night and I got denied entry.

I’m kidding. Goodness. Hell is more of a metaphor for people these days, even if they are religious, and I don’t believe in it.

Now that Ignacia’s heard I’m awake, I hear her steps on the stairs. I don’t have an alarm set, but normally, I’m up at the butt crack of dawn. Jesus. I’m starting to use her words.

I’m pretty good at sleeping for ten minutes here or there and being awake on my internal clock just fine. But not this morning. This morning, I feel like a bunch of ground-up bones dumped into a sack. Taking a dive off that roof was about as fun as tweezing out all my pubes.

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed and debating how I’m going to get downstairs to get dressed and showered and become the tough as ass—fucking again, damn it—bodyguard I need to be and how I’m going to finish this job with a barely functioning body when Ignacia appears holding a vintage tin tray heaped with food.

“What are you doing up? Get back into bed!” she chastises.

“Oh, lovely. Breakfast in bed. Thanks, but no thanks. You don’t need to treat me like I’m an invalid.”

“Your tongue still hurls out insults just fine, I see, and the fall didn’t affect your lovely, sunny personality.” She sweeps the tray onto her side of the bed, which is neatly made. “I made it all healthy. Oatmeal, a banana, and chai tea because I know how much you love it.” She winks. “Kidding. It’s coffee. I went out and got some.”

“You went out?” No!No, no, no.This is what happens when I let my guard down.

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