Page 52 of Plum

“You would?”

“I did.” And then quick, ‘cause I can’t believe that came out of my mouth, I say, “Hand me that magazine now, won’t you?”

His eyes light up, crazy blue, and I can tell he wants to press, but he don’t. “This one?” He holds up a copy ofPopular Mechanics.

“What do I look like? Your dad? The one with the pumpkins and flowers on the cover.”

He hands me a copy ofHome Life. It’s from this month. Sweet. I settle back in the plastic chair.

My ankle really does hurt, a hot throbbing, but it’s strange. I’m more relaxed in this waiting room than I have been in a long while. Adam seems to chill, too, spreading out in his chair, stretching his legs and resting his arm around my shoulder, occasionally rearranging my ice pack.

When I have to pee, he helps me over to the bathroom and lowers me down on the toilet. I ain’t as shy as some—my job won’t allow it—but it’s still a little embarrassing. After, he props me up, my back to his chest, so I can balance to wash my hands. I can’t resist. I give my ass a wiggle. He’s hard and pokin’ me in no time.

It relieves my mind. All this feeling shit is disquieting. With sex, I’m on firmer ground.

“You better stop that.” Adam’s hands skate down my arms, and he nuzzles and nips at my shoulder. His breathing picks up. It’s soothing, knowing I got his number.

I giggle, and I stop the wiggling. “You better take me back out then.”

He huffs, but he does, and we get called back a few minutes later. They stick us in a cubby for what feels like forever, waiting on the doctor. I’m on the gurney, and Adam’s in a chair next to me. His face got real serious when we were taken back. It didn’t seem like he was impressed by the set up. He gets right on his phone and starts typing.

“Whatcha doing?” I peer down. His fingers fly.

“First thing tomorrow, I’m having Dr. Das see you. He can drive down here.”

“You can get a doctor to drive all the way from Pyle to Petty’s Mill?”

“Of course.”

“Being rich is a foreign land, ain’t it?”

Adam grins up at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “That’s kind of poetic.”

“I have my moments.”

Then the doctor comes in, and Adam stands. The man examines my ankle while Adam looms, grim-faced. You can tell he feels guilty, the way his mouth turns down at the corners. Part of me doesn’t like him feeling bad, but the smart part of me that’s made it this far in life keeps her mouth shut. A little guilt can soften a hard heart, and it never hurt no one.

The doctor orders an x-ray, which is more waiting, and then we spend some more time in the cubby. Adam gets comfortable, hanging his jacket from his chair. His phone buzzes, and he checks it.

I’ve turned to my side on the gurney; I can never stand laying flat on my back. The pain in my ankle is a dull ache now. The doctor gave me a fresh ice pack, the gel kind. The waiting is giving me time to worry.

Maybe it ain’t as bad as it seemed; the doctor will say rest it a few days, and I’ll be back to work by the weekend. Maybe.

To distract myself, I nudge Adam. “What are you doin’ down there?”

He blinks, and then he smiles. “I got a notification that a stock I’ve had my eye on hit my price point.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess you’re a busy guy, eh? With being a billionaire and all.”

“I’m not a billionaire.”

“No? A millionaire then?” Millions. Billion. Is there really a difference?

He takes the question seriously. “Well, it’s one thing if we’re talking net worth, another if we’re talking liquidity ratio…I guess it depends on how you count.”

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