Page 9 of Not a Perfect Save

“No, I’m not kidding,”

I’ve had it. “No, I’m not doing this to her—“

Ella seizes the crutch again and heaves out an irritated sigh, her gaze swinging back and forth between us like an angry schoolteacher. “The things I do…” she mutters on a big exhale. And here she is, saving me again.

I frown. My ego isn’t so frail it can’t take a few hits.

We cross the final threshold into the street. I ignore the screaming reporters and focus on hustling Ella into the waiting SUV.

Chapter Five

ELLA

Somewhere between the robbery,the hospital, and the paparazzi our roles have reversed and I am in Damsel-In-Distress mode for real, all weak-kneed and ready to swoon from exhaustion. The ride does nothing for my head, and it's all I can do not to throw up.Closing myeyes, I chant.One, two, buckle my shoe. Three, four, don't barf on the floor.Five, sixxx...

A gust of air at my hairline jolts me awake. I realize I’m leaning on Connor’s shoulder and stiffen. "Sorry.” I push up.

“It'sfine.”Connorloops an arm around my shoulder and urges me back against him. I hate to admit it, but I'm grateful. I slowly relax, letting my bones unfurl as I’m enveloped in the scent of rain and musk.

We soonpull up outside a double-wide brick brownstone on Charles Street in the West Village. A stoop of ten steps leads up to the door, but they may as well be a hundred. “Don't you have a penthouse somewhere? Isn't that a celebrity requirement?”I grumble.

The obnoxious man chuckles. I direct my scowl at him and then at the offending steps. He flexes his biceps, moving towards me as if to help, but I disabuse him of any such notion with a glare.Hishands clench and I swear his teeth grit in an attempt to stop himself from sweeping me off my feet. Meanwhile, the hospital ward is sounding more and more appealing. For one, infinitesimal second, I even consider escaping to my parents' house in New Jersey.

One step up. Wheeze out. Then the next. Connor follows, braced to catch me.It'ssomewhatreassuring to have him there, just in case I topple back. Right now, I feel like death and I'm fighting him on principle.

After breaks on steps three and seven, I'm a sweaty mess in front of the door, standing still and breathless. Connor puts his hand lightly on my back and looks down at me. A lump finds its way to my throat and I swallow when his gaze travels to my mouth. Heat sparks, heavy in the air between us. My lips part slightly, but I can’t tear my eyes away. In another scenario, I could be mistaken for a high schooler waiting for her handsome first date to kiss her at the end of the night, while parents spy from behind parted curtains. A horn blares and I jump. Connor’s grip tightens and he glares down at Daddy Dan in the SUV now peeling away.

I fiddle with the handgrips of my crutch for something to do as I wait for Connorto unlock the door.What just happened?

“Thanks,” I mumble, preceding him in once he gets it open.

Hishead dips in acknowledgment, and he flips on the lights. I am confronted by another set of steps, and almost groan.

Rooms flank either side of the central staircase. On the left is a huge living room with comfortable looking grey couches, and on the right is a dining room tailored for turkey dinners.

Thankfully, Connor doesn’t subject me to more torture, and leads me to the back of the main level. He points out a powder room and tells me to grab anything I want from the kitchen, fully equipped with shiny countertops, sparkling appliances, and not a fridge magnet in sight.Everythingis immaculate. Ibet it would pass the white-glove test. Hell, I'm sure I could run a UV wand over the entire house and not be grossed out.

We get to a huge den. One side has old-school arcade games and a felt-topped poker table. The other section is dominated by a large-screen TV with beanbags and theater-style seats across it. Small tables for drinks separate the chairs. The whole space is an expensive clubhouse, more in line with the pro-athlete persona I expected.

My butt finds a chair and I prop the crutch to one side. I shut my eyes with a sigh.

“Can I get you anything?” Connor asks, his voice husky.

I grunt a no. Even with my lids shut, I sense his gaze drift over my body, making me tingle. How is he affecting me like this? What kind of brain injury have I sustained?

“Okay.” Connor lingers for a few seconds before I register footsteps receding into silence.

My eyes pop open, andI swallow. I presume he’s somewhere around given it’s his house. Still, I feel abandoned. It’s stunning how quickly one gets accustomed to having another person around, and then when they don’t feel the same attachment, it’s a kick in the gut. Not that I had any illusions that Connor was going to hang out or anything.

Still. What host abandons his guest?

Maybe a host who’s had a guest foisted upon him like peas plunked on a plate?

Even so, what kind of establishment is he running here? That’s it—one-star review forCasa de Connor.

I subject the room to a glare of displeasure. Ugly green walls. Moronic video games. Stupid TV.

My deranged thoughts and pounding headcan’t distract me from the quiet for long, and cold sets into my bones. It'sthe first time I've been on my own since the robbery.

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