Page 63 of Subscriber Wars

“And?”

She turns the radio up, the wind blowing in her hair. She doesn’t care that it’s tangled. I like that she’s not a diva about her appearance. “And you have a deal. If I faint, you can sing the rest of the trip.”

About fifteen minutes later, we pull up to the donation center. The parking lot is sparse and almost looks abandoned.

“Do you want to put the top up on the Jeep?” Vee asks.

I shake my head. “Nah. It’ll be fine. We’ll just take the camera bags in. If someone steals our clothes and food, it’ll just make for a more entertaining video.”

I don’t really hope someone steals our shit for the sake of likes; I’m just too lazy to put the top up and then back down an hour later when we leave.

Vee shrugs one shoulder. “Whatever you want.”

Grabbing the bags, we head into the blood donation center, and I sign all the paperwork. Vee follows behind me and the tech without a word.

“Sure you’re not going to faint again?” I toss behind me, which Vee responds with a middle finger salute.

“Have a seat right here, Mr. Carrington.” The tech pats the recliner. “And your girlfriend can sit in this empty one next to you.”

The girlfriend term stops Vee in her tracks, but she recovers quickly and hurries to sit.

I slide into the leather chair and prop my arm up on the armrest, while the tech busies herself with prepping my arm and asking me to make a fist while she finds the vein. I glance over at Vee, who is seriously pale. I knew her weak ass stomach couldn’t handle the sight of blood. She might be able to shoot whiskey and moonshine like a dude, but a little bit of blood will send her eyes rolling into the back of her head. I groan and put my hand on the tech. “Hang on just a minute.”

I then look at Vee. “Come here. I’m not dealing with having to carry you to the car and stopping by a diseased taco truck to get your strength back after you faint.”

Sliding to the side of the recliner, I pat the few inches of space next to me. The tech cuts me a disapproving look that I ignore. Vee will either squeeze her little ass in or she’ll faint on the floor. I’m guessing the tech would rather see two grown ass people squeeze into a recliner than to deal with the paperwork of writing up an incident report.

Vee eyes the needle in the tech’s hand and then the spot beside me.

I already know what her decision will be, but she needs time to prepare herself. I get it.

With a groan, Vee leaves the bags in her recliner and puts a knee on my seat cushion then hesitates.

“She’s about to stick me so make a decision,” I add.

“Promise you won’t tease me about this?” She’s so serious that I can’t help but laugh.

“No. Definitely not.”

“Then I’ll just faint and you can stop at the next taco truck.”

For fuck’s sake. “Fine. I promise. This one doesn’t count.”

At my assurance, she slides in on her side, so she can fit, putting her arm over my chest and burying her face in my shoulder.

“Okay. Tell her to stick you now.”

I chuckle and nod to the tech who looks like this is the craziest shit she’s ever seen during a blood donation. But she does it, and before long, I’m bleeding into a bag with my neighbor’s face shoved into my shoulder hard enough that it’ll probably bruise.

“Sebastian,” she says, her voice muffled.

My eyes are closed, opting not to watch TV while I donate. “Yeah?”

“Are you ever going to tell me why you do this?”

I turn my head and admire her dark hair while her fingers grip my t-shirt like she’s scared someone is going to force her to pull her head up and see all the blood. I trail my fingers down her back, watching as she visibly relaxes her grip.

“Maybe one day,” I whisper.

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