Page 88 of Whatever Lola Wants

She peered up at him. “You like The Princess Bride?”

“What’s not to like? It has fencing, pirates, kidnapping, giants, rodents of unusual size, the pit of despair, and a pretty princess.”

“Huh.”

He looked at her. “What?”

“Most guys would say this is a girl movie.”

“It is a girl movie. So?”

“So it doesn’t threaten your masculinity to watch this with me?” she teased.

“Please.” He scrolled through until he found it, then laid the remote aside. “My masculinity is steel. I could be getting a pedicure and a facial while watching this movie, and it wouldn’t have so much as a dent.”

“That’s oddly specific,” she said suspiciously.

“Watch the movie,” he ordered, and with a sigh, she obeyed.

She fell asleep before Buttercup’s rescue, her breathing deep and even. He let the movie run and watched her sleep.

She’d scared the crap out of him. He could admit it now, with her soft and warm and alive in his arms. From the moment Ginger had told him what happened, he’d been gripped by fear that had yet to fade. He’d been able to shove it to the background to do what needed doing, but now that there was nothing to handle, no details to see to, he could feel it surging back.

She was lucky. The doctor who’d discharged her this morning had been certain the concussion she’d suffered wasn’t severe, and though the bruise on her thigh was deep and highly uncomfortable, it too would heal with time. She’d apparently hit her leg on the door handle on the inside of the door, and her head on the window above it. Ginger had told him the impact had cracked the window, and it had been smeared with blood.

He knew the accident had made the local news, and photos of the crumpled car had been posted online. He deliberately avoided them, knowing if he saw them, the rage in him would stir to life again. He didn’t want that. Lola needed his care, not his anger, though as soon as he was able, he was going to hit the gym for a hard sparring match to purge the fear.

He brushed his fingers over her hair above the bandage on her forehead, grimacing when he realized how much blood was still caked in her hair. She’d had a sponge bath this morning, as she wasn’t allowed to shower yet. She couldn’t get the stitches wet, so washing her own hair would be difficult. After her nap—and after she’d eaten—he’d draw her a bath. A long soak would no doubt help soothe some of the aches and pains, and he could help her wash her hair.

He laid his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes. A nap sounded like a great idea, since he’d had even less sleep than she’d had the night before. With Wesley and Buttercup making their way through the fire swamp in the background, he drifted off.

When he woke, the television was off. He frowned, wondering how long he’d been out, and he lifted his head to see if Lola still slept.

She wasn’t there.

He swung his legs to the floor. “Lola?”

“In here,” she called, and he rose to follow her voice down the hall.

He found her in the hall bath, washing her hands in the sink. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She blinked in confusion. “I’m washing my hands.”

He didn’t miss the careful way she was holding her left leg, her toes barely touching the floor as she avoided putting any weight on it. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

She shut off the water and reached for the towel on the rack. “You were sleeping so soundly, you didn’t even twitch when I got up.”

“You should’ve woken me,” he repeated, and she sent him an exasperated frown.

“I can pee by myself, Simon.”

He shook his head. If she thought he was going to shy away from basic bodily functions, she didn’t know him very well. “I don’t care if you pee by yourself, but you need help getting around. You can’t even put any weight on that leg.”

She grimaced. “It wasn’t pretty, but I managed. I just hung onto the wall all the way down.”

He pictured her hobbling down the hallway, using the wall to keep herself upright, and felt some of that rage gather. “You idiot.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock. “Now, listen?—”

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