Page 35 of Laila Manning
“I hit him back.” I tried for levity, rubbing my hand up and down the length of her spine as she trembled. “It was a long time coming.”
“Because of me.” She pulled back and looked up at me with her wide, teary eyes. “He hit you because of me.”
“So what?”
“He hurt you!” She cried, scanning my split lip and swollen cheek.
“I’m not the victim here, Laila. Stop treating me like one.” I demanded, and she hesitated, fighting her urge to listen to me. “It had to happen.”
“That doesn’t make any sense!” She shuddered again and tried to pull away, but I wouldn’t let her. “We’re in the hallway.” She argued. “And you’re almost naked.”
“We’re the only two who live here.” I countered, and she rolled her eyes, finally focusing on something other than her guilt. “Would you prefer to go inside?”
She went still as her fears and wants battled inside of her brain; her eyes flicked to the open door into my apartment behind us. “I can’t.”
“Your place then.” I offered, “Though I have no problem standing right here, just like this.” I raised an eyebrow at her, tightening my hold on her waist.
She sighed, relaxing once again in my hold before pulling back out of my grip. “My place.” She twisted the doorknob and opened the door, walking into the dim space as I stood in the hallway, suddenly unsure.
“I’ll go get dressed.” I nodded back into my place.
“I can’t tend to your wounds if you cover them up.” She said, and held her hand out, inviting me in for the first time.
And she didn’t have to ask more than once.
I closed my door and followed her into her apartment, locking the door behind me.
With her standing a few feet away from me, and off the edge of a panic attack, I finally took the time to look at what she was wearing. “Hang on a second.” I closed the distance between us and tapped my finger against the logo above her right breast on her black V-neck t-shirt. “Explain this.”
She swallowed and dropped her eyes from mine to somewhere below my chin, as she usually did when uncomfortable. “I got a job.”
“AtNeat?” I questioned naming the trendy new bar and restaurant in the city. It was a decent place, with good owners, but at the end of the day, it was still a bar.
And bars attracted seedy people, no matter how expensive the drinks on the menu were.
“Yeah, I’m in training.”
“When did that happen?”
“I had an interview the other day.” She licked her lips and sucked the bottom one in between her teeth. “I started that night.”
“Doing what, exactly?”
“Hosting right now.” She nibbled that lip distractedly. “And training to serve.”
I took a deep breath and fought everything inside of me that wanted to tell her to quit. A bar was not the kind of atmosphere she needed to be in to heal the trauma of her past.
But I wasn’t going to tell her to quit because, at the end of the day, she needed support more than anything.
Not another dominating asshole standing over her and dictating what she did. Jed did that often enough.
“Do you like it?” I asked.
She raised her eyebrows as her lip fell free of her teeth in surprise. “Do I like it?”
“The job. The bar. Your bosses?” I reiterated. “Do you like it?”
“Yes.” She whispered, nodding her head slowly. “A lot actually.”
