Page 36 of Estranged Heart
“Yes, me. Are you okay? You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I think I overdid it. The doctor said it could take a full year until I’m able to run normally. I didn’t listen. It felt too good to get out of my head, you know?” His words waver.
“Let’s get you to the bench over there.” He lets me hook my arm around his shoulders and lead him to a bench facing theparking lot. Lowering his body onto the long seat, he grips my arm until he’s resting against the back of the bench.
“Do I need to get you some water?”
“I . . . have my . . . the . . .” He points to the tree he was hanging on a minute ago and I rush toward it, spotting a large blue bottle. Bending down, I grab the water and hurry it to him. He drinks too fast and water spills all over his clothes, blending in with the sweat covering the thin material. His muscular arms are on full display and I shouldn’t be so focused on the way they move as he lifts the bottle higher.
“You should probably see a doctor. I can take you to the nearest hospital.”
“No.” Shaking his head, he sets the bottle on the bench. “I’m better now, thanks. Looks like I just needed to rest a little bit.”
“You sure?” I arch a brow, plopping down next to him.
“Yeah. I am. I’m sure I’ll be good to drive myself home in ten minutes or so.”
“I can take you, in case you aren’t. Is Stacey home? I can call her and . . .”
“No.” His face tenses. “She’s working at the hospital today.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I’d already forgotten our short run-in on the elevator. “I saw her, actually. I was there to pick up some old medical records and she was getting on the elevator as I was heading out.”
“Oh. So she was there?”
“Yeah.” He’d said that’s where she was but his look of relief says he hadn’t believed his own words. Strange. “You said she was working there today, didn’t you?”
“Yeah . . . I . . . you’re right, I did. Sorry. I’m not exactly thinking clearly right now.”
“No. Of course not. You almost passed out only minutes ago so why would you be?”
Nodding, he places his other hand on the bench, his pinky rubbing over mine, but I don’t think he realizes it. It’s hard for me not to. The sparks flying between our skin is something I’m unable to ignore. Why does this keep happening? Why does my want for him only grow? My need to be near him does too. Something deep down inside wants to keep him here longer—to keep him with me.
My heart jumps in my throat at the thought of him driving home soon, and my next words are flying out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Want to grab a bite to eat at the nearby café? Food might help you recover quicker.”
His mouth opens and closes before his lips part again. “Yeah, okay. You still offering to drive?”
Smiling, I nod and rest my hand on his. “Of course. Come on, my car is right over there, unless you need me to carry you?” Why I said that last part, I have no fucking clue.
“I’m okay to walk.” He stands up and immediately loses his balance, falling back, and I catch him before he crashes to the bench again.
“I’m not so sure you are. I’ll hold on to you on the way. How about that?”
His gaze drops to where our bodies connect, his shoulder digging into my chest. “I guess it won’t hurt.” He licks his lips, and fuck, it’s hard to not kiss them again. I got a taste yesterday, and the day before, now I’m badly wanting to get a third. No. He said it himself, he isn’t thinking clearly, and I’m probably not either.
“Okay, throw your arm around my neck and I’ll lead the way.” He does as I suggest and I walk us the short distance to my silver Nissan. Opening the passenger door, I help him slide inside and then walk around to get in also. He has his seat belt on by the time I situate myself in front of the wheel. I start the car and pull out of the parking lot while he looks down at his phone.
“Doing okay still?”
“Yeah.” He gives me a half smile. Fuck, he’s cute. He really is. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice the first time. After all, I was in mourning, not blind.
“Good.” We’re both silent on the way to the café. He keeps fidgeting with his seat belt and I struggle to stop watching him. When we arrive, I help him out of the car, and we gain a few looks with him hanging on me until we reach a booth.
“Can I get you both something to drink?” a lady in a red apron asks, setting down a menu.
“Sure. Two waters please.”
Flower Shop Guy doesn’t protest. Or should I call him Sunshine, because that’s exactly what he is when everything starts to get too dark.
