Page 11 of True Honey
“I ruined your shirt,” I said again, my focus drawn to the horrible stain down the front of it.
“I have too many anyways,” he mused, his eyes focused on the cut and not on my worry as he chucked the towel over his shoulder, bloody and stained. I swallowed tightly, trying to eat the pain that whiskered at my palm. The cut wasn’t bad but there was a small piece of glass wedged into the meaty part of my hand.
“One second,” he said, fishing keys out of his pocket and hitting the button on a fob that lit up a Jeep in the parking lot. Silas let go of my hand and darted across the lot, digging in the back of the vehicle and returning with a small red pouch of first aid supplies.
“Lucky you keep that on you,” I said in a small voice.
“Oh that’s not my car,” he took my palm again and unzipped the pouch with his teeth so it laid out flat. He bumped my other hand with it so I’d take it for him. “Tucker is a worry wart, he’s the only one with an emergency pack in the trunk.”
“And you have keys to his car…” I said confused as he picked around the pack for something.
“Worrywart, I have the spare set because he misplaces things in the locker room,” he laughed and clicked together a pair of tweezers. “He even keeps fire blankets in the trunk. Who does that? It’s like he expects his car to explode on the side of the road—”
I gasped as he tugged the piece of glass out of my skin without warning.
“You’re okay,” he whispered and held up the glass to the light before chucking it away from us. He lifted my palm into the light that hung over the side door and gave it a good look. “I think you can keep this hand,” he looked up through his lashes and offered the smallest smile that still managed to crinkle the lines around his eyes. “I’d get a second opinion though, I’m not a very trustworthy doctor. Every time we meet, I smell like whiskey.”
“You’re right, you do.” I smiled back. “Thank you, it feels better already. I really am sorry about your shirt—”
“The only thing I’m upset about is you apologizing,” Silas said arching his brow. “I’m more worried about your hand. Are you okay?” He asked me and I gave him a small nod as he pressed a long square bandage to my palm. “Make sure you fill out a report for Kayla.”
I need a job to fill out an incident report, I thought.
“Are you a lawyer too?” I tried to joke, but it came out dry.
“Funny,” he said and shook his head. “Hilly’s can be a lot after a win, what happened wasn’t your fault.”
“I sure didn’t grab my own ass,” I grumbled under my breath.
“And here I thought you were throwing yourself at me,” he said, pressing down all the edges of the badges with his finger. When he was done he took the kit back and held on to it. “Better?” He asked, finally looking back up at me.
“Better,” I said.
He stepped back and patted himself down dramatically causing me to laugh a little. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“I think I’ve got some customer satisfaction surveys around here somewhere,” he mumbled with a smirk. “Hey uh,” he stopped and looked up at me, “I’m not trying to pry but what's with the car?”
I looked over my shoulder at it crammed with boxes and suitcases.
“We haven’t found an apartment yet,” I said, just trying to be polite.
“We?” He asked, clearly fishing for a boyfriend, maybe a husband. It was evident on his face.
“My son, August.”
SHORE
“He prefers Auggie,” she said a moment later. Her red hair was tied up in a messy bun with small strands of hair that were being shoved around in the breeze. I thought the day drinking had made her seem prettier than she was, but I was wrong. She was even prettier sober.
Focus.
She had said,her son.
When Arlo had vetoed the backlog of dates, it hadn’t really left much room for candidates. It didn’t take long for me to come up with the idea that maybe I shouldn’t be focusing so much on the seriousness of the relationship but more the show. The board wanted a happy family, which I couldn’t give them before Grandpa died. But I could make themthinkI had one.
If I could trick not only the board but my Grandpa and Mother into believing that I had a fiancé or a wife, maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to get the papers signed. It felt wrong, lying to them. It made my skin itchy at the thought of them finding out and everything blowing up in my face.
It was quickly eclipsed by the thought of my father getting his hands on Harbor, the foundations, the university scholarship funds, the teams… I had to do everything I could to keep that out of his slimy, rotten hands. So I decided that striking a deal with a woman would be easier than marrying one. Easier said than done when most of the women in Harbor either hated my playboy guts or screamedgold digger. Mom would see right through a woman like that. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that fresh meat had strolled into town at the perfect opportunity. However, I hadn’t considered the idea that the perfect candidate might have her own responsibilities.
