Page 12 of Just a Little Crush
“And what type of woman did you think I was?” she says, her head cocked as little as her neck brace allows, her mouth pressed into a tight line.
Shit. This is a trap.“I don’t know. “I scratch the back of my neck and stare at the floor to buy myself some time. “I guess I just didn’t know you had a darker side, that’s all.”
“Well looks can be deceiving,” she says, glaring at me.
What the hell does that mean?
7
Bec
I’mawakelongbeforeI consider getting out of bed. Yesterday I thought I felt OK, but today everything hurts. I must have been running on some adrenaline high. Now that it’s all out of my system, I feel heavy and achy all over. A headache pounds out a new thought with every thump.
My beautiful car.
I didn’t make it back to work.
Was everything OK with the wedding?
I slept in Rennie’s house.
I’ll need to find another car for deliveries.
I need to open the shop this morning.
Who will make the sandwiches?
There’s so much to do.
I slept in Alistair Frickin Rendall’s house.
It’s safe to say the past twenty-four hours have been some of the worst of my life. Rennie rescuing me, Rennie hearing my audiobook, Rennie coming to my hospital bedside, insisting I come home with him, helping me to the bathroom, and then into bed. Having your crush remove your trousers because you can’t manage by yourself is the opposite of sexy. I feel embarrassed, and pathetic.
I’ve never been a good patient. I’m far too stubborn and strong-willed to let anyone do anything for me, and I certainly never ask for help. Being here is so far out of my comfort zone, even if I will accept that I’d have lasted ten minutes at home on my own before calling him back.
I try to sit up, then wince, momentarily forgetting that my wrist can’t take any pressure. I looped the sling off over my head in the night because I was worried I’d somehow strangle myself with it. There’s a knock at the door and I check I’m decent. Phew, no rogue nipples or underwear on display.
“Come in.”
“Good morning.” He leans against the doorframe, careful not to cross the threshold. Showered and dressed in dark grey trousers and a tight black t-shirt, the sight of him looking so fresh and clean makes me feel like a swamp thing in comparison. I must stink, my hair probably still has leaves in it, and my breath is almost certainly toxic. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a tree fell on my car and nearly crushed me to death inside it,” I say without a hint of sarcasm. His face is deadpan. “Too soon?” I grimace.
“I’m just making breakfast. Shall I bring you some in bed or do you want some help to come through for it?”
“Just give me a few minutes and I’ll come through.” I’d like to make myself a little more presentable before sitting down to breakfast with the man of my dreams.
“Call out when you’re ready and I’ll help you. I don’t want you moving on your own any more than is absolutely necessary.” He turns to leave and I roll my eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Bec.”
How does he do that?
Much to my annoyance, he’s right. It’s tough to sit up in bed, tougher to get out of it. I manage to use the crutches to hop through to the bathroom and pee, but I can only use my one good hand, and I panic about toppling over the whole time. Then Rennie would find me on the bathroom floor, pants around my ankles, covered in my own piss. No wonder he finds me so irresistible.
Oh wait, that’s just in my head.
I consider crawling through to the kitchen, dragging my ankle behind me, but turning up to breakfast like the girl from The Ring would probably be even worse than accepting a little help.
After flushing, I lean my hip against the sink to wash my face, then rake my fingers through my hair. Left-handed toothbrushing is a mountain I’ll have to climb later. Dried blood has crusted around my hairline. I don’t remember bleeding, but when I part my hair, sure enough, there’s a tender spot with a scab already forming.
