Page 126 of Branded
That was all I had in me.
Thankfully, her food eventually came and because I was sitting next to her and couldn’t resist the crispy golden brown deliciousness, I stole a mozzarella stick with the lightning-fast reflexes of a professional hockey player, earning a glare in return for my antics, though she didn’t comment.
And eventually, she wore me down.
I found myself joining in her conversation, not just listening to her talk at me, biting back my chuckles at her funny quips and stories and antics, but actually talking.
Somehow, actually enjoying myself.
And paying for her meal before she could, even though that sent her back to glaring.
For a few moments anyway.
Because then she murmured a “thank you” that I felt deep behind my shield and went back to regaling me with her stories and quick one-liners.
Then the plates were empty, and she was yawning, telling me she should head home.
I stood, put out an arm to help her down from her stool.
Touching. Again.
My fingers tingling. My nerves prickling. My dick?—
“And I?—”
She broke off, her face going pale the moment her feet hit the floor.
“Beth?” I asked, reaching out with my other arm, wrapping it around her when she wavered.
“What’s—”
She took a step.
Her eyes rolled back.
And…she collapsed.
Two
Beth
“Beth!”
It was bright and loud, and I was dizzy.
Hell, I’d been so dizzy all the time lately.
Gentle hands were coasting over my body—up my arms, over my throat, cupping my face and shaking my head lightly.
“Beth, sugarpie,” came Raph’s voice. “Wake up.”
“Honeybunch,” I managed, groaning and reaching a hand up, rubbing my head.
“What?” he asked.
The song was playing through my head, which wasn’t really a surprise. I heard music in my mind all the time—oldies like the Four Tops ballad that Raph calling me sugarpie had triggered, new pop songs by badass women, 80’s rock by dudes who had better hair than I had. Pretty much anything with a good beat and lyrics that had me bobbing my head and something that pulled me out of myself and into a life that wasn’t my own.
Another shake. “Beth. Honey, open your eyes.”
