Page 99 of Don't Make Me Beg
The voice catches my attention, standing out among the others. I swear, I’m basically Pavlov’s dog when it comes to the way I’m tuned into this man.
A smile stretches over my lips as I glance down to see Luka, standing beneath the lift, holding a paper bag and an ice-cold lemonade. My stomach flutters with butterflies at the sight of him. This is the second time he’s surprised me, showing up with lunch in hand, and my stomach growls in anticipation.
“Did you hear me? I said I brought lunch. Get your ass down here already,” Luka calls from beneath me.
“Be right there,” I call back. “I’m just going to finish this top corner.” I stand on my tiptoes, reaching my roller to get the awkward corner so that this section can dry while I take a break. It’s hard to see what I’m doing because the sun’s shining right in my eyes, but I do my best to cover the rough surface. A trickle of sweat rolls down my temple, and I use the back of my hand to wipe it away.
I feel something bump against my hand, and then there’s a loud buzzing near my ear. It flies around my head, then moves to the other side, but it’s so fast I can’t see where it went.
“Woman, if you don’t get your ass down here and eat this sandwich, I’m going to come up there and feed it to?—”
Luka’s threat gets cut short when a fat, winged demon of a bug dive-bombs my face. It zigzags wildly, refusing to retreat no matter how frantically I swat at it. I’ve watched enough horror movies to recognize the undeniable look of murder in its eyes, and since I’m the only one up here, I’m afraid I’m the next unlucky victim.
Before I have time to defend myself, it dive-bombs me, its fat, fuzzy body bumping into my cheek, and I scream, realizing it’s a huge bumblebee.
“Scout, what’s going on? What’s wrong?” I hear Luka, but with the way this bee is attacking me right now, it’s all I can do to shield myself.
Bees aren’t aggressive, I remind myself, but the persistent insect proves otherwise. I wave the paint roller, hoping I can bat it away at the very least. Maybe it’ll take a hint that I’m not the enemy here.
I make contact with the giant insect, feeling the weight of its fuzzy black-and-yellow body as I swing the roller like a bat, sending it flying. “I’m sorry!” I cry out—genuinely hoping I didn’t hurt it, but mostly just relieved to have survived the attack. I press the button to lower the lift, only to spot it again—charging straight toward me like a fighter jet on a suicide mission.
The bee barrels straight into my face, and I scream, just before a sharp sting lands right on my upper lip. Heat flares instantly.
By the time the lift reaches the ground, Luka’s waiting with a look of concern—until he sees me.
“Holy shit, Scout! What happened to your face?”
“Here, hold this on your lip. It’ll help with the swelling.”
I look down at the pack of frozen hot dogs Luka’s holding. “Eww. I’m not icing my lip with frozen hot dogs. Don’t you have a normal ice pack?”
A look of genuine confusion crosses his face before he places the pack of hot dogs in my hands. “Why would I need an icepackwhen I have frozen hot dogs? Don’t look down your nose like that. These work just as well to get the job done, and unlike an icepack, they’re biodegradable and aren’t full of chemicals that could kill you if ingested.”
I furrow my eyebrows. “I feel like there’s more to this story…”
“Guy chewed through an ice pack as a baby, swallowed half the contents before mom realized he’d bitten a hole in the bag,” he says with a shrug. “He had to have his stomach pumped, and it scared my parents so bad that they started using frozen food from then on out. In my experience, frozen hot dogs work the best.”
“Huh. That actually makes sense.”
Luka rolls his eyes, but I can see the hint of a smile on his lips. He may be trying to hide it, but there’s an undeniable look of concern on his face as he holds the frozen hot dogs against my lip. “The bumblebee really did a number on you. Are you sure you’re not allergic?” He holds my head as he studies my rapidly growing lip.
“I don’t think so… I’ve never been stung before.”
After the bee incident, Luka insisted I let Dr. Stone check me out to make sure I wasn’t having a severe allergic reaction.
It was actually pretty cute, the way he freaked out and rushed me over to his office, demanding that it was an emergency.
According to Dr. Stone, I wasn’t showing any signs of a severe allergic reaction, but he told Luka to keep an eye on me for the next few hours and let him know if I developed any more symptoms.
He said the swelling was likely due to the heat, possibly related to blood flow issues from working in the sun all day. And of course, lips are a sensitive area to be stung in.
That much I can confirm. It feels like I got stabbed with a branding iron, and my poor lip is so swollen, I’ve gone from “bad lip injections” to full-on duck face. Fortunately, my throat andtongue are fine, and I can still breathe, so we’re calling it a win. Nothing a little Benadryl and ice can’t fix.
After we got home, Luka helped me shower, insisting he needed to get in with me to keep an eye on me in case I lost consciousness. I was disappointed when he didn’t take off his underwear; he even batted my hand away when I tried to cop a feel. And now he’s got me propped up on the couch with my feet in his lap while he tries to find something for us to watch.
I can feel the Benadryl starting to kick in as I blink my heavy eyelids, feeling relaxed. As silly as I think Luka’s being, it feels nice having someone so worried about me. I can’t remember the last time someone took care of me like this.
Even as a little girl, my mother wasn’t very nurturing. If I was hurt or sick, she’d give me medicine and make sure I was seen by a doctor, but she didn’t hold me or snuggle me the way Luka’s parents did. And I doubt Jimmy ever noticed if I was sick.
