Page 30 of Pretend You Love Me
“We’ve got to go,” he says, grabbing my good arm.
“Where?”
“To Paul’s. He’s back in town. We need to get him to look at your head.”
Chapter Seven
Brooklyn
He practically drags me out of the library. I give Rose another quick thank you and a goodbye on my way out. It’s still pouring, so we both make a run for the truck. He cranks up the heat once we’re inside.
“Sorry, I forgot my umbrella,” he mumbles.
“Oh, did you forget to check the weather?” I say with a sweet smile.
He just holds up his middle finger with one hand while clutching the steering wheel with his other hand.
Paul’s office is close. If it weren’t pouring, we could have walked. Once we’re parked, I hop out and jump over puddle after puddle as I run inside. It’s no use though. By the time I make it inside, I’m soaking.
I look down. My dress is plastered to my body and nearly transparent. I’m not wearing a bra. I might as well not be wearing a top, and I’m freezing so my nipples are on high alert.
Good grief.
Just as Kip’s eyes fall over my body, I cross my arms over my chest. Not quickly enough though by the look on his face.
“Oh, you two are drenched,” the receptionist says, standing up.
“Hate to ask this, Sylvia,” Kip says. “Can I get another shirt?”
“Two in one day. That must be a record.”
She comes back with a shirt for him and a pair of scrubs for me.
“How kind, but I don’t want to take your things,” I say.
“Kip will return them. No worries,” she answers.
I take the scrubs from her. “Thank you.”
She points down the hall. “Bathroom’s right through there.”
I nod and disappear into the bathroom. Once inside with the door shut and locked, I peel the dress off and wring it out in the sink. I think a gallon of water came out. I pull on the scrubs and wring out my hair before I leave.
Kip’s waiting with the new shirt on. Too bad. I liked the wet t-shirt look on him.
“Come this way, darling,” Sylvia calls.
Kip and I follow her back to an examination room. There’s no reason for Kip to be in here with me, but I don’t ask him to leave. It’s comforting having someone around that I know. Or sort of know. Even if it’s someone who’s looking at me like he’s trying to murder me with his eyeballs.
“You must be Ginger,” Paul says, walking in the room and extending his hand.
I shake it. “And you must be Paul.”
“That’s me. Sorry I wasn’t available earlier. I heard Melvin patched you up.”
He leans in to examine my cut and then whistles. “Goddamn it.”
Both Kip and I jerk our heads up.
