Page 19 of You're so Bad

“No,” he says flatly. “I can take it.”

So I get started. He flinches but holds steady, which makes me think redder thoughts about that foster father of his.

“Where’d you learn this?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“YouTube.”

Not true. There wasn’t YouTube when I was a kid, but if I told him that, he probably wouldn’t believe me. Kids these days think that shit’s been around forever—all the information in the world at your fingertips. The way I learned it is that my father made me stitch him up after he got in a fight. But my answer seems to calm the kid.

I finish up quick as I can, then put some Vaseline over it and bandage it up. I give him a couple of Advil, which he washes down with the purple milk from the cereal bowl. Stitching up his arm didn’t make me feel like yacking, but for some reason that does.

“You keep that bandage dry today,” I say. “And start cleaning the wound twice a day tomorrow.” I cock my head at him. “You got somewhere you can do that?”

The fact that he’s here suggests he doesn’t, but he nods.

“You have a phone?”

Another nod. “Pay as you go.”

“Give it to me.”

He scowls. “No man. I’m not giving you my phone.”

“I’m gonna give you my number. You call me if you get into any scrapes. And if you need somewhere to stay, you can crash on the couch.”

I should probably ask Mrs. Ruiz before offering, but if I lived my life by probablys and should’ves, shit would have worked out differently for me.

He rubs his nose again. “You some kind of perv?”

“Depends who you ask. But it’s women I like.” A corner of my mouth hitches up. “Hell, I even have a girlfriend.” If Shauna gets to play pretend, so do I.

“You don’t look like the kind of guy who’d have a girlfriend,” he says.

“I’m not, usually. But banging random women is another thing you should stop before you get too old.”

He gives a slight nod. “Okay.” Then he pulls the phone out from his pocket, wincing a little.

I program in my number, text myself from his phone, then give him a look. “I mean it, kid. You stay here if you need to. Mrs. Ruiz took everything she cares about, and I don’t have anything worth shit, so there’s nothing you’re going to make a buck off stealing.”

Or at least I don’t have anything worth shitnow. I left a few good tools in that truck.

He scowls at me. “I wouldn’t take anything from her.”

“I notice you didn’t say anything about stealing from me,” I say with a snort.

He shrugs.

“I appreciate the honesty. Now, you’re free to sleep on the couch, or grab some of my shitty paperbacks to sell for a few nickels, but I’m going back to bed. Try not to get yourself killed, all right? I’m not a medical doctor.”

My mind supplies:I only play one at Sten parties and weddings.

“I thought you were going to call the police about the truck.”

I snort again. “Sure, but let’s be honest, they’re not going to give half a shit about it, and I’d rather not deal with the chuckleheads they have working on the late shift. I’ll call in the morning.”

It also means he’ll have somewhere to spend the rest of the night.

“All right,” he says flatly. “If I need to come back, do you want me to just break in again?”

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