Page 2 of Liv Parrish

“Lifesaving first aid, huh? It doesn’t look that bad to me, but if you’re looking for a name to curse when I stick you with my needle, it’s Liv.” Then she winks at me, and my heart does that weird arrhythmic thing again.

“Liv,” I test the name on my tongue. “Short for Olivia?”

“Nope, it’s just Liv. My mom had a thing for single syllable names.” It suits her. I like it, and I’m starting to realize I like her too, for the way she’s smiling now without any sign of nerves or shyness, for her calm energy and gentle, caring nature, for her strength and resilience. Although we should probably talk about her bringing strange men to her apartment in the middle of the night. Maybe she was expecting her man to be here? That thought bothers me more than I care to admit, and I need to know for sure, before this goes any further.

“And who should I thank for the shorts?” I wasn’t going for subtle, but her reaction surprises me, because just like that the smile disappears from her face and she looks away, inspecting the plastic container again. She starts rummaging around in it before turning her attention back to me.

“No one you need to worry about. We should get started, it’s getting late and I’m tired.” I feel like I should say something, but I have no idea what, so instead I sit down while Liv puts on a pair of surgical gloves and then kneels in front of me and starts tending to my wounds.

We don’t talk while she works, her concentration solely on what she’s doing but she’s humming softly under her breath, what sounds like an old Counting Crows song. I distract myself by studying her features while she’s close. Hair the color of dark honey, huge brown eyes flecked with gold, and pink lips that look so incredibly soft they pull my gaze like a magnet on her heart shaped face. Her hands are small and her actions confident, like she does this for a living. She’s also quick and methodical, and soon she’s working on the last wound, a gash in my side that luckily doesn’t require stitches. However, when she touches me to apply a few butterfly stitches, I go rigid and hiss out the breath I was holding between my teeth.

“Shit, sorry. I’m almost done, promise.” I almost laugh at the thought of her thinking she hurt me, because I don’t think anyone has treated me this gently since Mom used to patch me up after one of my many scrapes as a child, but admitting the truth seems like a bad idea. So, I keep quiet, clenching my jaw and staring off into space until I hear her snap off her gloves and start cleaning up.

Now comes the awkward part. I should leave, I know this, but the truth is I like it here in this small apartment with this woman who is calm and practical and knows how to stitch up knife wounds without flinching. At the very least I should tell her my name and assure her that I’m not a threat, but she hasn’t asked for any details and maybe that’s better, even though I worry about her being this trusting.

“Your ribs are going to be tender for a while, but they don’t feel cracked or broken. The only thing I’m still concerned about is your concussion. Do you have anyone you can call to come get you, who will be able to stay with you tonight? It’s important that they check up on you every few hours.” Somehow, she makes her questions sound necessary whereas mine sounded like a clear attempt to gain information on her relationship status, which I’m still not clear on.

“I live alone actually, but I can call a friend to come get me. You’ve done enough. I’m incredibly grateful for your help.” I scoot forward on the sofa to get up, but she lays a hand on my knee, stopping me in my tracks before removing it just as quickly.

“It’s late and the weather is miserable. You can stay here if you want. I don’t mind, and you really do need someone to check on you. You can call your friend in the morning, unless you need to let someone know where you are now?” I search her face for any signs that she’s just being polite but find only genuine concern staring back at me so I accept the invitation but decline the offer to make a call. I was only due to check in tomorrow anyway, so no need to get everyone riled up just yet. Like she said, it’s late and the weather is miserable.

After a quick but delicious meal of toasted cheese sandwiches and soup, Liv helps me up and we prepare to turn in for the night. After taking turns using the bathroom, she points me to the bed and starts walking in that direction, pulling the covers back once she gets there.

“You’ll be more comfortable here. Your body needs the rest to heal so you should take the bed.” I stop in my tracks a few feet from her, hating the question for how suggestive it sounds but needing to ask anyway.

“Where are you going to sleep?” I’m not going to make assumptions, but even knowing as little as I do about her, I know she’s not going to make any moves on me, not that I would mind having her close to me in her bed. The owner of the shorts I’m wearing doesn’t seem to be an issue for her, or maybe that’s just me trying to justify staying the night when I could have just as easily made that phone call.

“I’ll take the sofa, so I’m close enough if you need me.” If you need me … The words spin around in my head, but it’s my body that reacts, each nerve standing at attention, practically reaching out for her even though I know that’s not what she meant.

“No, that’s not right. You’ve already done so much for me. I’ll take the sofa. It’s comfortable. I’m sure I’ll be okay there.” But she’s shaking her head before I even finish talking.

“You’re too tall for the sofa. I’ve slept there plenty of times, so I’m good. You need the rest, so stop arguing.” I can see her getting worked up and she’s so damn cute standing up to me even though I tower over her. I can almost imagine her stomping her foot in annoyance like a preschooler, and now I’m thinking of children with her eyes and my energy. What is this woman doing to me?

“Okay, how about this. We both sleep on the bed.” I hold up a finger when she opens her mouth to protest. “You said you’ll need to check on me during the night. This way, you don’t even have to get up. I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out the moment my head hits the pillow, so you don’t have to worry about me trying anything, but I want you to know I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. You just say the word and I’m out of here.” I hold my breath while she considers this for what feels like an hour but is probably a few seconds. I feel my pulse speeding up, and again I find myself wondering about the owner of the shorts. Just because she refuses to acknowledge him, doesn’t mean I should.

Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, but before I can say anything, she replies: “I suppose there’s enough space for both of us. Come on, we can both use some sleep. Let’s get you settled.” Gently taking me by the arm, she guides me to her bed and waits patiently while I get situated before pulling the covers over me.

To say the last week of my life has been a shitshow, would be a colossal understatement, but despite my injuries and exhaustion, I don’t fall asleep right away. In fact, now that we are both lying side by side in Liv’s bed, far removed from any physical threat or danger, I feel wide awake, my body and senses wired and alert. Liv has still not asked my name or anything about what happened to me, which seems strange. Women are generally nosy, right? Always asking questions, eager for the details. At least, that’s been my experience in the past. However, I get the impression she’s the exact opposite, content to keep to herself and not get involved in other people’s business, not because she doesn’t care but because she’s private and doesn’t want the same scrutiny turned on her. Or maybe she just doesn’t want the drama that’s part of other people’s lives. Selfishly, it makes me want to tell her every dirty detail of my life because the truth is I do want her to reciprocate, and I believe she’ll be able to handle whatever I tell her. Maybe it’s her calm manner, the way she didn’t freak out when she found me in the alley, or the way she tended to my wounds without any fuss.

“I thought you were going to pass out right away. Is everything okay? Are you in a lot of pain?” She’s lying on her side facing me, one arm tucked under the pillow under her head and the other resting above the covers. I’m lying on my back, but I turn my head to look at her. Fuck, she’s beautiful; if her face was all I got to look at for the rest of my life I’d die a happy man. I could literally stay like this forever. Her face is so close to mine, completely open and without guile, just flawlessly smooth skin and the most alluring full lips. Large brown eyes study me just as closely. My mouth lifts into a smile of its own accord.

“I’m okay. The pain’s not too bad. Just processing the last few days, I guess.” She doesn’t smile back at me, just stares at me intently as if she might get a glimpse of my secrets that way rather than outright asking for them. I don’t mind, I like her attention on me, but this is dangerous, because I could easily get used to having her this close to me. I don’t like complications in my life, don’t have much time for them either. I have my work and my family, those related by blood and those I chose to be in my life years ago, and that has not left much room for female companionship, not to mention any kind of relationship. There’s no story of past heartbreak or betrayal, no specific reason for staying single. I just want it to mean something when I spend time with a woman, not just a fleeting connection. In short, I want the one, not the one of many.

I must have fallen asleep because when I open my eyes I’m alone in the bed. It’s still dark outside and a quick look at the clock on the small side table tells me I’ve only been asleep for little over an hour. I get up as quietly as my injuries will allow and look around, finding Liv asleep on the sofa under a quilt that looks handmade and about as old as she is. Her hair is loose now, spread around her on the pillow and I find myself staring at her again. Yeah, it sounds creepy, but I know I won’t get the chance to do so once she wakes up. I should have guessed when she relented so easily on the sleeping arrangements that this was her plan all along, and I find myself smiling yet again. I seem to be doing a lot of that around her, not that I’m a grump, but opportunities to be playful have been few and far between recently, especially with women. I resist the urge to snoop through the apartment to look for the answers I didn’t get earlier, but stumbling around in the dark would be a bad idea. Instead, I use the bathroom and then go back to bed.

Liv woke me up a few times during the night to check on me and my concussion. Now it’s early morning, the sun is only just shading the sky in purples and pinks and she’s in the kitchen making breakfast, causing my mouth to water at the smell of bacon wafting through the small apartment. I have to keep reminding myself that I’m merely a guest here, not even that if I’m honest because by rights I should be nowhere near this apartment or this woman. This is not my life but it’s so easy to imagine waking up to it every morning. I must have hurt my head more than I realized, because it all seems so appealing right now.

Liv plates up our food and sets it on the counter that separates the kitchen from the living area. We don’t talk while we eat but it’s not uncomfortable. Quite the opposite. Once we’re done, I thank her and attempt to do the dishes, but she shoos me back to the sofa while she cleans up. Afterwards, she brings her plastic container over and puts on a new pair of surgical gloves.

“I’m just going to look and make sure there are no signs of infection. You should try and get to a doctor as soon as possible though, make sure there aren’t any issues I missed.” I sit still, bracing for her touch. I don’t say anything about going to a doctor because I’m not going to lie to her. I’ll get checked out, but it won’t be at some fancy doctor’s office in the city. I have my resources and they are more than adequate.

“Where did you learn all this stuff? Are you studying to be a doctor or something?” I don’t know why I asked. It’s not like we’ve shared any personal information before. Hell, she still doesn’t even know my name. However, before she can answer, she grazes her hand over the gash at my side and I hiss out a breath, the same as last night.

“Shit, sorry.” Her expression is closed off and it feels as if she’s trying to put some distance between us, not physically because she is still kneeling in front of me, but something feels different this morning. Besides, I hate the idea that she thinks she caused me pain, so I decide to come clean.

“You didn’t hurt me, Liv. You’ve seen the wound, compared to the others. It’s just,” I huff out a breath, positive I’m going to regret admitting this, “I’m sort of ticklish.” The words pour out and her eyes shoot up to mine, wide with astonishment.

“Ticklish?” I give her a lopsided grin and a nod before responding.

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