Page 8 of Sustain

A silence falls heavily and awkwardly between us.

It’s a well-known fact around the world I’m sure, that I don’t know how to flirt. I don’t flirt because I don’t know how. Plain and simple. My attraction to people is usually a cerebral thing, not a stomach-flipping kind of thing. If someone can keep up with me in an intelligent conversation, and hold their own, that is hella sexy to me. I’m not usually swayed by the combination of a sexy smile and a to-die-for British accent.

This is new.

That’s not to say Ian isn’t intelligent. Quite the opposite. Whenever we’ve seen each other in the past, bantering with him has always been fun. But for some reason, today, right now, there seems to be an undercurrent of some kind flowing between us that I don’t recognize. I’ve never felt something like this before with anyone.

It suddenly strikes me that he’s the whole package. I’ve never seen the whole package in person.

And, wow, I’m getting ahead of myself. It must be the pain meds making my brain go wonky. I’ll need to be careful around him, or I’ll say something I’ll end up regretting when I have a clearer head.

“Mackenzie?” Ian’s voice slices through my internal thoughts. “If you keep staring at me like that, I’m afraid I’ll start blushing.”

“You’re already blushing,” I say without thinking.

Fuck. Mackenzie, what the hell?

That makes the flush in his cheeks deepen even further, and he looks a little tongue-tied.

“Shit, sorry,” I say quickly, wishing desperately I’d be able to pull the words back from the air between us. As I attempt to sit up, a flash of pain shoots through my leg and up into my hip, causing me to cry out.

Ian immediately is at my side, hands on my shoulders, easing me back into the pillows.

“No, no,” he says gently. “You’re perfectly right. I am a bit flush. It’s unnaturally warm in here, don’t you think?”

I stare at him for a second, not sure how I want to play this. Do I go along with this obvious lie and deflection? Or call him out on it since I happen to feel the same?

Remembering that I’m on heavy pain medication, I side with the lie. Who knows what a clear head would think?

“It is very warm in here,” I say, avoiding his gaze. It’s already been established I’m a horrible liar, but we need a release valve on this conversation. “Sorry, whatever is in that juice box they’re pumping through my veins is making me a little loopy.” I look up at the IV bag hanging on a pole beside the bed, mostly to avoid his gaze on me.

We’re both stuck in some staring/avoiding contest that feels like cat and mouse, and we keep changing places. I must admit, it’s kind of thrilling.

And I need to stop this. Right now. I can’t pursue anything with Ian. Especially at a work event. It would be completely unprofessional.

“Speaking of work…” I start, sneaking a glance at him.

“Were we?” His eyes shine with mischief. It’s fucking adorable.

Stop it.

“No, but we probably should,” I risk another look up at him. Damnit, he’s smiling. “Are all of your guys here?”

He nods. “Yes, they got in last night. Late, as always, but they made it. What about your flock? All present and accounted for?”

“Same. They came in last night too.” My brow furrows as it dawns on me that I’ll need to work through this festival with an injury. I’m positive my leg is broken, which is going to make getting around, especially in the snow, a nightmare. I don’t know that I can do it.

Suddenly I’m overwhelmed, and everything hits me at once. My eyes start tearing up again, and I quickly bury my face in my hands to hide my crying from Ian.

The level of unprofessionalism I’ve been displaying is outrageous.

“Hey, hey,” he says, sliding an arm around my shoulder and pulling me into him. His spicy cologne pierces my senses and makes me feel instantly comforted. “I get it. You’re worried about being able to work the festival. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll help take care of everything.”

It’s then that the enormity of my predicament really washes over me. This isn’t just about working the festival. I’m going to be at the mercy of any and all help I can get to even function. There’s no way I could ask Ian to help with all of that.

The tears increase in voracity, and I can feel my shoulders shake. I wish desperately my best friend, Chelsie, was here. She’d know how to help and do it without being asked.

Ian kisses the top of my head and pulls me tighter against him, and I don’t fight it. Before this, we’ve only been physical in a friendly way – genial hugs hello and goodbye at events, playfulslaps on the shoulder or arm. I think we may have even done the handshake and peck on the cheek.

---