And because I’m a lame girl at this moment in time, I frown even deeper. Because I’m totally cute and insanely fuckable. Which makes me feel awful to even think. I’m relieved he isn’t propositioning me or thinking I’m that type of girl. I’d smack his sexy mug before spitting in it if he were. I’ve met those guys in this town. The ones who think women are there for nothing more than to spread their legs and provide an easy, open pussy. And I’ve met those girls too. The type who will sleep with anyone anytime for their shot, leaving their dignity somewhere in the dust in the name of their ‘dream’.
That’s not me.
All I want is to go to college, graduate with a degree in psychology so that I can go on to get my master’s in school psychology and be a school counselor. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be.
“So you admit you do want something from me?” I manage, still a bit dazed.
“That’s not how I meant it, though you look disappointed that I’m not trying to fuck you.”
A ghost of a smile hits my lips for the first time. “And you’re insanely arrogant. That’s not what my frown was about.”
His eyes lock on mine, the raw intensity in them making me want to squirm and look away even as I force myself not to.
“So you admit you are disappointed,” he quips, throwing a variation of my words back at me. I blink, taken aback by his suggestive tone. I open my mouth to say… something. I don’t even know what, but the way he’s looking at me has any retort freezing on my tongue.
His molten eyes sweep over my banged up and broken form. They linger on my lips first before meticulously gliding down my chest, over my erect nipples that salute him through my flimsy gown. They drift down over my belly, and I feel just a bit pathetic.
Bloody and fractured on a hospital bed.
If his eyes weren’t gleaming with something extra that speaks directly to my long-forgotten pussy, I would think he was mocking me. His eyes find mine once more and that cocky, take no prisoners smirk re-affixes itself to his lips. “Since you’re still not denying it, I’ll be honest and say I wouldn’t mind it. In fact, I have no doubt I’d enjoy the hell out of every second of it. You’re so outrageously beautiful no man stands a chance. But no, I’m not trying to screw you. I’m not helping you so I can hold it over your head later.”
“If it’s not about sex, then why are you doing this?” I press.
He blusters out an aggravated sigh, but too damn bad. I didn’t ask him to stay. I didn’t ask him to do any of this for me. So yeah, I think I’m entitled to know the motive behind his actions that up until this point, seem completely altruistic.
Which is just a life fallacy right there. Everyone knows that.
“I already told you, you needed my help and I helped. That’s it. I don’t take advantage of women. Especially women who are vulnerable. I don’t lie either, and everything I’ve done for you is on the up and up. I do not want anything from you other than for you to get better.”
I stare dumbfounded. Blinking. A lot.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Who does something like that for a total stranger? Did you hit your head too?” I question. “Did they check you out? X-ray and CT and whatever the hell else they do?”
“Um, no. My car has airbags—not that they even needed to deploy—and is twice the size and weight of yours. It was a tank hitting a Matchbox car.”
Right. What a perfect description of what I endured tonight. That’s exactly how it felt.
Still… “I’m confused. How did you know I couldn’t afford to pay for any of this?”
“You told me all about it in the car as I drove you here. You were half-conscious and rambling. Non-stop.”
“Oh?” It comes out as a question, considering as far as I’m concerned I didn’t return to consciousness until just recently.
“Yep. You told me how you’re a waitress and temp as an admin for a law firm. You asked if I had heard of them and I said I haven’t. I have eaten at Lavender where you work though I’m positive I’ve never seen you before.” A darkness pulls at his features again before he just as quickly clears it away. “You also mentioned how you don’t have any health insurance.”
Well, shit.
I stare at him blankly. The heat rising up my face and the rapid sounds of my beep, beep, beep, are quickly giving away my embarrassment. Despite that, I soldier on, hoping I didn’t give him the tell-all book of my life. “Anything else?”
“You said you couldn’t believe it was me. That you’re a big fan of the band and our music.”
“Oh.” This time it comes out in defeat.
Keith clears his throat, looking a tad uncomfortable for the first time, but we’re interrupted by the doctor who comes in to give me a final exam and go over home care directions with me. I am to have someone to stay with me for the next twenty-four hours at least. They need to check on me while I’m sleeping and wake me up a few times to make sure I’m doing okay because I have a mild concussion. I am to cover my cast when I shower, and he’ll give me the name of some orthopedic doctors who can remove it when it’s time and who will set me up with physical therapy.
I listen. I even smile. And when he hands me my discharge paperwork, I take it with a shaky hand. Keith hasn’t left and I don’t know why. He did his good Samaritan work. And when the doctor leaves, I tell him as much. His only response is to smirk. Again. That seems to be his thing and I can’t find it in me to complain about that.
“How are you getting home?”
“A cab or an Uber,” I say, though I know I’ll be taking the bus.
“Come on. I’m driving you home.”
I shake my head. “You really don’t need to.” And I’d really rather you not see where I live.
“Humor me.”
I growl under my breath but follow him as we leave the emergency room. I just don’t have any more fight in me. I’m hurting and exhausted and all I want to do right now is go to bed for the next decade.
I tell Keith my address and he punches it into his GPS with a deep frown. While he winds his way out of the hospital and out onto the streets, I shoot off a quick text to my bosses at Lavender, telling them what happened and that I’ll have to miss my shift today. Then I send one to my temp agency. It doesn’t even take three seconds for the main boss at Lavender, Gerald, to blow up my phone.
I peek in Keith’s direction, but his eyes are on the road.
“Hello?” I answer, my heart starting to pound. Gerald has never called. Never once.
“Maia, yes, hi. It’s Gerald. I’m so sorry to hear about your accident,” he shouts to the point where I practically have to pull my phone away from my ear. Or maybe it’s just that my head is pounding, and every sound right now feels piercing.
“Thank you, sir. I’m sorry about my shift today. I’m not sure—”
“Listen, Maia, I’m going to cut to the chase here,” he interrupts, and I know what’s coming before he even finishes his statement. My stomach sinks. “We can’t have you working in the restaurant with a broken arm. Not only can you not waitress like that, but it’s a huge liability for us.”