“We just wanted to make sure she was okay”—her friend took a step back—“but it seems…well, that she is. So we can just, um, give you some privacy.”
Desperate, Shane shook his head. “No, no. It’s a good thing you came along. Bellamy hit her head, over there by the pole and I was just taking a look.”
Bellamy’s expression morphed into a glower before she averted her gaze from him completely.
“Oh, God, Bellamy! Are you okay?” The girl Shane hadn’t met, a short redhead, came rushing over to Bellamy, and the awkward circumstances of their run-in seemed to be quickly forgotten by her friends.
“I’m fine. It was a total idiot move, really,” she muttered, a swath of blond curls falling across her injured cheek as she tried to hide her face. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”
In the low light of the alcove, Shane could see the look of despair that crossed her pretty features, and he remembered the admission of her bad week. Bellamy opened her mouth, presumably to elaborate on what had happened, but he cut her off.
“It was totally my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I bumped right into her. Knocked her off course, I guess. She really needs some ice.”
Bellamy’s head jerked up in surprise, and her eyes narrowed in confusion for a split second before Shane looked away.
This was his out, and he was taking it. “So, if you two can wait with her, I’ll go get some ice from the bar.”
Translation: I’ll send someone back here with some, and then I’ll hightail it out of here as soon as Bellamy is taken care of. Not the bravest of exits, but he had no business getting within a nautical mile of a woman like Bellamy, let alone brazenly kissing her.
As Bellamy’s friends fussed over her, gasping at the mark on her face, he knew she was in capable hands.
He never should have kissed her. And judging from the way she’d glared at him and was now refusing to look in his direction, Shane wouldn’t be making that mistake again even if he wanted to.
He’d be surprised if Bellamy Blake would touch him with a ten-foot pole.
“Room service!”
Bellamy squinted at the clock on her bedside table and groaned. Now she knew what Wile E. Coyote felt like when the Road Runner managed to dump that anvil on his head in all those old school animated specials.
Oh, to be a cartoon so someone could erase it all.
“Jenna, it’s nine in the morning.” Bellamy nestled deeper under the covers, unable to ignore the marching band in her head.
“I know, but you slept for eight hours, so I wanted to check on you.” Jenna balanced a room service tray between both hands as she entered, silhouetted by the sunlight trying to breach the drapes in Bellamy’s bedroom.
Bellamy made a face, which she instantly regretted, because ow. “I told you two not to Google ‘head injuries’. Anyway, this”—she pointed to her cheek—“doesn’t count.”
Jenna cleared her throat gently. “Maybe you should bite the bullet and take a look at your shiner before you try to go that route,” she offered, placing the tray on the dresser.
“You’ve been taking drama lessons from Holly. I don’t have a black eye.” The smell of fresh coffee perked Bellamy’s senses to life, and she left the rumpled confines of her bed to inspect the tray.
“If you say so,” Jenna said.
Bellamy padded to the mirror over the dresser, her belly filling with a shock/dread combo as Jenna swung the drapes open and she caught sight of her face. Specifically, the inch-long purple bruise decorating her cheekbone just below her eye, and okay. That was it. She would never, ever try to look cool in front of a guy again. Who gave a shit what Shane Griffin thought, anyway?
Well, apparently she did, because she’d been so set on breezing past him that she hadn’t seen that stupid pole until it was too late.
And that hadn’t even been the most mortifying part of her evening. No, that honor went to the fact that he couldn’t have run away from her faster after their kiss.
Jenna sat down on the edge of the bed, recapturing Bellamy’s attention. “The bruise isn’t as bad as I thought it would be, considering how nasty it looked last night. I bet it hurts like a bitch, though.”
“No worse than my pride,” Bellamy muttered, examining the bruise for another minute before reaching for the pot of coffee Jenna had brought with her.
“Oh, good. You’re up,” Holly said, poking her head into the room with a smile. “I brought you a couple of things from the store. You know, for your head injury.” She held up a plastic bag that was full to the point of straining.
Bellamy laughed, because it was either that or cry. “That’s really nice of you, but it’s just a bump. Nothing a little concealer won’t fix.”
Holly—being Holly—wasn’t so easily deterred, opening the bag with far more enthusiasm than any one person should have at nine in the morning. “Motrin every four to six hours for pain”—she tossed the bottle onto the bed—“Disposable cold packs to reduce the swelling”—another toss—“And some electrolytes to keep you hydrated. The pharmacist said—”
“Holly,” Bellamy interrupted, her patience wearing thin. “I had a hell of a day yesterday. Could we please just drop the subject?”
Holly peered at her, unfazed. “Sure. I thought kissing the hot mechanic guy last night might’ve made things a little better, but I guess not. Was he a bad kisser?”
“No.” The need to deny that the whole thing even happened propelled the answer out of Bellamy before she heard its implications. Neither of her friends skipped a beat.
“So he was a good kisser, then? He looks like a good kisser,” Holly mused.
Jenna broke in, snagging a scone from the tray before sitting back on Bellamy’s bed. “I told you he’s hot.”
“I hate you both,” Bellamy muttered without malice. She should have known they’d do this. Hell, if the shoe was on the other foot, she wouldn’t hesitate to dole out a little friendly ribbing.
“We’re okay with that. You’re the only one of the three of us who scored last night. Come on! Dish a little,” Jenna said, scrunching up her nose.
“I didn’t score. To be honest, I think the whole thing was a mistake. And why do you look like you just bit into a lemon?” Bellamy took a long swallow of coffee, and the warming sensation helped take the edge off her dull headache.
“These scones are like hockey pucks. Go with the bagels if you value your life.” Jenna tossed the half-eaten scone back on the tray with a thunk.
“That’s what happens when you overwork your dough.” Bellamy shrugged, taking a cinnamon raisin bagel from the platter and tearing off a hunk. “Hey, toss that Motrin over here, would you?” It was as close as she would get to admitting that her head really did hurt.
“So, you’re not going to give up any details about your hookup with Mr. Goodwrench? Really?” Holly poured some orange juice for Bellamy to swallow the pills, looking disappointed.
“I would, but there aren’t any. I told you, it was a mistake,” Bellamy mumbled around the Motrin.