We were both smirking again. “And here I thought I was being discreet.”
“About as discreet as a bullhorn. You know, you’re much more pleasant when you’re not hosing me down with testosterone.”
“Well, you asked me to stop, and I’m not one to hose anyone down with testosterone unwilling. Not when I have plenty of volunteers. It’s a veritable wet T-shirt contest when it comes to my testosterone-hosing.”
She shook her head.
“Too far?”
She almost laughed, I could feel it. It was all of a sudden the single thing I wanted from the universe. She shook her head again and slipped off the stool, taking my chance with her.
“The bathroom is this way, right?” She pointed to the back of the shop.
“It is. Second door on the right.”
“Thanks.”
She touched my back as she slipped past me, a simple gesture, one that probably meant nothing, but I felt it, felt her through the pads of her fingertips, through the cotton of my shirt. I’d never thought that chemistry between two people could be tangible. But there was also something strangely deeper than just the physical. Don’t get me wrong — I wanted her, bad. But it was more than just the itch, the opportunity, more than something that would pass once acted upon. I had a feeling once I got a taste, I wouldn’t be able to get her out of my system for a long, long time.
The thought gave me pause.
I hadn’t been so attracted to someone in ages. In fact, I never remembered even being this attracted to Liz, not like this. Like I was fire and she was crisp, clean air, and if I couldn’t breathe her in, I’d disappear.
I had no idea what had come over me.
I pulled in a deep breath to clear my head, watching her as she walked past, pretty sure she was intentionally avoiding looking at me and fully aware that my eyes were on her. But just as she passed under a strip of lighting, one of the canisters slipped loose and fell, hitting her squarely in the head.
I was out of my seat and halfway to her before she hit the ground.
Annika
One minute, I’m fleeing the clutches of Hairy, and the next, I’m dead.
No, not dead, I realized as my head thumped low and dull, though everything was still black. I groaned and peeled my heavy eyelids back to find myself in the clutches of Hairy anyway.
Worry creased his brow, which was low, his eyes green and dark and fierce. His face was close to mine, closer than we’d been before, and I realized his arms were around me. His very large arms.
“Oh, thank God,” he muttered. “Annika?”
He’d said my first name again, and with his arms around me, with the smell of him in my nose, I felt dizzy. So dizzy.
I groaned again — I couldn’t speak. His hand was in my hair, inspecting the side of my head, and I realized I’d been hit.
“Are you all right?”
“Did I get brained by a light fixture?”
His worry softened as he smiled, just a little. “You did. Hopefully you signed that liability waiver.”
“Ha,” I breathed roughly. “Better me than you.”
And just like that, the smile was gone. “Don’t say that. Can you sit up?”
“I …” I assessed my body and thought I could, but I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want him to let me go. I was so tired, and his arms were so big and strong, and he smelled like soap and laundry and— “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, pushing him away gently before I lost my mind completely and kissed him or something. I hadn’t noticed before how full his lips were, and I wondered absently if he was a good kisser.
I sat all the way up, but pinched my eyes closed when I got the spins.
“You okay? Somebody get her some water,” he called out to the peanut gallery of crew members, the timbre of his voice low and annoyed at the necessity of the command, it would seem.
I pressed the heel of my palm into my eye socket and pulled in a long breath. “I’m okay, I think.”
He cupped my face. “Open your eyes, Annika.”
I did as I was told, and he was close again, even closer than before, and he searched my eyes, tilting my face up toward the lights.
“Your pupils aren’t dilated, so that’s good. Feel woozy?”
“Uh-huh,” I breathed in affirmation, my eyes on his, and I felt hypnotized, like a snake charmer and a cobra. I giggled, glad I was the cobra.
He frowned, brow dropping. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
I frowned right back, annoyed. “I said I was, didn’t I?”
He shook his head. “Stubborn.”
I moved to try to get up, and he grabbed my elbow. When I was on my feet, I pulled away, but the second the support was gone, I wobbled.
He caught me again. “We need to get you to a doctor.”
“I said I’m fine. God, are you always this pushy?”
“Yes,” he said, still looking all broody. “Come on, we’re going to talk to your boss.”
“Jeez, fine,” I conceded, since my head was ringing like the Liberty Bell. I even leaned on him a little as we made our way upstairs, past his apartment and into the control room. You know, for balance. Not because he smelled good and clean and good. Or because he was big and strong and burly.
It was then that I realized that I most definitely had a head injury.
Laney looked up from her computer, her eyes bouncing between us.
“A light canister knocked her out, and I think she might have a concussion.” Joel said, his words rumbling through his chest and into me like an earthquake. I giggled again at the thought, wondering where Joel would rank on the Richter scale.
Laney’s eyebrows rose. “I think you might be right.”
The room started to spin again, and my stomach clenched, sending my breakfast charging up my esophagus.
“Oh, God,” was all I managed as I pushed away from Joel, launching myself toward the tiny trashcan next to Laney’s desk. And then, I hurled.
When it had passed, I looked up to find Laney gaping. She handed me a tissue.
“Thanks,” I croaked as I took it and wiped my lips, swiping the involuntary tears from my cheeks.
“Head to the doctor and get yourself home.”
I nodded, knowing there’d be no arguing with the contents of my stomach in the trashcan between us.
“You’re just gonna send her by herself?” Joel shot, clearly upset at the idea.
“She has a driver.”
“Is there anyone you can call?” he asked me.
I shook my head, not wanting to bother anyone with something so stupid.
“I’m going with you.”
Both Laney and I swung our heads in his direction. “Oh?” I said.
“I think it’s a great idea,” Laney said, and my head pivoted again so I could stare her down. She smiled, looking like a traitor if I ever saw one. “Thanks, Joel. Just keep any receipts for anything you buy and I’ll reimburse you.”
I looked back to Joel, annoyed and cagey and woozy. “I thought you had stuff to do today?”
He shrugged and knelt, taking my arm and hand to help me up. “I’m not supposed to be in the shop today. Seems there may be some potential hazards I wasn’t aware of before this morning.”
“Convenient.” Once up, I leaned into him again, grateful to have him solidly next to me.
“Can you call your … driver, or whatever?”
“I’ve got it,” Laney answered for me and handed over my purse, which Joel took. “Take care of our girl.”
“I will,” he answered, and the resoluteness in his voice did something to my uterus. My brain shouted at me to stop being such a freaking ninny. I didn’t need anyone to take care of me.
So I said, sounding way more bratty than I meant to, “I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”
I nearly missed the first step, and he caught me, squeezing me in his grip before I’d moved much more than my feet. “Right, princess. You’re doing just fine on your own.”
I made a noise in dissent but let him guide me down the stairs anyway.
Within a few minutes we were in the car — Joel ran back into the shop to get a couple bottles of water. Literally ran, or jogged, I guess. I watched his broad shoulders, muscles bulging as they expanded and contracted, then the serious bend of his brow as he slipped in next to me. I thought it was funny — Joel, serious — and stifled another giggle. He didn’t take anything seriously. His serious face looked more grumpy than anything.
I leaned back in the seat, chin lifted, eyes closed, trying to get a grip on my brain.
“Want some water?”
I didn’t open my eyes, but extended a hand, closing my fingers around the cold plastic when it touched my palm. “Thanks.” I twisted off the cap and took a drink.
“Gonna puke again?”
“No promises either way.”
“Gonna keep fighting my help?”
“Probably.”
He chuckled, and I cracked my lids, turning my head to look at him. He really was handsome underneath all that hair and ink. I knew in my head that he was much older than me, twelve years older, in fact. But he didn’t look older. I mean, he looked older, but not older. The only indication that he was a couple years shy of forty were the smallest of creases next to his eyes, lines that said he laughed, and often.
I found myself smiling, and he looked over, smirking when he caught me.
“You’re pretty funny when your brain’s furry, you know that?” he asked.
I shrugged.
“I bet you’re a riot when you’re drunk.”
I shrugged again. “I only drink vodka. Pretty much all other liquor makes me take my clothes off.”
One of his dark eyebrows rose. “I’ll be sure to stock up on whiskey, in that case.”
“Okay, first — stock up all you want because I won’t drink it. Second, stop hitting on me.”
“Whatever you want, princess.”
“And stop calling me princess.”
“Sorry, that one’s non-negotiable.”
I huffed and fixed my head back where it had been, closing my eyes again, knowing it was useless to argue, even if I had the energy for it. I really did feel terrible. Not to mention confused — I wasn’t mad at him at all. Mostly I just thought he was funny and cute. Obviously you have a head injury, I told myself. But I liked that he pushed back, didn’t back down, didn’t run away. He stepped right up, spit in his hand, and got ready for the fast pitch.
Baseball metaphors. That’s how you know you’ve got a concussion. I don’t even like baseball.
It was just because he was being nice, going all caveman to take care of me. Pretty sure it was an autonomous response, something my genetics screamed for like fangirls. Double-crossing, anti-feminist DNA.
We hit a pothole, and I groaned when my head bounced against the headrest.
“Drink some more water,” he said, not asking.
I sighed and obliged.
“And try to stay awake.”
“That’s a myth,” I mumbled.
“What is?”
I opened my eyes and lolled my head over to look at him again. “Not letting someone sleep when they have a concussion. It’s a myth. Sleep is good for healing, so long as there aren’t any other major symptoms, like dilated pupils.”
“How about barfing?” It was a challenge.
I gave him a flat look.
“I’m just saying. Try to stay awake.”
My head thrummed, but I didn’t feel nauseated anymore. I was tired though, my body heavy and mind slow, that kind of tired that could let you sleep anywhere. I breathed slow, hands in my lap, telling myself to stay awake or have to converse with Hairy. But I felt myself drift away, unwilling, unable to stop myself.
Chapter 5
CLEOPATRA, QUEEN OF DENIAL
* * *
Joel
* * *
I WATCHED HER FROM ACROSS the bench seat, studying her breathing, but when her hand slipped off her lap and into the seat, I knew she was out.
I reached for her, clasping her hand in mine. “Annika. Wake up.” My other hand slipped into the curve of her neck.
Her eyes opened slowly. “Hmmm?”
“Come on, princess. Stay awake. Don’t make me resort to singing show tunes.”
She smiled faintly. “You know show tunes?”
“Do I know show tunes,” I said with a laugh before clearing my throat. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh-klahoma where the wind goes sweepin’ down the plainnnnn. Where the wavin’ wheat can sure smell sweet, where the wind comes right behind the raaaaaaaaain.” I bellowed the lyrics, knowing full well I was tone deaf.
She gaped, eyes bright for the first time since she’d been knocked out. “Oh, my God.”
It took all I had not to laugh. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh-klahoma, Ev’ry night my honey lamb and I, sit alone and talk and watch a hawk makin’ lazy circles in the skyyyyyyyyyy.”
And then, she laughed. It was a glorious sound, rough and raw, unbridled. The gift was one I knew not many received. I checked off the box next to making her laugh and made a new mental checkbox — make her do it again.
“I cannot believe you.”
I shrugged, realizing then that her hand was still in mine, her long, white fingers draped over my palm. “My mom loved old musicals. I’ve seen a million of them, watched them with her ever since I was a kid. I think that’s where I learned to really love music, honestly. Or not. I dunno. Our house was never quiet, Mom couldn’t stand it. She always had something on, classic rock from the 70s, they’d say now. At the time, it was just the radio.”
“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
I smirked. “You have no idea.”
“Except that you’re tone deaf. I would have guessed that.”
I sighed. “I wish I wasn’t. My mom could sing like an angel.”
Her face softened at the mention of my mother. “I can’t imagine losing my mama. I know it’ll happen — they’re already in their seventies. I’m trying to convince them to retire, but it’s no easy task. They never planned for much of anything.”
I didn’t question her openness, assuming it was her concussion. “You’re close?”
She nodded, eyes closed. “They’re my safe place. I don’t have to be anyone but me when I’m around them.”
I didn’t press her, sensing that if I pushed, she’d lock it down again. I squeezed her hand. “Stay awake, or I’m switching to Music Man.”
That elicited a soft laugh as the car came to a stop. I glanced out the window and saw we’d reached the hospital.
“Thanks,” she said to the driver as I opened the door and helped her out, slipping an arm around her waist.
I tucked her into my side, and it felt good, taking care of someone. It had been a long time. A very long time. Liz and I were rarely tender, more intent on destroying each other than taking care of one another. I wondered if this was what everyone else felt in their relationships. Not like they were a dead end, a brick wall, but an open road. If it was possible to really be in it together.
I saw my brother and Ramona together and knew it was. Or Patrick and his girlfriend, Rose.
Maybe I just thought it wasn’t for me. That it couldn’t be me. That I wasn’t made for it. But if I were being honest with myself, I’d admit that the idea of repeating what I went through with Liz scared the hell out of me.
But for the first time in more than a decade, I felt the desire to try. Whether it was with the girl pressed into my side, I didn’t know. But I was starting to hope it would be.
* * *
Two hours later, we pulled up to her brownstone in Park Slope, a ritzy neighborhood in Brooklyn. I couldn’t help but gape at the beautiful old building, wondering how she could afford such a place, then wondering exactly how much television producers made. She was able to walk on her own at that point, and was sure to tell me so as she climbed out.
“Seriously,” she insisted. “I’m fine. My
driver can take you back to Tonic.”
I slid across the bench to get out, but she barred my way. “Is anyone home to take care of you?”
“My cousin and her daughter will be home in a few hours.”
“A few? What time?”
“Six.”
I gave her a look. “That’s five hours from now. The doctor said someone has to wake you up every few hours if you go to sleep.”
“I’ll set an alarm.” The words were firm.
“I’m staying.”
Her jaw clenched, and she let out a breath. “I really appreciate all your help today, honestly, but I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can,” I said as I slid back to my door and climbed out, smiling at her over the roof of the car, in part because she looked so pissed.
“What the hell are you going to do in my apartment for five hours?”
“Make sure you don’t have a subdural hematoma. Maybe read. Probably go through your medicine cabinet.”
“Joel,” she warned.
I walked around the car to the sidewalk where she stood. “Listen, if something were to happen to you when I could have stayed, I’d never forgive myself. That’s the honest truth. So, for my own lousy peace of mind, can I please sit on your couch while you sleep until your cousin gets home?”
She was quiet while she thought it over, her eyes cool and hard. “All right.”
“Thank you.” I relaxed considerably.
She sighed and turned for the stairs to her building, fishing in her bag for her keys.
“Nice place,” I said, following.
“Thanks. My uncle owns a bunch of properties and lets us stay here for free.”
“Must be nice.”
She smirked over her shoulder at me. “It is.”
When she opened the door, I was even more surprised. The house was gorgeous — dark hardwood, crisp, white walls, what looked like it might have been original crown molding. The property had to be worth a couple million at least, a mind-blowing amount of money in my world. After living for seventeen years in the same apartment — and in a different apartment my entire life before that — living in this sort of luxury felt mythical.
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