Playing Dirty

by Tiffany Snow

  Idly, I opened my Magic 8 Ball app on my phone. “Should I quit?” I asked it, then shook it and waited as the answer floated to the top.

  Signs Point to Yes.

  Well, that answer wasn’t a big surprise, but what would I do if I quit? It felt almost like I would be breaking up with someone—with Parker—which was just wrong and weird on so many levels.

  I was turning this over in my head as I hurried back from lunch. I’d had to make a detour by the dry cleaner’s to pick up a batch of Parker’s suits and now waited impatiently for the pedestrian signal to change.

  Standing on the curb in a group of people, I watched the traffic whiz by. The cookie I’d gotten at lunch was burning a hole in my purse. I dug for it. Why wait for mid-afternoon when I could have a cookie right now? Especially when I was thinking about a man I shouldn’t be thinking about.

  Something slammed hard into my back and I stumbled. To my horror, I lost my balance and tripped off the curb, landing on my ass in the street—and directly in the path of an oncoming truck.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  There was no time to get up and run, no time to scream for help. I could only watch in terror as the truck barreled my way.

  Horns blared and tires squealed. I squeezed my eyes shut, instinctively curling into as small a ball as I could, waiting for the bone-crushing impact.

  Glass and metal shattered around me. A scream was ripped from my throat, lost in the sounds of rending metal on asphalt. There was a searing pain in my shoulder and a burning sensation, then a quiet that seemed near silence after the cacophony that had gone before.

  I didn’t move, too stunned and afraid to dare hope it was over, that I had survived.

  I heard voices, people shouting.

  “Hey, lady! You okay? Can you hear me?”

  Cautiously, I opened my eyes. What I saw directly above me was the underside of a truck, a scant inch between my head and the metal above. Somehow, I’d squeezed between the road and the undercarriage. My shoulder hadn’t been so lucky to stay utterly out of reach, though, and I could feel the wet, sticky flow of blood. Something had cut me.

  “Help me,” I croaked, my voice clogged with tears and shock. “Please, help.”

  Hands pulled on me and the asphalt scraped at my clothes and exposed legs, but I didn’t care. I wanted out from underneath the truck.

  “Holy shit, you’re one lucky lady,” a man said once I was clear. Another two men had helped get me out and they urged me to sit down as sirens screamed in the distance.

  “Here’s your purse,” someone said, setting my bag beside me. Parker’s suits were in a tangled mass underneath the front tire of the truck. “Is there someone I can call for you?”

  I nodded and tried digging my phone out, but my hands shook too badly and the blood on my arm had run down to my fingers, making them slippery.

  “Take it easy. I’ll help you.” There was a man crouched down next to me, a construction worker, judging by his orange vest and hardhat. He pulled out my phone. “Who should I call?”

  “I-in my f-favorites,” I stammered. My teeth were chattering from the cold. “Boss.”

  The guy looked at me strangely, but hit the button and dialed. After a moment, Parker must have answered. “Yeah, not sure who this is, but there’s been an accident and the lady wanted me to call you.” A pause as the sirens got louder so it had to be hard to hear. “Down here on Madison and Clark. You close by?” The man glanced at me. “I’d get down here as quick as you can.” He ended the call and handed me back the phone just as an ambulance screeched to a stop.

  I was flanked by two EMTs almost immediately. Then more ambulances arrived and people were helping the driver of the truck and the drivers of two other smashed cars he’d hit when he’d swerved to avoid me.

  They moved me to sit in the back of the ambulance and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders to ease my shivering. They took my vitals as they peppered me with questions, shined a light in my eyes, asked me who the current president was, what year I’d been born, blah blah.

  “From what witnesses say, you’re very lucky,” one of the EMTs said. “You need some stitches in your arm and have some bumps and scrapes, but otherwise, you’re going to be just fine.”

  “Sage!”

  I knew that voice and looked up to see Parker barreling toward me, his face stricken. When he saw me, his expression eased somewhat, then he caught sight of the blood.

  “What the hell happened? Are you all right?” he asked, stopping at the edge of the ambulance’s open door.

  I’d held it together until then, but seeing him made the floodgates open as relief poured through me. Tears blurred my eyes and I reached for him. He had me wrapped in his arms in an instant, and the warm strength of him eased the residual terror of only an inch separating me from becoming roadkill.

  The EMTs told him the extent of my injuries and what had happened. Parker’s grip on me got progressively tighter as he listened.

  “… amazing story, that she’s not hurt worse,” the EMT said. I knew we were all silently thinking “or dead.”

  Parker turned to me, his hold loosening. “So you just tripped and fell?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No. I’m not that much of a klutz. It-it was almost as though … someone pushed me.”

  “Someone pushed you?” Parker echoed. “Are you sure?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I mean, I guess it could’ve been an accident. It happened so fast …” I was getting blood on Parker’s suit and winced at the stain. Doubtful that would come out, and I’d just gotten back on his dry cleaner’s good side. Of course, Parker also didn’t know that several thousand dollars’ worth of his clothes was currently decorating Madison Street.

  The EMT glanced behind him. “The cops are here,” he said. “I’ll send one over to talk to you.”

  Parker still had his arms around me, one hand stroking my hair—the bun I’d had it in was a distant memory—as I rested my cheek against his lapel. I was in no hurry to move. The guy had bandaged my arm to stop the bleeding until I could get to the ER for stitches and for the moment, I just reveled in the miracle that I was still alive.

  “Call Ryker for me,” I said to Parker. “Please.” I needed to see him, feel his arms around me.

  Parker didn’t say anything, though his body stiffened. I twisted slightly so I could look up at him.

  “I don’t have his number,” he said.

  “My phone is in my purse.”

  His arms were slow to drop from around me, but he dug inside my purse and pulled out my phone. A moment later, it was at his ear. His eyes met mine.

  “No, it’s not Sage,” he said curtly. “It’s Parker. Sage has been involved in an accident. She’d like you to come.”

  There was a pause as he listened. “She’s injured, but will be all right,” he said. Parker gave him our location, then ended the call.

  “He’s on his way,” he said to me.

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you want me to stay as well?” His face was carefully blank.

  “Can you?” I asked.

  Parker’s expression softened and he nodded. The shivering started again so I pulled the blanket tighter around me. Without a word, Parker stepped forward and drew me close to him. I sighed. The blanket was okay, but nothing helped more than the feel of his arms around me.

  It must have been fifteen minutes or more before I saw Ryker coming toward us through the crowd. He caught sight of us and I straightened.

  “God, Sage, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” he said when he was close. Parker eased a few feet away as Ryker grabbed me in his arms to hug me. I gasped in pain as he inadvertently pressed on my shoulder. He immediately let go.

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” he said. “I just … I hadn’t expected …” His words cut off as he kissed me, a quick, hard press of his lips against mine. He said nothing else, just rested his forehead against mine.

  I felt better now, and it was strange
, in a way. I’d needed Parker, but something inside hadn’t eased until Ryker had arrived, too. Even as I knew it shouldn’t be that way, near-death experiences had a tendency of making you not lie to yourself.

  Ryker’s thumbs brushed my cheeks, his breath mingling with mine. I reached out my hand behind him, searching, and felt Parker’s slip into it. I gripped it tightly. Now I could breathe properly again.

  After a few moments, Ryker cleared his throat and stepped back. His gaze caught on Parker. “Why are you here?” he asked.

  “Ryker—” I began tiredly. I didn’t want them to get into it. Not now. But Parker interrupted me.

  “They called me,” he said. “I’m a block away. Of course I came down to see if I could help.”

  “Was anyone else hurt?” I asked Ryker, figuring he’d know.

  “The driver of the sedan has a broken leg and wrist,” Ryker said. I saw his gaze drop to where Parker held my hand. “The rest are just banged up a bit. But I want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, then the pain in my shoulder reminded me that I wasn’t. “Well, almost, I guess.”

  His eyes narrowed. “A couple of witnesses are saying that someone pushed you. That it wasn’t an accident. These corners have street cams. We’ll pull the footage and see what we find.” He glanced over to where a group of cops were talking and I could tell he wanted to go talk to them, but was torn because he didn’t want to leave me.

  “You can go,” I said. “I know you have to work. I just … I needed to see you.”

  “You need stitches. Are they going to take you to the hospital?”

  “I’ll take her,” Parker said.

  Ryker didn’t like that at all, judging by his expression, but what could he say? He couldn’t take me and I’d feel ridiculous riding in an ambulance to the hospital for mere stitches.

  “Thanks,” he said at last, the word sounding forced from him. He turned back to me, his palm gently cradling my jaw. “I’ll be by when I get off, okay?”

  I nodded and he kissed me again. A longer kiss this time, and while it was always a toe-curling experience to be kissed by Ryker, this time so blatantly in front of Parker, it felt more akin to a dog marking its territory. Not actually peeing on me, of course, just as a figure of speech. Because, eww.

  When we came up for air, I saw that Parker had given us some space, walking a few yards away and turning his back to us. I looked up at Ryker, the blue of his eyes so startling beneath his dark lashes.

  “I’ll see you soon,” I said. He took a step away, but I hooked his T-shirt with my fingers and tugged him back. “Thanks for not getting all weird about this,” I quietly added.

  He nodded, shot a quick glance at Parker, then he was gone.

  I slid from the back of the ambulance until my feet touched the ground, then had to grab hold of something as my knees wanted to buckle. Parker was suddenly beside me.

  “Hold on to me,” he said, sliding an arm around my waist. I hooked my uninjured arm over his shoulder.

  “My car’s not far,” he said. “I’d go get it and come to you, but this traffic won’t let me anywhere close.” It was true. The accident had snarled traffic in all directions.

  “You have a four o’clock meeting today,” I said.

  “I’ll reschedule.”

  “It’s with Wuther Investments,” I reminded him. “We set up this meeting weeks ago.”

  “Then we’ll set it up again,” he said. “I’m not worried about it.”

  He was so close, I was absurdly glad of the pain in my shoulder that didn’t allow me to dwell on how much I liked the feel of his arm around me.

  We made it to his car without incident, and the wait in the ER wasn’t that bad. Finally, we were ensconced in a room, waiting for a doctor to do the stitches. I was apprehensive, drumming my nails on the table and fidgeting.

  “What’s the matter?” Parker asked. He was leaning against the wall, arms and ankles crossed. “Does it hurt? Because if you’re in pain, I can go find someone—”

  “I just hate stitches,” I cut him off. “And they stick a needle right in there to numb it and …” I shuddered. I wasn’t a huge fan of the ER anyway, or needles. I mean, who was?

  The trace of a smile graced his lips. “I’ll hold your hand,” he promised. “And if you’re good, maybe they’ll give you a lollipop.”

  I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched. A joke was nice after the harrowing accident. The memory made even my half-smile fade, and Parker seemed to sense my mood.

  “Why did you call me?” he asked out of the blue.

  I frowned, not following his train of thought. “What do you mean?”

  “The guy who was helping you,” he said. “You had him call me. Why? Why not call Ryker? Or your mom?”

  I was momentarily speechless, staring at him. I hadn’t really thought about it. I’d nearly died, literally faced death coming at me going forty miles an hour, and it hadn’t occurred to me not to call Parker. When the guy had asked, I hadn’t thought twice.

  But now, with him looking at me and waiting for an answer, I felt foolish. Of all people, I’d called my boss? How … weird. No wonder that guy had looked at me all strange. He’d probably thought I’d hit my head, telling him to call my boss.

  “I did call Ryker,” I said, stalling. “Or, I mean, you did for me.”

  “But you called me first.”

  Shit. He wasn’t letting this go.

  “I-I …” My stammering made his eyebrow lift before I finally came up with something. “You were the closest,” I blurted. Yeah, that sounded good. And was true, actually.

  “I was the closest,” he repeated, and the doubt in his voice made me double down on my fib.

  “I knew you’d be able to come right away because you were in your weekly with Rafferty from Legal.”

  “So?”

  “So that meeting never goes past an hour.”

  “That’s because an hour is all I can stand with him.”

  “I know.”

  “So you’re saying that’s the only reason you called me?”

  His persistence made me wonder what he wanted me to say. “Why else?” I asked. “It’s not like you’re my in-case-of-emergency person.”

  “Who is?”

  “Who is what?”

  “Your in-case-of-emergency person.”

  “My parents, of course,” I said. Then curiosity made me add, “Who’s yours?”

  “You. Of course.”

  And that was the second time I’d been struck dumb by Parker in the span of mere minutes. Before I could think what to say, the doctor walked in.

  “So I hear you’ve had quite a lucky day,” he said to me, pulling up the little rolling stool to sit on and the tray with all the needles. He snapped on latex gloves and I gulped.

  “Yeah, you could say that. So, um, how many shots do you think you’ll need to do to numb it?” Those shots always felt as though they took an excruciatingly long time.

  “Probably three or four,” he said, looking at the slice in my arm.

  I winced, my nails digging into the thin foam cushion of the chair I was sitting on. The doctor picked up the needle and I took a deep breath.

  Parker was at my side, prying my hand from the chair and folding my palm inside his. I looked up at him rather than the needle, flinching as the medicine went into the wound. Gripping Parker’s hand harder than I probably should have, I focused on his eyes, the clear purity of the blue that was a deeper shade than Ryker’s.

  He crouched down next to me. “So I found out Deirdre is dating someone,” he said.

  That got my attention. Deirdre was Parker’s cleaning lady and cook who came by his apartment daily. Her cooking was phenomenal, and I knew this because I’d snuck a couple of bites a few times at Parker’s place when he wasn’t yet home from work and I’d been dropping off his dry cleaning or files he needed. I’d met her a few times, too.

  An older lady in her mid-sixties, she ha
d boundless energy that I’d kill for, and with her eight grandkids, she needed it. Her husband had passed away nearly a dozen years ago and she’d seemed perfectly content to fill her days with her kids, grandkids, and taking care of Parker’s apartment. To hear she was dating someone was juicy gossip indeed.

  “How do you know?” I asked him, wanting all the details.

  “She wanted to know if she could make something ahead of time for Saturday night and if I’d put it in the oven. She said she had plans Saturday or she’d come by and do it. When I asked her what plans, she blushed and said she had a ‘man friend’ who was taking her out.”

  I laughed at the “man friend” descriptor—it sounded very Deirdre-ish—and shook my head.

  “Well, how about that,” I said. “Good for her. Did she say who he was?”

  “No, but I have it on good authority that he’s my butcher.”

  “Marco?”

  Parker nodded.

  “How do you know?”

  “He told me.”

  “I bet they see each other all the time,” I guessed. “She’s always getting stuff there for you.” Hmm. The Italian butcher and the cleaning grandma … it sounded like a Lifetime movie.

  “Kinda what I thought,” he said. “Think he’ll give me a discount if things go well?”

  “Doubtful.”

  Parker sighed in mock disappointment. “Yeah. I didn’t think so either.”

  There was a tugging sensation on my skin and I realized the doctor had finished all the shots to numb the area and was now doing the stitches. I hadn’t even felt it. I glanced over at him, but Parker caught my chin lightly with his fingers.

  “Don’t watch,” he said. “Look at me instead.”

  Okay. Twist my arm.

  He had on a deep navy pinstripe suit today with a crisp, white French-cuffed shirt. Silver cufflinks I’d gotten him for Christmas last year winked in the harsh fluorescent light. His tie was a gorgeous navy and silver diamond pattern with tiny paisleys in the center of each diamond. A busier tie than he usually wore, which meant he’d been in an exceptionally good mood this morning. Perhaps breaking up with Monique suited him just fine.