Do Not Respond

by M R Field

  I blink away the sweat that drips down my forehead to the right side of my eye and shake my head quickly to knock any other drops back, the breeze hissing against my legs as I turn the last corner, my building complex in sight. My backpack feels hot against my spine, so I wiggle slightly to shift the heat a bit. Leaning to the side, I reach into my left pocket for my pass when a dark sedan moves too close to me and I grip my handlebar to swerve, narrowly missing his bumper.

  “Watch it, dickhead!” I shout. My hands shift to steady my bike as it shakes under my body, jolting me against the road’s edge. I stare the back of the sedan down; a green P-plate catches my attention, and I curse again. Typical fucking teenage probationary drivers.

  The underground car park complex comes into view, and I move to grab my key card again for the secure car park. Flicking my pass against the sensor, I turn my wrist and spot that I’m running later than I wanted. Stupid sleepless night had me struggling to get out of bed this morning. I knew I should’ve run the dog ragged.

  “Brace” continues to sound in my ears and, rather than take the buds out, I keep them in to try to calm down. It is always a risk riding to work, but I have just as much right to the road as those idiots. Spinning around the corner, I lift off the seat to ride to my secured bike rack. The key tag swings in my hand. I quickly look at my jacket pocket, slowing my speed to tuck it away, as I zigzag to the side of the car park in the direction of the vacant space amid the line of parked cars. As I approach the rack, my head lifts, and I see a figure step out suddenly between the two last cars. My momentum sees me glide, even though I’ve started applying my brakes. I’m still too fast to stop.

  “Watch out!” I yell as I grip my brakes, the force too fierce. My bike runs straight into the back of her, knocking her to the ground as my feet clip out of the cleats, toppling me off to tumble next to her. My hip crashes into the pavement, sending a searing pain up my side. The music stops as the buds tear out of my ears, and I shake the bike off, not caring for my own injury, too worried that I’ve hurt the pedestrian as I scramble over to her.

  “Oh, shit. I’m sorry; I didn’t see you there. Are you okay?” I look over her body and instantly recognise the blonde curls tucked under a red cap. Leticia.

  Her eyes burn back at me for a moment, and then her hands push off from the ground to turn her body to the side. She shifts to a sitting position. She lifts her knee up, her skirt riding high, and I have little time to admire the curve of her calf as a stream of blood cascades down her leg. She hisses at the movement, looking down at her bloody knee, her back shifting awkwardly.

  “What the hell are you doing, zipping in here like a bat out of hell?” she snarls, reaching her bag that’s fallen to her side and shuffling angrily through it. Plucking a tissue out of it, she dabs at her knee gently, but the little tissue does nothing to curb the blood flow. She’s going to need it cleaned as soon as possible.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you, honestly. Some idiot almost clipped me, and I thought I was going to be late.”

  “You’re the boss, dude; like you need to worry if you’re—,” she reaches into her bag with her free hand to bring out her phone, “—ten minutes late.” Her hand stops it’s dabbing while she stares at me, her eyebrow raised, judging. “That was really dangerous.”

  She dumps her phone back in her pocket as I continue to crouch down by her, too worried to move.

  “Are you okay?” Fuck, how many times do I need to ask? Of course, she isn’t. My hand moves to reach for her knee, but I stop when her gaze hardens. Yep. I wouldn’t want me touching her leg either.

  “I need to clean this up, but I don’t think I’m too bad,” She huffs, the bracelets on her wrist jangling, and I wonder how I didn’t notice their noise earlier. Oh, that’s right. Headphones. Blocking out all noise.

  “I have a first-aid kit in the office bathroom on the wall.” I stand, wincing at the pain in my side. I hold out a hand, and she stares at it for a moment before looking down at her bloody hand. She turns and digs into her bag frantically, until she pulls out a small bottle and squirts the antibacterial gel to clean the mess off her hand.

  “Come on, Mary Poppins,” I tease, “before you pull out a baseball bat and conk me on the head with it.”

  Her face tilts up quickly, her eyes widening at my joke. I stiffen and cringe at the pain in my side. It’s not usual for us to speak like this. Or really, for me to not be a condescending arsehole.

  She grabs my hand, and I slowly help her rise, watching for signs of injury, but she seems okay.

  “You okay?” I try to keep the concern out of my voice, but fail. She pries her hand from mine to reach down for her bag, and I continue to hover like a fool.

  “I’m fine.” She hoists her bag over her shoulder, but her eyes dart to the side. “You’re hurt too, though.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” I lie.

  “Come on, tough guy. You might be fine, but not sure about your baby.” Her chin tilts toward the side. I follow her eyes and look over at my bike, lying against the concrete. My gut pinches, as I’m sure I’ve scraped a bit of the paint off him.

  Leticia steps forward and winces, and my teeth clench. I really hurt her.

  “It’ll be fine,” I say, my voice tight, and I walk over slowly, adjusting the strap of my backpack on my shoulder to distract me from kicking the bike that caused this mess. I lean down and hear a hiss behind me, and I ignore my own pain to tend to her.

  Wheeling the bike over to the rack, I call over my shoulder, “Don’t move. I’ll help you in a jiffy.”

  She snorts, and I shake my head, still as stubborn as ever.

  I secure my bike and turn back, not realising she’s directly behind me. “I thought I told you to stay—.”

  “I’m not that hurt, or an invalid,” she scolds, cutting me off. “You’re the one trying to be tough!” I look at her leg, as a thin trickle of blood flows down, trailing near the dried up one. “Yuck!” Her lips pinch as she surveys the cut.

  “Right, let’s go.” I hit the button of the lift with more force than is necessary.

  We spend the next minute or so in stilted silence. My shoulder brushes against hers as we watch the floor numbers illuminate one by one. I clear my throat and glide my thumb along the strap on my backpack. I never thought having an office high up would be so damn stifling. Not once are we interrupted by anyone else getting on. Karma is pushing into my space again, making every breath and the smell of her perfume linger like a potent magnet.

  The elevator finally pings, and we shuffle out, my arm gently holding her elbow to guide her into the office. My team members sit at their desks, chatting, which quiets slightly when I push the doors open with my elbow. I feel Leticia try to move from my grasp, but I continue to hold her, ignoring the looks from the guys.

  “What the—” Brad’s voice stops mid-sentence as I hold my free hand up to cut him off.

  “Slight accident, my fault, be right out.”

  We walk the few steps to the bathroom; I push the door open and help her gradually move through, trying my best to ignore her groans of pain. The bathroom consists of a curtained shower stall, a toilet with its own door next to it, and a basin with a bin is to our left.

  I dump my bag onto the floor and look to Leticia, then back to the basin, realising that there isn’t a seat. On impulse, I step closer to her, grab her handbag, and pop it next to my backpack before muttering quickly, “Trust me.”

  I grasp her hips to hoist her onto the basin. I hold her tightly so as not to put her down harshly, and she winces. “Sorry, but this is the easiest way for me to clean your knee.”

  Her arm grips mine as she tenses against the mirror. “You’re not doing it. I can clean my own leg.”

  “Not on your life. I caused it, I’ll fix it.”

  “Cole—”

  “Letty,” I plead softly, “just let me fix it.”

  The moment her name passes my lips, she gasps, and I’m reminde
d of another time when I helped clean her knee. Before I can stop, my mouth betrays me. “I just don’t have any Princess Band- Aids this time.”

  I move from her grasp and open the cover to the kit, retrieving what I’ll need.

  While I put on the gloves, she hoists her leg up, and I begin opening the packaging on the sterile wipes to swipe away the excess blood as her knee is positioned over the basin. The graze isn’t as bad as I thought, but the torn skin and bruising make me feel like an inconsiderate jerk. She wraps her skirt underneath her legs, using her arms to prevent herself from flashing me her underwear.

  “You don’t have to be so soft, doc.” Her voice lowers as I dab gently across her skin, smiling at her lightening the mood.

  “I don’t want to cause my patient any more pain than I already have.” I throw the soiled antiseptic wipe into the bin, and I grab the ointment satchel and tear the corner, to disinfect her knee. My other hand grips underneath to steady her, her toes curling on the sink as I bring the lotion closer.

  “Looks like I’m going back on my word, as this is going to sting,” I utter, while rubbing my thumb across her soft skin at the side of her leg. Her skin is pale against the red raw graze. My thumb continues to stroke her skin soothingly, hating that she’s hurt.

  I look at her face quickly to assess her state. Her blue eyes stare back at me, and I’m reminded about all those years ago, how trusting they used to be. She nibbles on her bottom lip and I also remember how shit-scared she was about any disinfectant stinging her.

  “Make it quick.” Her voice firms with fake bravado, as we both know how much she hates the sting. The all-too-familiar memories of me holding her leg down when we got antiseptic out in the past surface.

  “Don’t kick me in the face,” I say and shift my eyes to her leg, quickly squirting the antiseptic gel across her torn skin.

  “Motherfucker!” she scolds as her knee attempts to break out from my hand. “My knee is burning off!”

  I hold on tighter, adding the final bit whilst shushing her gently. She was always a drama queen patient, and she hasn’t changed. My lips pucker to blow down across her skin to help soothe the ache. Her movements subside as I continue to blow, her wincing becoming less dramatic and, before I know it, the room is silent apart from the soft sounds coming from our breaths. My thumb caresses the side of her knee as I blow more air against her leg. She gasps audibly, and my eyes turn to her face. Her mouth parts while her eyes are zoomed in on mine.

  A flicker of tension wavers between us as my hand moves to glide down the back of her leg. Her calf tenses, and I wait for her to shift out of my touch, but she stays there, watching me. I blow soothingly along her skin, moving my lips past that graze and down her leg, following the actions of my hand. My fingers trail her skin, stroking against the silky canvas of her body. Her breathing deepens as she shifts her leg closer to my touch. I am powerless to stop exploring her leg. Every inch feels euphoric. My mouth hovers a breath away from her skin, her toes curling, hoisting her knee up a little.

  My cock throbs as I explore the same skin over and over. Wanting. Needing. Needing to know more. I want to taste her. I tilt my head and stare at her crimson face. She’s flushed as her chest rises. Dare me to kiss you. My thoughts penetrate the electric current between us. I’m about to press my lips against her skin when a large thump sounds on the closed door behind us.

  “You still alive, boss?” Brad chuckles.

  Leticia’s leg jolts from my grasp, nudging me in the nose, causing me to grunt. She gasps, reaching out to me, but I push her away gently, knowing that if she touches me I’ll be done for.

  “Barely,” I groan through my fingers, rubbing my sore face. “Leticia will be out in a sec.”

  I turn to the kit and grab one of the gauze pads to quickly tear it open and apply it to her injured knee, ignoring her gaze trailing my every move.

  “That should do it.” My voice is tight, matching my cycling pants. I stand back to let her turn to the side, grabbing her hips to help her down.

  Her eyes move across my body and widen. “You’re hurt!”

  I follow her gaze to the torn side of my bib resting on my hip. The ache against my cut skin pulsates, but I ignore it to step back from her.

  “I’ll be fine.” I touch my side and bend forward to press down against my body, trying to seem as if I’m checking for other injuries, but I’m really only trying to hide the obvious bulge in front. I’m willing it to disappear, but it snubs me. It’s sending up a flare with how proud it stands.

  “Are you hurt underneath?” Her hand touches my shoulder, and I hold in a groan. What I’d give for ten minutes in this stall and no witness outside listening in. No clothes allowed. I stand, hoping that she’ll move to the door, but she doesn’t.

  “I’ll check later and wash it off in the shower if I need to.” I shrug nonchalantly and see her eyes lingering on my crotch before shooting up to stare at my face, her cheeks burning a deep scarlet. Secret’s out now. Her face turns to the side as she stares at the door.

  “Um-m,” she stammers. “Thanks for fixing me.”

  Her shoulders jerk as she looks down at her leg, avoiding my eyes once more. I try to hold back a smile, but can’t.

  Leticia inspects the damage. “If I had my paints here, I could draw around my leg to hide its ugliness.” Bending to retrieve her bag, she limps to the door, and a wave of her perfume hits me.

  “Nothing about you could ever be ugly.” I squeeze my eyes tight as her noticeable gasp is heard. I don’t turn to look at her. Instead, I hear the door opening and then closing, leaving me suspended in my lust.

  I snatch my bag off the ground to retrieve my work clothes that are probably crumpled to high hell, and I toss the bag onto the basin. I reach into the shower and turn the shower on cold, ready to wash away my own injuries and the fool I’ve made of myself. I turn back and flick the lock, and then stare in the mirror, my eyes now a storm of want and need.

  Now, why the fuck did I have to say that? I am holding on by a thread.

  Letty

  Damn.

  Hot damn.

  That body ready to go up close.

  Focus, Letty. One foot in front of the other. Walk to your desk. Don’t think about what you saw. What you weren’t expecting. Holy Jeezus. Seems that his mini marsupial was ready to attack me.

  The pain in my leg disappeared while he looked at me like a starved man. If he had made a move, there was no way I was going to stop it. I now understand why cycling is so popular in Melbourne. I’ll be getting my camping chair and a front-row seat in the New Year’s Ride Around the Bay. Sign me up.

  I continue walking, channelling my strength to control my lust. I reach my desk, the edges of the gauze moving with my sore knee, and try to concentrate on not feeling the discomfort.

  Do I need to think of his body to stop the pain? I could do that.

  Ugh. Stop it. Down girl.

  I toss my bag on top of the desk, not worrying in the slightest that anything will fall out or break. If things were smashed in the bag from my fall, I didn’t care, as my thoughts are still scrambled thinking of those hands. I tuck a loose curl behind my ear and look up to find three sets of eyes on me.

  “What?” My shoulders jerk as I frown at the boys. Looking to Steve, I wave a finger at him. “You’re staring at me funny.”

  “You okay?” He lifts his pen to tap his bottom lip before tilting his head. “Could’ve sworn you were in a car accident with how Cole was barrelling you through here.”

  I roll my eyes and stare up to the ceiling, the gentle sensations of Cole’s breath against my skin resurfacing. I try in vain to forget them. His lips were so soft. Pushing my agitation into a different direction, I sigh in anguish as both arms point downward and out, to flap away my frustration.

  “It’s a scratch. You boys like to mollycoddle me when you don’t need to!” Looking down at the gauze on my knee, I lift my skirt to see a line of caked-up blood across the bottom.
Lucky my skirt is a kaleidoscope of reds, blues, and greens. It blends in a little … okay, maybe not. I’ll have to soak this to an inch of its life.

  “What happened?” Theo’s deep voice of reason infiltrates my thoughts of removing the stain from my skirt tonight while not thinking about Cole.

  “I was walking through the underground car park after I drove in today, and Cole didn’t see me cross until it was too late.” Using my arms in front of my body, I wave them toward each other. “He crashed into me, and I fell pretty hard.”

  “Shit.” Theo frowns, and his eyes trail down to my knee. “You okay?”

  “Yes, yes.” I wave my hand at him. “The antiseptic hurt more than the fall, trust me.”

  “We heard you screaming like a banshee. Thought Cole was chopping you up,” Nige interjects, and the boys laugh. My cheeks burn as I wonder what they’d say if they saw what he was doing.

  “No, no attempt. I’m just a wuss with that sort of stuff.” I walk to the water cooler to help reduce the flush on my face. Cool water should do the trick.

  The boys continue to work on their various projects as I stand by the window, staring out into my concrete paradise. Did I imagine what just happened? My heart flutters at the thought. His breath against my skin, his warm hands caressing me.… He called me Letty. I bend down and pour another glass as the heat returns to my face. I could never win at cards, and while we were alone in that tiny bathroom, he could read me better than a croupier.

  I dump the empty cup in the trash and walk back to my desk, setting up for the day. The desk phone lights up to signal voice messages, and I cringe, knowing that I’ve missed speaking to clients. I lift the handset and press in the codes to have the ringing back on, while turning on my laptop. As I begin my morning procedures, nervous energy surrounds me. My fingers flutter across the keys in a heightened frenzy, missing letters and forcing me to do endless retypes.