Our Kinda Love

by Deanna Eshler

  “Where are you going?”

  He runs his fingers gently through his hair. “I never miss a chance to see my boy toy.”

  I laugh at his nickname for Adrian. When we get inside, I tell him to wait while I take my stuff to my room.

  When I get to my room, I rip open the package trying to remove my purchase. It's encased in that horrible hard plastic that’s almost impossible to open without losing a limb. I use a pair of scissors to create an opening that I think is big enough to reach in and retrieve my new toy. I don't have the patience to use the scissors the entire way around the package, so of course I cut my hand. Actually, I sliced my hand open.

  I don't have a problem with blood, at least with other people's blood, but I don't like seeing mine run down my hand and drip onto my bed.

  "Son of a bitch!" I yell as I run back to the kitchen.

  I'm at the sink running water over my hand when Robert comes racing in. "What happened?" he asks, looking terrified.

  "I cut my hand on that stupid packaging plastic."

  Robert freezes and begins to back up. "Oh I gotta go. I don't do blood."

  As he’s running to escape the horror, I yell, "You do realize I'm leaving your ass behind when the zombies come. You're absolutely useless."

  "I wouldn't blame you," he concedes. "I'm a great friend to have when you need wardrobe advice, but I have nothing to offer in a crisis.”

  I hear him say hello to someone as he scurries out the door, then I hear Adrian ask him what's wrong. Great, I hope he has more tolerance for blood because it’s obvious I’m going to need a few stitches.

  "What's wrong with your little pixie friend?" Adrian asks as he enters the kitchen.

  That’s his nickname for Robert, which Robert adores. He visibly swoons every time Adrian calls him this.

  "I cut my hand and he,” I say, nodding toward the trail of dust left by Robert, “can't stand the sight of blood."

  "Seems about right," Adrian says as he steps up next to me.

  I turn my head to look at him. "Which part, that I cut my hand or he can't stand blood?"

  "Both," he says as he reaches for my hand. "You have to admit you're a little spacey sometimes."

  I can't argue with that. I have multiple scars, and a couple of near-death experiences, from simply not paying attention. I trip all the time, I’ve grabbed my hot curling iron at the wrong end, and once I took a chunk out of my leg while shaving because I thought I saw a spider.

  “Isn’t he pre-med?” Adrian asks, turning my hand to inspect it.

  “He’s not going to be a doctor. He’s going into medical research.”

  He’s pressing his chest into my arm as he leans in to inspect the wound. I look up and find his neck a few inches from my face. I lean in closer, and sniff, trying not to be obvious. How does he smell so damn good? I don’t smell any cologne, maybe some deodorant, but when has that aroma ever turned a girl on? This must be the whole pheromone thing people talk about. Yeah, that’s gotta be it. It’s the only explanation that makes sense for my ridiculous attraction to him. My brain’s all wonky because his pheromones are screwing with it. I’m going to check into nose plugs tomorrow.

  He turns my hand to get a better look. "Wow, that's kind of bad, you're gonna to need some stitches."

  Pulling my face from his neck, I look back at my injury and snort. “Why thank you, Captain Obvious. What tipped you off? Was it the huge flap of skin dangling off my hand?"

  He lets go of my hand and reaches down to smack my ass. "This isn't the time for flirting sweet cheeks. I can only imagine how difficult this week has been because this is the first you've seen me in a while, but we don't have time for a quickie right now. We need to get you to the hospital."

  I ignore my desire to ask him to smack my ass again as I reach for a towel to wrap my hand in. "First, how did you interpret my statement about my bloody hand as flirting? Second, I can drive myself to the hospital." I don't want to drive myself, but it's only natural that I argue. Besides, I'm not sure it's a good idea for me to spend that much time alone with Adrian.

  “Not flirting with words, babe, it's your eyes… ” He glances at me over his shoulder when he smiles seductively, I can feel my panties start wiggling, trying to remove themselves.

  Because my brain is not functioning, I’m suffering from extreme blood loss, half my hand is missing—I know, this injury seems to be getting worse by the minute—and my panties are fighting a war in my pants, I give him my only comeback. “Whatever.”

  “Now,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “Get your ass to the car. Ya can't drive yourself because that's the hand you need to drive your stick shift with."

  "Nope,” I say, shaking my head, regaining my wits. “I don't have a stick, my car is automatic." He knows this because he's driven my car before.

  "Well, then your flat tire will probably make it difficult for you to drive."

  "What?" I practically yell. "My tire is flat? Why the hell didn't you tell me that?" I grab my purse and run out the door, holding my injured hand against my chest. When I get to my car, I see I do not, in fact, have a flat tire.

  I whirl on him. "I don't have a flat tire."

  He shrugs. "You will if you try to drive yourself. It's my responsibility as your boyfriend… lover… boy toy… whatever you wanna call me, to take care of you. So getcha ass in my car, now."

  I don't bother arguing anything he said. Trying to have a conversation with this boy is like running on a treadmill and expecting to get somewhere.

  Chapter 15

  Medical Grade Supplies Will Come In Handy

  After, what feels like a three-hour wait, I finally get taken to a room, well, a bed with a curtain around it. The smell of anesthetic burns my nose and the sound of someone hacking up a lung makes me consider asking for a mask. I try to climb up into the bed, but it’s difficult with one hand. Adrian’s sitting in the chair next to the bed, and when I’m finally situated, I notice he’s wearing an amused smile. So much for taking care of me, now he’s entertaining himself with my handicap.

  “What happened?” the nurse asks, as she unwraps the towel from around my hand.

  Adrian, needing more entertainment, jumps up and begins talking crazy shit again. “She tried to hurt herself because I told her I wasn’t going to be her plaything anymore.” He reaches out, laying a hand on my thigh. “She misunderstood me, though. I meant that I want more, not that I’m leaving her.” With his other hand, he lifts my chin with one finger until I’m looking him in the eyes. He can’t miss the fury burning there, but it doesn’t faze him.

  “I’m sorry baby. You have to know I would never leave you,” he says, then leans in to kiss me.

  I pull away and look at the nurse. “I’m sorry. This is my neighbor and he hasn’t been taking his meds. Please try to tune him out. Now, I cut my hand trying to open that hard plastic stuff. I would never try to hurt myself, but, homicide’s another story.” I say, nodding at Adrian. “He may need more stitches than me before we leave.”

  The nurse smiles hesitantly. It’s clear she thinks we’re both crazy.

  “The doctor will be in shortly to take a look. Just, um, wait in here. We, uh, don’t want people, you know, wandering around the ER.”

  Interpretation, keep your crazy asses in here so you don’t disturb the other patients. Got it.

  When she leaves, Adrian remains pressed against me, his hand at the small of my back. I’m about to explain how inappropriate it is to make suicidal jokes in the emergency room when I notice his expression has shifted. His smile fades, and his eyelids lower, as he stares at my mouth. I can see the rise and fall of his chest, as my own breathing picks up. I’m not sure what happened, but he looks ready to rip off my clothes and take me right here. There’s a good chance I’d let him.

  He closes his eyes and takes a step back, looking as if he’s trying to gather himself. I whisper a curse as he rounds the table to the cabinets and starts to open all of them. Why does he g
et me all worked up then leave me hanging?

  When I turn to look at him, I get distracted from sexual needs. In the cabinet behind him I can see there are boxes and boxes of first aid supplies—medical grade, first aid supplies.

  “Grab a box of that heavy gauze and one of those small splints,” I tell him, waving my finger excitedly at the items.

  “What?” He’s looking from me and back to the cabinet, obviously confused.

  “Hurry up, before the doctor gets in here.” I’m whispering now, but still waving in the direction of the goods.

  Lines crease his forehead. “You want me to steal this stuff?”

  I shake my head. “No… I mean, it’s not really stealing. Is that QuikClot?” I ask, pointing to another box. “Grab one of those too, and that splint.”

  Now he is shaking his head. “I am not stealing for you. I don’t need another visit with the police, and I’m sure you don’t want one either.”

  “What are you going to do with a splint? Or any of this other stuff?” he asks, now laughing at me.

  “Those are medical grade supplies. Do you realize how handy it would be to have an arm splint if you fall while running from zombies and break your arm?”

  His face softens and he rolls his lips in, trying not to laugh. He takes a few steps closer then wraps his arms around my shoulders.

  “You are so stinking adorable,” he says, kissing the top of my head.

  I stick my lip out and tilt my head to the side. “You’re such a buzzkill. I just wanted one stupid little splint.”

  He chuckles softly as he turns to sit. Just then the doctor pulls open the curtain and greets us.

  Getting right down to business, he lifts my hand and removes the towel again. He turns it from side to side, then looks at me.

  “You need stitches.”

  I refrain from calling him captain obvious because, well, he’s about to stick a needle in my hand.

  "So what was it, that you cut yourself on?" The doctor asks as he sets up his tray.

  "That horrible devil’s plastic. You know, that plastic cement new items are packaged in,” I explain while staring at the suture kit on the tray. That would be awesome to have too. I look at Adrian to see if he’s watching. He’s shaking his head at me as he lifts his soda to his mouth. I stick my tongue out at him.

  The doctor laughs, interrupting our stare down. “Devil’s plastic is a very appropriate name. What exactly were you in a rush to open?

  Without thought, I answer, “My new vibrator.”

  Adrian spits his soda across the room, and the doctor drops his supplies.

  The doctor’s head jerks up, and he stares at me in complete shock, obviously having no clue what to say. I just smile and shrug. As he bends down to pick up his fallen items, I quickly swipe the suture kit from the tray and tuck it behind me.

  I look at Adrian, who is now wiping soda off his face and shirt, but he didn't miss me taking the kit.

  The doctor clears his throat behind me, so I turn to look at him. His face is flushed and he won't make eye contact.

  "I, um, could've sworn I brought a suture kit in here, but I don't see it. I’ll have to go grab another one. I'll be right back," he says, ducking his head and scurrying through the curtain.

  "That was bullshit, right?” Adrian asks, scooting to the edge of his seat. "You said that to distract him while you took the kit didn't you?"

  “No,” I say honestly. "I ordered a new vibrator last week. It came in the mail today." I don’t mention that I bought it to help get me through my attraction to him.

  Adrian groans. "Woman, you have no idea what you do to me."

  ***

  Adrian is unusually quiet for the remainder of our time at the hospital as well as our drive home. He barely looks at me, and has an almost resolute look on his face.

  Unable to stand the silence, I ask, “What’s wrong?”

  He has his right arm rested on the console and his other arm outstretched holding the top. Watching him, his profile, with his defined biceps and the set of his jaw, makes me want to climb over the console and straddle him. Wait, what? What is wrong with me? All of a sudden my hormones are in overdrive. Maybe I'm beginning menopause. Is that what happens? I should look into that too.

  When Adrian turns to look at me, his head tilted slightly, his eyes flick down to my breasts and down farther before they finally come back to mine. He looks extremely serious, almost pissed, so I decide not to ask any more questions. I can't imagine why my comment would have pissed him off, but I do sometimes feel like he has multiple personalities. One minute he can be completely playful and goofy, the next minute he's sexy and seductive. Then, just when I think I know which personality I'm dealing with, he switches to this irritated almost grumpy persona.

  When we get back to the apartment, Adrian follows me, staying close on my heels. When I stop in the living room, he practically runs into me, I twist to face him.

  "Is there something I can help you with?"

  Adrian raises his brow and nods. "Yes. Remember you were going to show me that new toy of yours?"

  "Um, no I don't remember that."

  "Yes, you do. I don't remember your words exactly, but it was something like "Hey Adrian I got this new vibrator, and I was hoping you would come over and help me test it out."

  I shake my head again. "Nope, that never happened."

  Shyanne, who is sitting on the couch, clears her throat. We both snap our heads around and I see her cheeks are bright red. I'm pretty sure that vibrators are not part of her world yet, so I apologize then grab Adrian by the ear, dragging him to the kitchen.

  "Listen, obviously we all know that I'm a very open person. But what I do behind my bedroom door with Hawk is not something I'm willing to discuss, nor will I permit you to watch.

  Adrian throws up his hands. "Hold on, who's Hawk?"

  "That's what I named my new toy," I say with an excited smile. "He's one of my favorite book boyfriends."

  Without hesitation, he replies, "I'm gonna need that book."

  ***

  Adrian

  In the gym, a few days later, I’m jumping rope, hard and fast, trying to chase away all my unwanted thoughts and feelings.

  I’ve spent all my free time the rest of the week, studying or working out. I have to focus on graduating so my fucking dad has no reason to drag my brothers all the way back to Texas. Thinking about my past, living with that alcoholic, abusive asshole, I feel my body tense as if preparing for a fight. So, I go to the gym to work through the physical and emotional stress.

  The only good time I’ve had in the past few weeks is his time I’ve spent with Keegan. Her gorgeous face and amazing body are great, but it’s that smart mouth, and take-no-shit attitude that keeps me smiling.

  After spending half the day with her, at the hospital, I was ready to throw her over my shoulder and drag her back to my room. Her zombie obsession is adorable, but the way her eyes give away everything she’s thinking is what’s pulling me in. Keegan would argue that she wasn’t thinking about me, fucking her right there on that table, but I know if I’d stuck my hand down her panties, I woulda found her wet ’n ready.

  I damn near did flip her over and take her from behind, but the old man coughing in the curtain next to us broke my trance. Thank God too, that doctor got a big enough shock when Keegan mentioned her vibrator.

  Shaking my head at the memory, I stop jumping and toss the rope in the bucket with the other ropes and lifting belts. I grab a towel, wiping the sweat from my face and neck and realize this workout failed to remove Keegan from my mind.

  I want to spend more time with her, but my brothers come first. I have to stop acting like an oppositional teen. Hell, I’m less mature now than I was four years ago when I was raising my brothers. It’s time to start acting like the responsible parent I used to be because right now they are my first priority.

  Chapter 16

  Not Interested In Joining Your Harem

  Adria
n is mostly MIA for the remainder of the week. The more I think about him, and his effect on me, I decide the term tornado does describe him best. He blows in, stirs everything up—in my head and body—gives it one last shake for good measure, then he blows out. I’m the survivor you see on TV the next day, saying “I tried to outrun it” and “I didn’t know what was happening,” then looking around muttering, “How am I going to clean this all up?”

  So, that’s me, the rest of the week, stumbling around trying to figure out what the hell happened… until Friday after class, when the storm strikes again. I get back to my apartment to find the damn tornado sitting on my couch, drinking a beer.

  I talk myself up. No worries, I can handle it. He’s not getting inside my head and doin’ his Tasmanian devil thing.

  I straighten my shoulders, preparing for the first blow, which is, unfortunately, the way he looks. He’s still wearing his clothes from teaching, only his tie is gone, and his shirt is unbuttoned halfway down. With his feet propped on the coffee table, he pats the seat next to him.

  “Come join me beautiful. I’ve had a hard day at work and need some lovin’.”

  Sure, I’ll climb right on up next to him, snuggle under his arm, and run my hand up and down his chest. Then I’ll instantly turn into the kind of girl I hate.

  “Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “We’re not that kind of neighbors.”

  He softens his voice and dips his chin, trying to look sweet. “Come on, I’ve missed you.”

  He missed me? Really? Wait, no, I don’t care if he missed me. The warm, gooey feeling I get in my stomach betrays my instincts, and pisses me off. I can handle hot and bothered, pissed, and even happy, but I don't mess with soft and fuzzy. Those feelings are always sure to be followed by pain and sadness—another two feelings I don't mess with.

  “What?” I say, pretending to have no clue what he’s talking about.