Page 29 of The Trauma Response
I can’t help brushing the hair from her face and pinching her cheek. “I know you can do it. You’re a fast learner and you’ve always been good at everything you do.”
A sudden urge to kiss her takes over, and I have to fight like a pro-boxer to stamp it out before I make things even worse for her. But man, these feelings are getting harder to deny. With every moment she’s in my presence, the need to make her mine increases until I’m almost insane with jealousy toward every man who has ever dated her. She’s here now, though, and she’s been leaning on me like she used to. That must mean something to her.
“Can I take you to dinner tonight to thank you for rescuing me? Both times. The accident and the spiral,” she asks as if she somehow has to repay me for being her friend. For being the man who is crazy about her and wants the best for her. “And for getting me a job so I don’t have to spend so much time searching and getting rejected.”
“Sure thing, beautiful, but I want to treat you. After all, you just got a new job and it’s cause for celebration.”
“Cai—”
I press a finger over her lips. “Nope, won’t hear otherwise. We’ll have to take your car, though. Chantelle needed her helmetback. I guess I’ll need to get an extra one for you, so we can have regular rides.”
I drop my finger and her lips part but she doesn’t comment on the helmet statement. Instead, she glances over my shoulder toward her kitchen. “Actually, it’s been a busy few days. Maybe going out tonight isn’t such a good idea.”
My heart deflates. “Oh, well maybe another time. Sorry I dropped in on you without warning.” I move to put my gloves back on and leave to give her some peace when she steps forward.
“What are you doing? I’m not throwing you out. I’ll order some Chinese and we can catch up. It’s been ten years, and since we’ve reconnected we haven’t really caught up past the accident. I want to know what you’ve been up to for the last decade.”
“You sure? I don’t want you to feel obligated. I know you’ve got that stack of books and all.” I tease her and put my hands up as if I’m interrupting something serious.
“Ha, ha. No, I want you to stay. I should probably invite Jackson and his wife over so we can all catch up and you can meet Deni.” She pauses on her way to grab her phone from the coffee table. “But you know what? I don’t want to. I want you all to myself for a while.”
I can’t help but raise an eyebrow at this, but I manage to keep my mouth shut. No need to spread all my cards on the table just yet, especially when I’m not surewhyshe wants me all to herself. Maybe it’s to talk about things she can’t discuss with Jackson, something that was common back in school. If that’s the case, it does not mean she is interested in dating me. Why does this have to be so complicated? You’d think knowing someone well would make things easier, but it seems to make them impossible.
“I’ll order the food. You get—wait, do you still like the honey chicken like a little weirdo?” she asks, scrunching her nose as she picks up her phone to place the order.
“How is that weird? A lot of people like—you know what, order everything on the menu and we’ll have a buffet.” I shake my head and sink into the depths of her sofa. There’s no way I’m getting out of this thing. I’m probably stuck here forever. I’m practically swallowed by fluffy sofa cushions, throw blankets, and accent pillows.
While struggling with her furniture, I forget to remind her that I’m allergic to shrimp. When I hear her order and specifically say, “And when I say no shrimp, I meannoshrimp. He’ll swell up like a balloon and die, then your restaurant will go out of business and I’ll sue you into bankruptcy, okay?” She chuckles afterward. I can only hope she’s joking around with the person on the other end of the line or else we might be eating fried rice with a side of someone’s spit.
When she hangs up I point at her. “You better not have just gotten our food contaminated with someone’s saliva, beautiful.”
“Ha, no. Not a chance. They love me over there.” She waves her hand over her shoulder. “I performed surgery on the owner’s wife two years ago. Ever since, we’ve had a long-standing relationship built on sarcasm, threats, and free spring rolls.”
“That’s odd.”
“Meh, it’s all in good fun. Seriously, it’s the best Chinese this side of…well, China.”
“Have you been to China to test that theory?”
“When would I go to China? Between medical school, my internship, and landing my sweetheart of a job at the hospital, I haven’t been on a vacation period, let alone left the country.”
“So, what you’re saying is that it might be horrible food and you’d never know because you’ve never been to China to ensure that it is, in fact, superior to all other Chinese restaurants.”
“I’m saying it’s the best Denver has to offer, and you’ll eat it and like it, rookie.”
“I am not a rookie, thank you. In fact, there will be a Captain’s position opening in a few months that I’ll probably apply for, thank you very much.”
Whits grins and flops on the sofa beside me. I raise three inches and work to stayinthe sofa. “Where did you get this beanbag style monstrosity of a sofa? It’s horrible.”
She mock gasps. “Are you making fun of my taste?”
I wiggle free and stand, ready to sit on the floor or risk suffocation in the depths of the most uncomfortable furniture imaginable. “Yeah. Yes, your taste in furniture sucks if it’s all like that.”
“Such a complainer. Sit on that one. It’s hard as a rock.” She motions to the sofa across the room, which is so very far away from where she’s sitting. It doesn’t seem as if she’s willing to move, and I have no desire to be so far from her. I resign myself to swimming in a cushion and flop back beside her, closer this time. She steadies herself but still ends up halfway in my arms by the time the insides of the sofa settle.
She blushes and sits upright. “Okay, maybe it is a little much for two people to sit on. Let’s take the floor.”
I slide onto the floor and drag her with me, toppling the stack of books she had piled beside the end table.
