Page 61 of Mourner for Hire
“Come on. Let’s sit down.” I coax her down to the sandy cement floor, holding her by her elbows.
“Do you know how disgusting these floors are?”
“You came in here first,” I say, then decide to comfort her. “Harry hosed them out and cleaned them this morning.”
“Still.”
“Knees up and put your head down.” I ignore her and help her get into a position to help with her lightheadedness. “One second,” I add before grabbing wads of toilet paper from a stall and returning to her, pressing the tissue to the cut on the top of her head.
It’s probably only an inch and only deep enough to need a stitch or two, but head injuries bleed enough to make even the most reasonable person believe their head is going to fall off. Her bloody hands are shaking, and I know she needs some sugar to not pass out.
I pull out a butterscotch candy from my pocket and hand it to her. “Here.”
She peers at it, briefly tilting her head up from her knees. “Where did that come from?”
“My pocket.”
“Are you an eighty-seven-year-old man?”
A warm bloom of affection I wasn’t expecting covers my chest. “Yes.”
She laughs a little. It’s breathy, warm, and reminds me of velvet on soft skin. I clear my throat with the thought sifting through the animosity in my brain.
“Just eat it so you don’t pass out,” I say shortly.
“Why are you being nice to me? Wouldn’t you prefer I bleed out in the bathroom?”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t want Harry to have to clean up the mess.I’d much rather get your blood sugar levels back up and send you out into the ocean to drown.”
She chuckles. “You are lovely.”
Her voice is thick with sarcasm, and I can smell the sweetness of candy on her breath.
I hate it.
My jaw tightens. “You might need stitches.”
“No, I’m fine. It will stop bleeding, just apply more pressure.”
She reaches up to push against my hand. I ignore exactly how it makes me feel. I ignore that it reminds me of the first night I met her and watched the pool stick slide between her fingers and the way she laced her fingers with mine and pulled me closer to kiss me. The memory of that kiss and all the ways I held back that night create this pressure of want deep inside me.
I ignore all of it and remember that this woman is fucking crazy and has somehow swindled fifty grand from my dead mother.
Even still, my mom raised me to be the bigger person.
“I’m going to call Eli to bring the first aid kit.” I pull my phone out of my pocket to make a call while keeping a hand on her head. My hand is covered with her hand.
Fuck. Blood might be her kryptonite, but her touch may as well be mine.
The phone rings once before Eli answers, and I tell him the situation and to bring in a first aid kit.
“You don’t have to do this, Dominic. I’m fine.”
“Actually, I do. I’m not going to leave you bloodied in a public bathroom. That wouldn’t be a good look for me.”
She hums. “Ah, yes. Don’t want to tarnish that golden boy reputation you have going.”
My face twists. “Golden boy?”
