Page 27 of Collide
“I’m self-employed,” he states offhandedly, biting into his egg roll.
“Oh, cool.” I nod, unsure of how to respond. His answer is vague, but I don’t press.
“I’m Alexander Gustav Henrik Sigurdsson, by the way,” he adds, his smile widening. “But my friends call me Alex. It’s nice to meet you, Eleanor Josephine Montgomery.”
Wow, that’s a hell of a name.
I roll my eyes at the use of our full legal names. But when it comes out of his mouth, it sounds almost…poetic.
“Alexander Gustav Henrik Sigurdsson,” I repeat quietly. “Nice to meet you. And…please, call me Elena.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, not quite meeting his eyes.
“Elena,” he purrs, drawing out each syllable like he’s savoring it. “I like it…suits you better.”
He leans in just slightly, eyes flicking to my lips. “And Elena, the pleasure’s all mine.”
My heart races, and I feel a little heady.
His voice…
God, why does that sound so good coming out of his mouth?
Is this what happens when you suppress every teenage impulse for years? One tall, model-built man with heartbreak eyes catches me mid-concussion, and suddenly I’m ready to throw away my entire belief system just to feel him hold me again, this time fully conscious.
We finish the rest of our dinner in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Occasionally, I glance up at him to find himalready watching me. Studying his features, his face is perfectly symmetrical, his lips are full, his eyes blue like the sky before a storm. With his name, I assume he’s probably Scandinavian.
Eventually, the food coma takes hold, and I feel my eyelids grow heavy.
To my surprise and delight, Alex stays the entire night, helping me to the bathroom like I’ve shattered my spine, not knocked my head like a clumsy idiot.
It’s mortifying. My pride’s bruised worse than my skull. But he won’t let me do anything alone. And every time his hands steady me, light and careful, I feel him peeling back walls I swore were solid. Every touch whispers let me in, and worse, some traitorous part of me wants to roll out the red carpet, flip on the welcome sign, and say okay.
I wakeup to someone opening the blinds, the light spilling into the room. Alex is awkwardly asleep on the guest couch, which is far too small for his tall frame. I gently put my finger to my lips, silently asking them to keep quiet so he doesn’t wake Alex.
The orderly nods and helps me into a wheelchair, taking me for a scan. On our way back to the room, I quickly send a text to my sister, letting her know where I am. I turn my phone on silent, ignoring its immediate buzzing.
She’ll be worried, I think, but I want a few more moments with Alex before I never see him again. The thought pains me. Maybe we can be friends?
When we get back to my room, I freeze.
Alex is gone.
Of course, I didn’t expect him to stay the whole night. Why would he? I can’t help the disappointment blooming in the pitof my stomach. Suddenly, the bathroom door creaks open, and there he is.
Our eyes lock, and a flutter dances beneath my skin.
“Good morning, Elena.” He smiles, and relief washes over me.
“Hi,” I say, quietly, aware I probably look like I’ve been hit by a bus and dragged halfway here.
He lifts me from the wheelchair and back into bed, brushing off my half-hearted protests. I hate how easily I let him, but the warmth of his hands on my skin makes it hard to think straight.
Before I can savor the moment, a nurse bursts in. I flinch at Alex’s lingering touch and shift my attention to her. She’s petite, with brunette hair, a cheerful smile, and dressed in standard scrubs.
“Miss Montgomery, how are you feeling this morning?” She smiles politely. “I’m Dr. Ryan.”
Not a nurse, a doctor.
“Hi, I’m okay,” I stutter, my voice still a little shaky from the unexpected attention I’m getting.
