Page 62 of The Rebound
“I was just in the sea!” I exclaim. “That’s how I got like this in the first place.”
He ignores me, hoisting me up before helping me hobble down to the edge of the water.
“What if it’s a dangerous one?” I mutter as I dip my foot back in. “The Portuguese ones.”
“There are no Portuguese ones around here and Sinead has some painkillers in the car. Hold still,” he adds. “You’re squirming.”
“Because I’m inpain.” But I do as he says and after a while, the burning lessens a bit.
“Better?” he asks.
“A bit.” I flex it in the water. “But I need to get out of this wetsuit.”
He grins. “You want some help with that?”
“You wish.”
“If Sinead’s your problem, I’m telling you now she’d love to join in.”
I laugh as he helps me limp back up the beach. My bag and clothes are where I left them on the towel and I shake them out as Rory aims for the parking lot.
“I have to get the stuff out of the car,” he says. “The bonfire will be at the north beach. And hey,” he calls as I head toward the stalls. “Just because you’re injured doesn’t mean you’re getting out of carrying stuff.”
I wave a hand to show I’ve heard him and lock myself in one of the changing cubicles by the toilets. They’re cold and cramped inside with barely any room to move. I hang my towel on the rusting metal hook, wrinkling my nose against the stench of the sea, sweat, and bleach as I reach back to yank the zipper down. It doesn’t budge.
I yank harder, my fingers fumbling now as they stiffen. Warm-blooded people will never understand the struggle. Taking a breath, I try again, my shoulder protesting as I try and angle my arms into positions they should not be in.
“Abby?” Luke’s voice sounds on the other side of the door accompanied by a knock. “Rory said you got stung. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I call as I almost wrench my arm out of its socket. I mumble a curse word, which Luke must hear because he doesn’t leave.
“Do you need some help?”
“No.”
“I’ve got a first aid kit in my car.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “I just need to— Crap.” I give the zipper another pull and lose my footing on the wet floor, banging my elbow painfully against the wall as I try to keep my balance.
“I’m coming in.”
“No, don’t!” I scramble for the door, shutting his progress.
There’s a short pause. “Are you naked?”
“No.”
Another pause. “Are you stuck in your wetsuit?”
Kill me now. “Yes.”
“Then let me in the door.”
I think about asking him to get someone else, but I doubt he’d do that. It’s something I’m learning about Luke. He’s not one to leave a damsel in distress. Even if that distress is due to something really fricking stupid.
I undo the latch and step back as far as I can. Which isn’t that far at all. “Okay,” I call when I make sure my underwear isn’t just hanging around anywhere.
He slips inside, glancing over me as though looking for any obvious signs of injury. He’s still in swimming trunks, his feet bare, his skin wet. There’s sand in his hair.
