Chapter 1 #2
“I never let anyone drive my car,” he said, irritated. “But you’re right. Will you drive me home?”
Crap. That meant that it would be harder to refuse someone looking at my injury. “Yeah, of course I will.”
“Great,” he said a hint of relief in his tone. “I’m texting King.”
We sat in silence with nothing but the sound of message alerts coming in as Kingston responded.
“He’s working tonight, or he’d come over. But I asked him about a car place since he has a similar model. He recommended Ridge Autos out in Autumn Ridge. They are open. Plus, they’ll tow and offer estimates for a repair on your SUV. Do you want me to call them?”
“No, I’ve got it. Thank you, Reed. I’ll go wait in my car.”
“You’re not staying here by yourself. Besides, we just established that you need to get looked at. And you’re driving me home.”
Huffing, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yes, but I need some space.”
Reed moved closer to the door, increasing the distance between us but not by much. “Is that all you need, Eli?”
I needed so many more things, but I didn’t answer him. Instead I focused on filling out an urgent online request for the tow. “I got it,” I said, ignoring his question.
“You’re always scowling. Sometimes I wonder if you scowl in your sleep.”
I’d bet money that Reed said it just to get a rise out of me. I took the bait. “So, you fantasize about what I’m like in bed?”
Reed cocked an eyebrow. “Is this what you’re usually like? Tossing your brat around until someone responds? Or is it because you’re still feeling off?” He didn’t mention my PTSD episode, but I knew that was what he was referring to.
Tension swelled. What did Reed know about brats anyway? Maybe he meant a spoiled brat instead of the kinky connotation it usually had among our friend group. It wasn’t from my mental stress. Reed kept tugging on my brat strings.
“I’m not spoiled,” I said, testing the meaning.
“I said nothing about being spoiled, lemondrop.”
Oh. A big nope. If he caught my drift, which he seemed to, then he knew way more about kink, and likely dynamics, than I thought he did.
Though to be fair, we’d never dived into those topics by ourselves.
I was pretty sure they came up naturally, but I couldn’t remember them now while sitting in his car.
The tow truck pulled up not long after, interrupting any further conversation.
It was nothing short of a miracle that it arrived so quickly.
Soon my car was being hauled off, and I watched the taillights of the tow truck disappear with mixed emotions.
Part of me hated that car, but it was needed around town.
Returning to Reed’s vehicle, I got into the driver’s seat and adjusted it. His legs must have been miles longer than mine. I didn’t think he was that much taller, but I couldn’t reach the pedals.
“Put your address in the GPS because I don’t remember what road you live on.”
“Will do,” he confirmed.
We buckled in and I watched him shut his eyes, leaning back against the seat.
“Rowe will meet us at my house.”
I nodded. He called August by his last name usually. Paramedics did this on the regular and even though he hadn’t followed that career, it stuck. “For your head?”
“Yes, Eli. He’ll also check out your hand. No arguments.”
“August will tell Kars that I got hurt,” I whined. I didn’t need my best friend to be worrying about me. I was pretty sure she had a date tonight, and she’d want to rush over to help.
“So what? The more eyes on you the better,” he muttered.
“I don’t need anyone’s help.”
“Everyone needs help,” he grumbled under his breath, then added, “try not to worry about that right now. Okay? Focus on not crashing my car.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence.
I glanced over at him every few minutes to ensure he wasn’t knocked out.
I wasn’t used to anyone making decisions for me, and that Reed had decided that August was going to look at my injury felt foreign.
The pressure and stress constantly knotting my muscles released just a little bit.
Since I had nothing else to do, I let my mind wander.
My boss Grant, the owner of The Kicking Donkey, had cornered me about a week ago and mentioned that I was showing signs of burnout.
That I’d been making mistakes on paperwork and working too many hours.
This injury could be the wake-up call I didn’t realize I’d been needing. Rushing around week after week at breakneck speeds to avoid facing my feelings of incompetence left me exhausted.
I’d been doing it since I left my family’s multi-million-dollar company, Crawford Enterprises. Chasing dopamine via small successes instead of resting.
As we pulled into Reed’s driveway, I pushed away my intrusive thoughts and killed the engine. “You still awake, Reed?”
He shifted and turned his head. “Yeah, lemondrop. I’m not unconscious.”
Reed pressed the remote garage door opener, and I expertly pulled into the space. Turning off the engine, I handed him the keys.
“Home sweet home,” I mumbled.
“Some people would be intimidated to drive a car like this.”
“It’s a Lexus, not a Bentley.”
Reed rubbed his chin, as if in thought. “My father owns a Bentley, but I’ve never been allowed to drive it.”
“Maybe I’ll buy one and not let you drive mine either.
” I tossed a hefty helping of sass in his direction.
It was never a good idea to poke a man whom you didn’t know well.
I had no knowledge of his extracurricular activities or what he wanted in a relationship.
A relationship? Why had my mind wandered there?
Probably because of the way he was taking care of me, even being injured himself.
“Why would you say that? If you can afford a Bentley, the fact that your car died shouldn’t be causing you any stress.”
"I can afford a new car, but my salary went from high six figures to significantly lower. I don’t have well-established credit because usually I buy things without financing. I’m stressed by the idea of having to navigate a new purchase.”
“I can understand that. I’m sure there are people who can help you, but you seem to be on edge. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, but it’s not you. My hand hurts and I’m worried about my car and it’s too much on top of everything else,” I explained, though it didn’t cover everything.
“Try not to worry too much about it tonight. Would you like something to drink?”
“Yeah. I’d love a cup of coffee.”
“Sure thing.”
Watching him strut into the kitchen left me alone with my thoughts.
I needed to get myself under control. Bratting should be reserved for scenes at Creekside Lounge, the BDSM club owned by my friends.
The lounge always welcomed me. Someone always found time to help unwind the stress from my body.
But I didn’t have time to relax. Scratch that. I refused to make the time.
Reed handed me coffee. Adding sugar and creamer to it gave me something to do.
“I apologize,” I said sincerely. “It’s been a weird sort of day.”
“You don’t have to apologize, lemondrop.”
The front doorbell rang, interrupting what felt like the start of a moment between us.
Reed buzzed in August, who was carrying his jump bag on his shoulder.
We lived in the middle of nowhere and the nearest medical facility was too far for simple things.
Many of the healthcare professionals kept some sort of supplies on their person.
August’s dirty blonde hair was wet which meant he’d probably driven here straight from work at the firehouse.
Looking at him, fresh off a shift, made me remember my own shift that I was not going to make.
“I forgot to text Grant! Shit. I’m supposed to tend the bar tonight. It completely slipped my mind.”
“I’m sure he will understand. Tell him what happened,” Reed said as he sat next to me.
“Right, I’m sure he will.” Shooting off a quick voice message, I let him know about the injury and car troubles. Of course Grant understood. He gave me tonight and tomorrow night off.
August set his bag on the hardwood floor. He snapped on a pair of gloves and moved closer. I bet he could patch up the whole town with the amount of medical supplies on his person at any given time. He really was like a boy scout, always prepared.
“Hey, Eli,” he greeted me.
“Hey, August,” I said, pocketing my phone.
“What have the two of you been up to?” August looked back and forth between the two of us as if deciding which of us to attend to first.
“Nothing. Just another typical night,” I said as if my hand wasn’t screaming in pain.
“Rescuing stranded damsels apparently,” Reed joked.
“Oh yeah? New favorite pastime?” August asked as if trying to lighten the mood.
“Eloise burned her hand badly enough that she has blisters.”
“Reed hit his head, hard, on the hood of my car and then fell onto the pavement,” I chimed in.
August’s eyes narrowed. “Did you lose consciousness, Reed?”
“No, I’m just a bit dazed. I have a headache, but I’m not sleepy.”
“All right. I’ll start with Eli. Let me see your hand,” August commanded, wincing as he carefully examined the wounds. “Ouch. First-degree burns with a few second-degree ones. None of them are too bad, but I’m sure they hurt.”
“What’s the difference?” I wasn’t medically minded, so I didn’t know which was worse.
“First-degree is the type you get when you touch a dish straight from the oven. Second degree is a little more serious. It can warrant medical attention depending on the location. You need to keep your hand covered.”
“Fine,” I agreed, since this impromptu exam needed to be done with. I didn’t love being taken care of, even by someone as understanding as August.
“I’ll put some gel on it and give you a few packets. Make sure you grab a box at the pharmacy. Burns like these can take a few weeks to heal so add gauze pads and medical tape,” he said as he dressed my hands. “You can take an over-the-counter anti-inflammatory of choice.”
“Thanks, August.”