Chapter 10
Francesca
O h, my gosh. The last hour of my shift dragged so badly.
Absolutely dragged.
I couldn't believe I'd never see Stefan again.
He'd become such an important person in my life so quickly. And I'd allowed it.
All of this was my fault.
I'd crossed the line.
No, I'd pole vaulted over that sucker.
And given Stefan the completely wrong idea about—us. I mean there was no—us. There couldn't be.
My life was in total chaos at the moment. And it wouldn't be fair to pull anyone into a mess that was my own.
From the sound of it, Stefan's life wasn't exactly a cakewalk. Gunshot wounds aside, his family life seemed to be in rough shape.
But even if none of that was going on—Stefan and I still wouldn't work.
He was some rich guy who got expensive haircuts and probably played tennis three times a week. I couldn't even afford a tennis ball.
And yeah, he said that Giselle and Eve came from “humble” beginnings. But there sure wasn't anything humble about them now.
Not their shoes.
Not their clothes.
Not their hair.
Not their makeup.
And not their men.
Giselle and Eve had definitely married well.
And good for them if that was what turned their crank.
That wasn't my thing.
They probably had memberships at all the fancy clubs. And they probably lunched with other well-to-do ladies.
I was not and never would be a lady who lunched.
That thought was bizarre in my mind. Especially when it was a daily struggle to eat. And pay rent. And get my crappy little car to and from work on time.
Speaking of my crappy little car, I looked around for it in the parking lot. I'd been close to being late this morning. And now I couldn't remember where I'd parked.
Dammit.
I wandered around to the side where I usually parked—but no crappy brown car.
Then I walked down to the far end and—yay! Crappy brown car.
It really looked like a piece of crap. Literally.
When I'd told Stefan that last week, he'd laughed and said it couldn't be that bad. But when I'd described it to him, he said, “Hmm, maybe you do drive a hunk of shit, Chesca.”
Even if it looked horrible, it still got me from point A to B.
Mostly.
A lot of times it crapped out halfway there or back. And I had to do some fiddling under the hood with this or that. Lately, it'd been overheating on me. So, I kept a few extra bottles of water on the floor of the passenger side.
I still felt plenty lucky to have a car. Even if it was a piece of crap.
I swiftly rushed up to my car. I hated parking lots. They always gave me the creeps. I unlocked my door and slipped in. After I chucked my sweater and my bag onto the passenger seat, I started my car. Or at least I tried to.
It took a minute of pumping and careful timing—but I eventually got it to start. “Thank you, crappy brown car. You can do it. Come on!” I backed out of the parking spot and my car threatened to choke out.
“No, no, no. It's been a bad day. I need to get home. Please,” I begged my car.
And luckily, it listened.
As I drove, my mind quickly fell back to what—or more like, who—I constantly had on my mind.
Stefan.
The words that he'd said to me today. “You're mine” being at the top of that list. That was the phrase that had really floored me.
Did he actually mean that? Or was he just looking for someone to help look after him while he got back on his feet again?
Someone who'd also make out with him and allow him to come all over my—
“Gah, you need to stop thinking about him. Stop!” I yelled at myself in the otherwise quiet car.
I reached over and turned on the crappy radio. It was stuck on one station. No matter what I did, it stayed there.
It was a lite-rock FM station. So, it wasn't horrible, but it wasn't anything great.
Of course, with my luck, they started playing a bunch of sappy love songs. About the one who got away. And seeing your ex-lover again, years later with their wife and family.
The thought of bumping into Stefan on the street one day with his wife and kids—
Oh, crap.
That would kill.
Tears started streaming down my face. Seeing the road ahead became difficult.
That didn't matter.
I just kept crying harder and harder. Until my car decided to crap out.
“Gah, dammit. Stupid car!” I shouted and hit the steering wheel with my hands.
I pulled over to the side of the road. At least it let me do that much before completely petering out.
Steam was pouring from under the hood. I leaned over to grab a few bottles of water and jumped out of the car.
The hood was hot, and I had to be careful not to burn myself.
I opened the waters and dumped them in the appropriate place. Then I closed everything up again and stomped back to the driver's side. I got in and turned the key. It wouldn't start. A few minutes later, it finally did, though.
“Thank you, crappy little car!” I shouted and signaled back into traffic.
Well, at least the car stopped my crying fit. And I was almost home. One step closer to a warm bath and a bowl of cereal. I was too tired to make anything else.
Well, I didn't have anything else. Payday wasn't until Friday. So, it would be cereal until then.
I parked around the back of the butcher shop and gathered my stuff together.
But before I opened my door, I heard, “A little help back here, please?” And I screamed and turned around so fast I thought I was about to be murdered.
There was Stefan. Laying on my back seat. “What are you doing here?”
He grabbed his chest. “Bleeding, I think. Can you help me up? I don't think I can do it on my own,” he groaned, a pained expression on his sweaty face.
“No, I'm not helping you. I'm taking you back to the hospital. Or to Giselle's or Eve's.”
He shook his head. “Giselle and Carlo live an hour out of the city. Your piece of shit car won't make it that far.”
I rolled my eyes. “Then I'll take you back to the hospital to get checked out.” I turned around, my hands shaking. That idiot had scared the crap out of me. I took a deep breath and started the car.
Or at least I tried to start it. But the brown crappy car had other ideas. It was done for the day, apparently.
“Chesca, please,” Stefan breathed out. “I don't want to be around my fucking family. I want peace and quiet. And you.”
A small thrill zinged through me at his words. But a large part of me thought he only wanted someone to take care of him.
“I'll call Eve. Does she live in the city?” I tried grasping for other options because Stefan living at my place was not going to happen.
Not now.
Not ever.
“She and Nick and the kids are at Giselle and Carlo's for now. I don't know how long they're staying. So, no. You're not fucking calling Eve. Or Giselle. You're taking me to your place. Stop stalling, Chesca. I'm in fuckin' pain back here.”
We argued back and forth for a few more minutes, but it was apparent—short of military force—Stefan refused any other help than me.
“Fine! Mr. Stubborn gets his way. Again.” I got out to help the bossiest person I'd ever met in my life.
“Slide down,” I told him once I opened the back door.
He lifted his head. “I can't. It hurts too much. You need to help me,” he grunted and laid back.
“Geez, Louise,” I muttered and maneuvered in over him.
Suddenly, his arms clamped around me. His hand grasped the back of my head, holding my face close to his. “You can’t be pissed, Chesca.” Then his lips touched mine.
But I was not having it. I moved back as much as he'd allow. Which wasn't that far. He was strong for a guy who couldn't sit up on his own. “Yeah, I can.”
He shook his head. “I'm getting better every day. Look after me for a little while longer.” He pulled my head closer, kissing me again. “And then I'll look after you forever.”
My body stilled at what he'd just insinuated.
No.
Not insinuated.
What he'd said.
Stefan took that opportunity to kiss me—really kiss me.
And I might have participated in that kiss. For a while.
I finally pulled my head away and backed up. “You're bananas. But not as bananas as me. Because I'm going to take you in. For one week. Do you hear me? One freaking week, Stefan. And that's it. You should be healed enough by then to call a cab and go home.”
He grinned and yanked me down for another kiss. “Deal,” he said against my lips.
Then I helped the bossy, stubborn man out of the car. It was no small feat. It took us forever. And then he had to sit on the seat with his legs hanging out of the car for a while. He felt nauseous and dizzy. I gave him some water—and waited for him to get his bearings.
The only godsend was the cane he grabbed from the floor of the back seat. When I asked him where he got it from, he said, “You don’t wanna know.”
So, I dropped that subject.
Getting a gunshot victim up the stairs to my apartment was another trial of the unfittest. He sat down a dozen times. At least. I honestly thought I'd have to give in and call the fire department to come and get him down. It wasn't like I could carry him.
At least these were outside stairs, so they wouldn't have to struggle in a narrow hallway.
Eventually, we got him up the stairs and into my tiny apartment.
We stumbled together to the bed. Stefan was so exhausted by then, I thought for sure he was going to die right there. “What smells like corned beef?” he asked as I grabbed his feet and lifted them onto my bed.
“Probably corned beef. I think Bernie's also cooking roast beef.” I gave the air a sniff. Yeah. Definitely roast beef as well. “There's a butcher below me, remember? I told you that. He sells all kinds of meat. A few other things, too.”
Stefan chuckled. Or he tried to, anyway. He was panting so hard that even breathing was difficult for him at the moment. “Ah, yeah. The guy who wants to fuck you. I forgot.” His chest moved up and down at a frantic pace.
“What? He does not.” I frowned at him and started to undo the buttons on his shirt.
“Yeah, he does. And when I get my strength back, he and I will have a little talk.”