Chapter 4 #2
Yara crosses her arms across her chest and cocks her head. “So this has nothing to do with what happened in Tacoma?”
“Of course not,” I reply automatically. “I just—”
A flash of white gauze catches my eye, dragging me completely off track. “What happened to your hand?”
She covers her bandaged hand with her other, as if that’s somehow going to make me forget. “Nothing. Just a dumb accident.”
“An accident?” Concern gives politeness a hard shove to the side. Stepping through the doorway, I carefully take her injured hand in mine. “What did you do to it? Is is broken? Sprained?”
“It’s not broken. Or sprained. Just bruised—”
Dropping my duffel bag on the floor, I set the paper bag on top of it, then pull the door closed behind me. With Yara’s hand still held in mine, I turn it over gently. “Just bruised? Why the bandages, then?”
The pink in her cheeks deepens. “I cut my hand, too. Nothing that needed stitches or anything. I—”
“You cut your hand? How? Where?” Before she has a chance to answer, I drag her over to the couch and pull her down beside me. “Have you had a doctor check it out?”
Looking slightly nonplussed, she answers, “No. I’ve had basic medical training, just like you. And in my assessment, a doctor wasn’t necessary. A few butterfly bandages and I was good. The gauze is more for protection.”
I glare at her injured hand so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t burst into flames. I’m not sure why I’m so angry or why I want to track down whatever caused this injury and destroy it. I just do.
Tamping down my irrational anger and a surge of protectiveness I wasn’t expecting, I take a steadying breath before asking, “Can I look at it?”
“Why?”
Why, indeed? If any of the guys on my B and A team showed up with an injury and claimed it was perfectly fine, I’d take them at their word and that would be the end of it.
But you took Yara’s word that she was fine in Tacoma, and look what almost happened to her.
But it didn’t, because she defended herself. Despite being in the middle of what looked like a bad panic attack, she kept her wits about her enough to fight back. Yara didn’t really need my help, just like I’m sure she doesn’t need it now.
Still. Knowing that doesn’t make me let her hand go. And it doesn’t stop me from saying, “Humor me. Sometimes two sets of eyes are better than one.”
Yara huffs softly. “Fine. But it happened two days ago. Too late for stitches at this point.”
Too late for stitches? Does that mean they were a consideration before?
While I carefully unwind the gauze, I ask again, “How did it happen? In the workshop?”
She hesitates. “No. I closed my hand in the car door. Dumb accident, like I said.”
It sounds like a reasonable explanation. But there’s something in the way she says it that doesn’t ring true.
Once I remove the long strip of gauze, I hide a wince at her injuries. The back of her hand is swollen and bruised, with two nasty looking inch-long cuts held closed with several butterfly bandages. And on her palm, there’s another, longer cut across it.
They’re not life-threatening by any means. But seeing any injury on her feels wrong.
“Have you been icing it?” I ask as I start wrapping the gauze back up again. “Taking any pain killers?”
“Ace.” Yara gives me another of her patented what’s going on here looks. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been injured, you know. I know how to take care of myself.”
Of course she does. I know that.
But the instant the thought goes through my head, it’s immediately followed by the one of finding Yara sitting motionless on the couch in the Puget Sound room, pale and shaking.
Could she have gotten through it on her own? Yes. But shit, I didn’t want her to. Just like I don’t want her taking care of her injured hand by herself. And I really don’t want her struggling to get through whatever put the dark circles beneath her eyes and the heavy slump to her shoulders.
“I know you can,” I finally reply. “But I’m here. So it didn’t hurt for me to look at it, too.”
“Maybe not.” Yara pulls her re-bandaged hand into her lap. Her gaze shifts from mine to the duffel and paper bag still sitting by the front door. “Why did you bring your go-bag here?”
Rather than answering that, I hop up to grab the paper bag. Then I bring it back to the couch and hand it to her. “I brought some of those cookies I was telling you about. The s’mores cookies from that bakery in Williston.”
Yara’s eyes light up. “S’mores?”
“Yup. And they’re delicious. I got you a doz—well. Eleven of them.”
Her lips twitch. “Eleven? Is that the new dozen?”
“Not quite. I didn’t grab dinner between arriving from Vegas and heading here, so I got hungry.” I give her a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”
Opening the paper back, Yara takes a deep sniff. Her eyes close momentarily, and she hums in pleasure. “Mmmm. They smell delicious.”
I know she didn’t mean for the sound to come out as sexy as it did. But my dick doesn’t know that and jumps to attention.
Stop it, I silently order. This is not why we’re here.
After a few seconds, she closes the bag back up and sets it on the coffee table, then turns slightly to face me. “Are you trying to save money? And that’s why you brought your luggage here? I don’t mind. I guess I’m just not sure why you didn’t call first.”
Great. Now Yara thinks I’m not just rude for showing up on Friday night without warning and basically pushing my way into her house, but I’m a cheapskate, as well.
“It’s not that,” I reply quickly. “I can afford a hotel. It’s just—” Shit. I need to tell her the truth before I make myself look like more of an asshole. “I was worried. And I wanted to see how you were doing.”
Yara frowns. “I’m fine. I told you that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Ace.” Her voice sharpens. “I’m sure. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not true. I’m perfectly fine. Great, really. You didn’t need to give up your weekend just to come check on me.”
The vibes I’m picking up are telling me I’m not going to get anywhere. Not now.
“Well, you’ve gotten me thinking about BattleBots,” I say, attempting a different tactic.
“And since I’m in Seattle, I thought, why not see if you wanted to order pizza and watch some episodes with me.
Explain why someone would use a spinner over a flipper.
And that one with the giant wheels. It looks so flimsy.
I can’t understand how it keeps winning. ”
Yara stares at me for a long moment before leaning back against the couch. “You want to watch BattleBots and order pizza tonight?”
“If you’re up for it. Unless you have other plans.” Or maybe she really doesn’t want me here, and she’s too polite to say. “I can get a hotel for the night, though. I guess it was kind of an asshole move, just showing up like this.”
“Or you thought I’d make an excuse if you told me the truth, which is that you think I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown after I lost it in Tacoma?”
“No. That’s not true.”
One slender eyebrow arches up. “Really?”
I lean back and stretch out my legs. “Okay, I thought there was a chance you might make an excuse. But I don’t think you’re on the verge of a mental breakdown. Not even close.” Hesitating, I debate how much more to admit.
“I have been worried,” I confess. “I know you can take care of yourself. It’s not that. But… Shit. You’re my friend. And I just had this feeling… Anyway. It’s been a long time since we hung out. But if you’d rather I leave, that’s okay. No hard feelings.”
Yara tucks up her legs, pretzel-style, in front of her. Something deep and unreadable shifts in her eyes. “You don’t have to leave, Ace.”
“No, it was rude. Just showing up without calling.” I start to rise from the couch. “You could have plans and I’m interrupting.”
Yara’s hand darts out, clapping over my stomach and pushing me back down.
The feel of her fingers splayed across my abs sends a shock of desire straight through me.
My dick throbs, despite my previous warning.
“Look at me,” she says with a hint of a smile.
“Does it really look like I’m planning to go out tonight?
My plans consist of microwaved spaghetti and meatballs and watching TV. ”
“You look great,” I reply truthfully. “You could go out like that. Easily.”
Yara snorts. “Hardly. But really, stay. Pizza sounds better than what I was going to have, and…” She pauses. “It would be nice to hang out, too.”
I only just stop myself from pumping my fist in victory.
Don’t ask me why I’m so inordinately pleased about the promise of spending the evening with Yara. I just am.
“Okay.” I settle back against the cushions. My leg brushes against Yara’s knee, the simple touch sending another wave of desire through me.
No, I remind my body sternly. I’m here as a friend. To make sure Yara’s really okay, and not just feeding me a nice-sounding story. “So, pizza,” I continue. “The usual? Or do you want to try something different?”
Another smile lights her eyes, turning them more gold than green. “Pepperoni and olives?”
“Of course. Unless you have a new favorite now?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. Pepperoni and olives is the best combo, hands down.”
“Alright then.” Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone. “I’ll call in the order. Do you want garlic knots, too? Anything else?”
“Garlic knots, definitely. And ask if they have any cannolis.” Yara catches my quick glance at the bag of cookies and adds, “I want both.”
It takes a few minutes to place the order and arrange for delivery, and by the time I end the call, Yara’s staring across the room with a pensive expression.
In profile, her elegant features almost look sad, and I’m struck by that same feeling I had in Tacoma when I wanted so badly to pull her into my arms.
“Yara?” I ask. “If you’ve changed your mind—”
She turns to me. “It’s not that.”
“What is it, then? I know you’re probably sick of me saying this, but you can talk to me. About anything.”
A long stretch of silence goes by—-long enough that I’m not sure if she’s going to answer.