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“She used multiple staples!” he yelled. “I’m stapling her to death! What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Going crazy!”
I hid behind him as he finally pulled open the stapler and pressed it against her chest, she jerked back and flew into the ceiling while the door unlocked behind us.
We both scrambled out and ran down the hall, more zombies tried to pass us while Ace waved the stapler around in front of me.
What happened next really couldn’t be planned, not by a long shot, just as he reached the exit he slipped and fell backward, the stapler went flying toward my face.
Next thing I knew, I heard a crunch, felt a bit of blood, and was staring up at Max, Dustin, Ace, and some random EMT who was holding out three fingers. “How many?”
I tried to widen my eyes and only got out. “Three staples.”
Max’s reaction… “Oh thank God, she’s fine most of my employees count with staples and paperclips, it’s healthy company culture.”
“She has a concussion,” the EMT said while my head pounded.
“…accident!” Ace said.
“Accident my ass, you must always know where to point the stapler! Do you know why she’s part of the escape room? Because nobody escaped the room when she had a psychotic break and ended up stapling her boss’s hand to a few documents, she painted it purple, nobody messed with her again, and every time someone stapled, people broke out in hives, people had to take mental health days, it’s why we don’t allow colored paperclips, the triggers are too raw.”
Someone cursed.
I couldn’t tell if it was Ace or Dustin or Max or my head making up things. I tried to sit up.
“No, no.” Ace pulled me against his strong chest. “If she has a concussion, someone needs to check on her.”
There was silence.
Two seconds of it? Maybe three?
Max’s voice sounded next. “Why yes, someone really should.”
My eyes fluttered closed after that, it was peaceful, wonderful, until something slapped me across the face.
I jerked awake in Ace’s lap, he grinned down at me. “Sorry, thought you were dead.”
Chapter Seven
Ace
“…sorry, thought you were dead.”
Actually, I was staring at the lump on her head wondering if I should grab more ice and had accidentally started playing with her hair and staring at the freckles on her cheeks, by the time I was done counting them I’d moved on to her full lips and the way she pressed them together when she slept.
It would be the only time I could have peace with her while being her partner, since I knew her well. She’d wake up, and I’d be all like oh hey I nursed you to health and she’d be like oh my shit, my hero, what happened?
And then I’d have to say, “I got scared, slipped, fell on my ass, and hit you in the head with a purple stapler. It was touch and go a bit, but hey you made it!”
Wow, add me to B team Avengers any day. On second thought, I stared over at the purple bruise on her forehead. Maybe C team?
Her long dark hair was a matted mess in her ponytail from tossing and turning on the couch, the sweat from terror didn’t help, and I had my own sweat going on since once she found out where we were and why I’d have to explain it to her, and she was going to figure it out soon. No, this was not her apartment, no, it wasn’t mine; it was in fact a penthouse suite given to us on another level of the hotel away from contestants so she could have privacy after the stapler incident.
Maybe if I just said it really fast, she’d only catch a few meaningful pieces and turn around and ask to watch a tv show or something? Did concussions make you lose short-term memory or would that be long-term memory? Hell, did I have a concussion by just sitting next to her? My brain was firing in all the wrong ways.
Bri stretched her arms above her head and yawned, she had two heavy blinks before looking down. “This isn’t my couch.” Those same eyes locked onto me and narrowed. “And you look nervous, unless you have to pee, which gives you a free pass.”
“Well, in that case…” I grumbled. “And it’s not your couch.”
