He smirks. “Nothing I can’t deal with.”
Dax steps away from me, fumbling inside his jacket pocket. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and places one between his lips.
When he flicks on a lighter, “You smoke?” tumbles out my mouth before I can catch it.
Dax takes a puff and pulls the cigarette from his lips. Smoky haze covers half his face.
I use my most apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt that out.”
“You got a problem with me smoking?” he asks and returns the cigarette to his lips. It’s then I notice a red rose tattooed below his thumb and running down the length of his hand.
“Don’t you?” I question. “It’s well documented they’re bad for your health.”
He laughs and takes another drag. He blows the smoke out the side of his mouth and holds the cigarette behind him. “Sweetheart, I got bigger problems than cigarettes.”
My jaw clenches and I fold my arms across my chest. “My name’s not Sweetheart.”
He trudges my way, smiling. “Oh yeah. What’s the name, then?”
I look him up and down. He’s like no one I’ve ever met. Every shift at St. Mark’s Hospital, I meet people from the community. No one has struck a chord like this guy.
“Cat got your tongue?” he jokes, flicking cigarette ash on the cracked pavement. He coughs, grunts, and presses firmly against his ribs. “What are you doing here, anyway? You look dressed for Snob Falls.”
I frown hard. “I look like a snob?”
“No,you twisted my words.” He nods at the hospital, and asks, “What are you doing wasting a Friday at a hospital?”
“I’m here to serve the community.”
“Who said you rich kids don’t know how to live?”
Irritation gets the better of me. “Would it be better to let the nurses go without any help?”
Dax replies with an eyebrow raised and takes another puff of his cigarette.
As the repulsion filters through me, Roger pulls up at the curb in the shiny black sedan. I’ve given him strict instructions never to bring a limousine into Logan’s Point. Turning up in a low socioeconomic area in a stretch is in very poor taste.
“Let me guess,” Dax says, “your ride?”
“Correct,” I say as Roger walks around to the rear passenger door.
“Miss Ashworth,” Roger says, standing by the open door.
“Coming,” I reply.
“Goodbye, Miss Ashworth,” Dax replies in a teasing tone.
I walk to the door and thank Roger. He nods and walks back to the driver’s seat. I take a step into the car, and then pull back.
I turn around and meet Dax’s stare.
“How are you getting home?” I ask.
His jaw rocks. “What do you mean?”
I nod at the hospital. “Weren’t you in an accident? Is your bike damaged?”
He scratches his head, further messing up his scruffy hair. “Ah, it’ll need a bit of work, but it got me here. I can ride it home.”
