After washing down a couple of pain killers with the water Jagger left me, I steal one more saltine with peanut butter, hold it between my teeth, and reach for my sweats, though I don’t bother taking off my borrowed shirt. Maybe I should, but the idea of stripping naked, only to pull on a bloodied alternative feels pointless, or at least it’s what I tell myself. Besides, he let me borrow it. So what if I keep it for an extra day? Right? Once I’m dressed, I tiptoe out of Jagger’s bedroom. The question is, where do I go? Do I simply walk out the front door and pretend I never came in the first place? Or do I track down my personal doctor-slash-host and thank him for his help? It’s not like I’ve ever found myself in a position like this, so I have no idea what the proper etiquette is, or if there even is one. Besides, what do I even say? Hey, thanks for fixing me up and giving me a place to stay after I showed up unannounced and without an invitation. I hope I didn’t drool on your pillow, let alone bleed all over it.
My hand grazes the railing at the base of the stairs, but I take a left instead, following the low hum of music while hobbling further into the house where I hope I’ll find last night’s savior. What if he already left? I don’t know his schedule. Maybe he’s not even home anymore? Or maybe I’m searching for excuses to hightail it out of here instead of finding the nerve to face Jagger Harden in the morning light when he looked a little too good bathed in last night’s moonlit glow.
Yeah…last night? Last night did something to me, and the sooner I get out of this house, the sooner I can bury those feelings forever. But first, I need to find Jagger and thank him for his help because without him, I don’t know where I would’ve ended up.
Tiptoeing down the hall, I reach the kitchen but stop short.
Ford looks over his shoulder. His back muscles are on full display with a pair of workout shorts hanging low on his hips. The combination leaves way too little to the imagination. So much so, I can’t help but check him out.
Those Harden brothers. Yeesh. They’re something else.
“Hey, Sleepyhead,” he greets me.
Sleepyhead? Are we friends now?
“Uh. Hi?” I offer.
Where’s your shirt?
“You look like shit,” he adds.
With a scoff, I touch the side of my tender nose. “Thanks.”
“How you feelin’?”
I drop my hand to my side. “About as good as can be expected.”
His eyes bounce around my messed up face. “So you feel like shit, too? It’s not just looks?”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Count on Ford to say it like it is. At least he’s consistent. “Guess not,” I reply.
Motioning to a coffee machine on the counter, he asks, “Coffee?” He lifts a water bottle in his hand. “Water?”
“I’m good.” I fidget with my fingers and rock back on my heels. Why does this feel so hard? “Is, uh, is Jagger around?” I add. “I’ll get out of your hair, but I just… I guess I figured I should thank him before I leave.”
“Leave?” He cocks his head. “Why?”
Well, it’s not like I can stay here.The thought runs through me, but I stop it before it can slip past my lips. “Do you know where Jagger is?” I repeat.
He glances at the hallway to his left. “Follow the rock music.”
Okay, then.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
I slip past Ford and into the hallway, following the rock music like he instructed.
Underneath the heavy bass, a steadythump-thumphits my ears, but I can’t place why it sounds so familiar.
Thump-thump. Thwack-thump-thump. Thwack-thwack-thump-thump.
What is that?
It’s coming from a door at the end of the hall. It has to be. When I’m close enough, I notice the door’s cracked open, so I peek through the small slit, not wanting to interrupt. Or at least, it’s the lie I’m going with. Truly, I’m only curious. And also seriously second-guessing my decision to stick around and face Jagger again when the alternative is so much more appealing.
Thump-thump. Thwack-thump-thump. Thwack-thwack-thump-thump.
My tongue quadruples in size in an instant.
