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“What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
“Catherine, and I'm here because I didn't want to wait until later to see you. Sounds like you needed to see my pretty face, too.”
I laugh. “It is helpful just a bit. Where are we going?”
“You're going to grab a change of clothes, plus your work clothes, and then we're going to my apartment to get you cleaned up. Your hand is sticky.”
“I didn't get a chance to go to the bathroom before class.” I try to pull it away, but he holds on. We stop by my dorm where I grab my things. Emerson tells me to get my stuff to spend the night as well. I try not to look down at my burning knees. Blood and I do not get along. The last thing I need is to faint in front of him over what's hopefully only a few droplets of blood. When Emerson starts walking toward his truck, I object. “I have to work in a few hours; I need to drive my car.”
“I'll take you to work.” He opens the door to his truck and waits. “C'mon, Eva. We don't have all day.” He's trying not to smile. He knows he won. He probably knew he won the moment I saw him because that's when I gave up on today. It was over when he took my hand because he took charge and started taking care of me. He finally grins when I get into his truck.
“When do I get my surprise?” I ask when he gets inside.
“Tonight.” When I don't respond, he glances over to see my raised eyebrow. Emerson laughs. “It's nothing like that or whatever it is you're thinking. It's something simple. The only reason I'm even calling it a surprise is because I knew it would definitely make you come over.”
“You think you have me all figured out, don't you?”
“Pretty much,” he says as he parks the truck. He takes my bag of clothes and carries it inside. He drops it on the couch and then leads me into the bathroom, where he makes me sit on the tub. He grabs a rag and wets it. When he kneels in front of me, I peek at my knees.
Bad decision.
“Oh, God.” The sight of a few droplets and little red lines of blood has me woozy. My eyes are tempted to roll into the back of my head, and all of the control over my body exits, willing me to give in and faint.
“What?” Emerson asks with concern.
“I don't do well with blood, not even my own. I think I might pass out,” I mumble.
“Seriously?” he laughs.
“Yeah.”
“Rest your head on my shoulder then.”
I do, turning my face toward his neck. “So, you think you have me all figured out?” Anything to get my mind off the bits of blood.
Emerson is gentle as he begins wiping my knees. “Yeah. Blood freaks you out. You love animals. You like to have the windows down in the summer with the music loud. You love surprises. It takes you a while to wake up. You're pretty much a happy go-lucky girl until some crappy things happen in your day, which shocked me actually. And last but not least, you're kind of nosey.”
“I like to think of myself as curious, thank you.”
He laughs. “You're funny, too. Hold out your hands.” I do, and he begins to wipe them as well.
I'm no longer lightheaded, but I stay put. He smells good. I mean, he smells like soap, but it's a nice smelling soap. He's right though. He knows me well. “At least one of us has the other figured out.”
It's not until the rag stops moving over my hand that I realize I said it out loud. Did I strike a chord with him? The rag moves to my other hand.
“You know me, Eva,” he says quietly, softly as if he's trying to convince us both. “Tell me what you have figured out.”
My list starts out innocently enough. “You like video games, probably the military combat type if you're like Glen. You're neat and organized. You're a cover hog and a grouch in the middle of the night.” He chuckles. “You love Smitty's.” I sit up, his eyes lift to mine, and because I'm a glutton for punishment, I finish my list with, “Your ex, Kelly? I think your break up with her still bothers you.”
Emerson stares at me. He seems surprised, but there's something else there I can't quite put my finger on. This is his chance to say something. To tell me and ease the worries he doesn't even know I have. After a moment longer, he stands, pulling me up with him. “It bothers me sometimes,” he acknowledges.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
His answer is quick. “No, it's in the past, Eva. I'd rather focus on you and the present.” He tosses the rag into the sink. I don't know if that's a soothing answer or not.
“Thanks for cleaning up my scrapes. Will you bring me my bag so I can change and get all the stickiness off me?”
“Yeah, sure.” Before he leaves, he grabs me a fresh rag and a towel. While he's gone, I grab the bar of soap and start cleaning my arms. He drops off my bag before walking back out.
