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“Trina.” His voice was softer now, tugging at her heartstrings, reminding her of the boy she’d loved and lost. He stepped closer and reached out, tugging one of the pant legs up, exposing her swollen and bleeding right foot. “Did you fall?”
“No, I ran after your dumb ass.”
He almost smiled. “No way are you driving with that foot. C’mon.” He held out his hand. “I’m in much better shape to drive.”
“You, who just wrecked your motorcycle, in better shape to drive than I am?”
“I’m fine, Trina. Give me the keys.”
“No.”
“Do I really have to throw you over my shoulder to put you in the passenger seat?”
She crossed her arms, her keys in her hand.
“Fine, have it your way.” He easily swooped her off the ground and she yelped in surprise, dropping her keys beside the car.
“Damn it, Ren—”
“You’re hurt,” he said.
“You’re being unreasonable.”
“Your feet look awful.”
“Thanks, I love you, too.”
She hadn’t meant to say it.
Especially not like that.
Especially not when it made him pause before depositing her into the passenger seat of the car.
“Ren—”
“Relax. I’ve got this.”
But relax was the last thing she was able to do as he scooped the keys up off the ground and moved the driver’s seat back before easing into her car.
“Who are you calling?” she asked as he pulled out his phone.
“Martin.”
“Always Martin?”
“Or you,” he said, and her heart skipped the tiniest of beats. “Sit tight. Once Martin has the bike, I’ll get your feet taken care of.”
“Ren—”
“I have a first aid kit at my apartment.”
His apartment.
He was taking her to his home.
“Okay,” she finally said, and after his phone call, they waited for Martin, an uneasy silence between them.
