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I try to appear calm.
Not only because I don’t want him to know that he got me but also because why would I be worried in the first place? Why do I care if he’s in pain or if he looks run over by a truck?
“Because it looks like you are,” he rasps.
And I let go of his wrists then. “I’m not.”
I also try to move back but I can’t.
Because of his stupid helmet and his fingers still clutching onto the straps.
His mouth, split and swollen as it is, stretches up in a small smirk. “Because if you were, I’d let you do it.”
“Let me do what?”
“Clean up my wounds.”
My breath escapes in a mad rush. “I have no interest in cleaning up your stupid wounds.”
He licks his split lips. “I’ll even let you bandage me up.”
I throw him a mock smile. “Yes, because that’s what I aspire to be. Being your nursemaid along with being your servant girl.”
He chuckles. “Nursemaid, yeah. I could use a good little nursemaid like you.”
I fist my hands at my sides. “Totally. Let me just knee you in your special place first and I’ll get right on that.”
But if I thought my sarcastic comments would bother him, then I was wrong.
Apparently nothing bothers him or stops him from scanning my face.
And the one thing he always notices about me: my dress.
This one had him cursing only moments ago but now he’s watching it as if for the first time. And I guess itisfor the first time, because just like his beaten-up face, my dress was hidden by the darkness as well.
So now he takes it in, from the spaghetti straps and the square neckline to the ruffled hem that stops an inch above my knees.
When he’s done checking out my dress and making me feel all kinds of breathless, he goes, “A pretty little nursemaidnotdressed in pink.”
It’s not as if what he said was wrong or untrue.
I amnotdressed in pink.
But it still makes me squirm a little. His observation. For some reason.
But I lift my chin and say, “Yes, because blue is his favorite color.”
Which is why I wore blue at The Horny Bard too. And yes, wearing a dress when I’m going to a party where people might recognize me is dangerous, but I need to look my best tonight.
I need to impress my ex-boyfriend.
Hence my choice of dress, ribbon and even my sandals.
I’m head to toe, all blue.
Although, his best friend —ex-best friend — tells me, “Well then I hate to say it, but you missed a spot.”
I would’ve asked what he means by that but I don’t have to.
