I shrug. “No one’s here.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
She pushes the door open with her shoulder. “I don’t need help.”
I don’t move. “Look, I know you don’t think very highly of me, and that’s fair. But I’m not going to let you bleed out without at least checking the cut. You might need stitches or a hospital visit.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re being dramatic.” But she doesn’t argue when I catch the closing door with my boot.
“Dramatic?” I lift a brow. “If you’d just let me help you, I wouldn’t have to start listing all my reasons.”
“It’s just a cut.” She pulls her finger from her mouth again, and blood drips in a slow, lazy trail down to her palm.
“Yeah, looks like you have it totally under control.” I slide my hands to her waist and easily lift her onto the counter.
“Zander,” she warns, her voice tight with resistance.
I pick up her hand. The cut’s deep. Not stitches-deep, but it’s not a nick either. “First-aid kit?”
“In my office,” she mumbles, still concentrating on the cut.
“I’ll be right back. Sit still. Be a good patient.”
“Do I get a sticker if I don’t cry?”
“You can have a lollipop if you’re really good,” I say, chuckling as I head out.
But the second I leave the room, I hear her jump off the counter.
“Actually—I’ll get it!”
“Relax. Where is it?” I keep walking down the hall, already knowing she won’t tell me.
Sure enough, I feel her presence behind me before I see her. Her fingers clutch the back of my T-shirt, and she yanks me out of the way. “I said I can get it.”
“Romy,” I warn, sidestepping her as she lunges for the drawer in her desk.
She pulls out the kit with victorious flair, holding it up as if she just captured the flag and is declaring victory. “Got it!”
“Congrats. You’re bleeding again.” I nod toward her hand.
She looks down and frowns. “Shit.”
I take the kit gently, brushing past her on the way back to the bathroom. She follows me in and hops back up on the counter, wiggling her ass, suddenly being the most cooperative patient ever.
I turn on the faucet and guide her finger under the cool stream of water, rinsing the blood away. Then I pat her finger dry and gently press gauze on the cut. “Keep pressure on that.”
“Yes, doctor,” she says lightly.
“You into roleplay?” I glance at her from beneath my lashes.
“You sure know your way around a first-aid kit,” she says, staring at my items all lined up in order of how to help her, completely ignoring my flirtatious comment.
She’s right to ignore it. I don’t know why I say half the shit that comes out of my mouth when she’s around. I just can’t seem to help myself.
“Foster kid.” My voice drops. Giving her a bit of my past that I usually let people discover on their own feels strange. Although it’s not a secret and since she was a big fan of mine, she probably already knows.
