I needed so many more things, but I didn’t answer him. Instead I focused on filling out an urgent online request for the tow. “I got it,” I said, ignoring his question.
“You’re always scowling. Sometimes I wonder if you scowl in your sleep.”
I’d bet money that Reed said it just to get a rise out of me. I took the bait. “So, you fantasize about what I’m like in bed?”
Reed cocked an eyebrow. “Isthiswhat you’re usually like? Tossing your brat around until someone responds? Or is it because you’re still feeling off?” He didn’t mention my PTSD episode, but I knew that was what he was referring to.
Tension swelled. What did Reed know about brats anyway? Maybe he meant a spoiled brat instead of the kinky connotation it usually had among our friend group. It wasn’t from my mental stress. Reed kept tugging on my brat strings.
“I’m not spoiled,” I said, testing the meaning.
“I said nothing about being spoiled, lemondrop.”
Oh. A big nope. If he caught my drift, which he seemed to, then he knew way more about kink, and likely dynamics, than I thought he did. Though to be fair, we’d never dived into thosetopics by ourselves. I was pretty sure they came up naturally, but I couldn’t remember them now while sitting in his car.
The tow truck pulled up not long after, interrupting any further conversation. It was nothing short of a miracle that it arrived so quickly. Soon my car was being hauled off, and I watched the taillights of the tow truck disappear with mixed emotions. Part of me hated that car, but it was needed around town.
Returning to Reed’s vehicle, I got into the driver’s seat and adjusted it. His legs must have been miles longer than mine. I didn’t think he was that much taller, but I couldn’t reach the pedals.
“Put your address in the GPS because I don’t remember what road you live on.”
“Will do,” he confirmed.
We buckled in and I watched him shut his eyes, leaning back against the seat.
“Rowe will meet us at my house.”
I nodded. He called August by his last name usually. Paramedics did this on the regular and even though he hadn’t followed that career, it stuck. “For your head?”
“Yes, Eli. He’ll also check out your hand. No arguments.”
“August will tell Kars that I got hurt,” I whined. I didn’t need my best friend to be worrying about me. I was pretty sure she had a date tonight, and she’d want to rush over to help.
“So what? The more eyes on you the better,” he muttered.
“I don’t need anyone’s help.”
“Everyone needs help,” he grumbled under his breath, then added, “try not to worry about that right now. Okay? Focus on not crashing my car.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence. I glanced over at him every few minutes to ensure he wasn’t knocked out. I wasn’t used to anyone making decisions for me, and that Reedhad decided that August was going to look at my injury felt foreign. The pressure and stress constantly knotting my muscles released just a little bit. Since I had nothing else to do, I let my mind wander. My boss Grant, the owner ofThe Kicking Donkey, had cornered me about a week ago and mentioned that I was showing signs of burnout. That I’d been making mistakes on paperwork and working too many hours.
This injury could be the wake-up call I didn’t realize I’d been needing. Rushing around week after week at breakneck speeds to avoid facing my feelings of incompetence left me exhausted.
I’d been doing it since I left my family’s multi-million-dollar company,Crawford Enterprises. Chasing dopamine via small successes instead of resting.
As we pulled into Reed’s driveway, I pushed away my intrusive thoughts and killed the engine. “You still awake, Reed?”
He shifted and turned his head. “Yeah, lemondrop. I’m not unconscious.”
Reed pressed the remote garage door opener, and I expertly pulled into the space. Turning off the engine, I handed him the keys.
“Home sweet home,” I mumbled.
“Some people would be intimidated to drive a car like this.”
“It’s a Lexus, not a Bentley.”
Reed rubbed his chin, as if in thought. “My father owns a Bentley, but I’ve never been allowed to drive it.”
