“Gross.”
“Drink it,” he growls, and I take another sip. I blink as my head starts to clear, the fog and heaviness lifting.
Bam is on his knees between my thighs, his hands cupping my face. “Tell me you’re with me.” His face is pale and worried looking.
“I’m with you.” I swallow. “Shit.”
“I told you to let me install the app on my phone too, Josie.” His hands drop from my face. “God damn it.” I jump, not used to him using that tone of voice on me. He’s pissed.
“I forgot my pen in my bag,” I say when I see one on the table next to me.
“I grabbed one out of the fridge a few days ago. It said they last for a month without refrigeration.” I nod in confirmation.
Bam stands and starts pacing back and forth, running his fingers through his hair. He’s pissed. I get it. I’m mad at myself too.
However, what I hate more than anything is knowing that this will change things. Bam’s going to treat me differently, and not in the girlfriend kind of way. People always do.
Chapter Twenty-One
BAM
My first impulse is to tie her up and then drag her into a bedroom surrounded by a refrigerator full of foods that will keep her insulin in check, and then never let her out. But I can sense fear radiating from her. Josie is an outside girl, a doer. She likes being at the front of the line, not peering over someone’s shoulders. She’d waste away to nothing locked up in a room.
“I gave you what you wanted, now you need to get gone. The last thing I need is an ambulance coming in here to carry out a dead girl.” The bartender’s sharp words stop me in my tracks.
“She’s not dying,” I bark out.
“I’m fine,” Josie adds, but her voice is weak, and I don’t think it carries far enough for the burly guy to hear her.
He shrugs. “I recognize a diabetic when I see one. My mom is insulin dependent, but she’s not having these kinds of spells because we take good care of her. You’re not doing your job.”
This time, his words pierce my skin like an actual knife. He’s not wrong. I should have been more careful with Josie. She should have never gotten to the place where she was feeling woozy, let alone where she needed a shot.
“I know,” I say simply because I deserve the lashings. I reach down and lift Josie into my arms. She thumps her fists against my shoulder.
“I can walk.”
“I can carry you.”
“Hey, you may want to check the courts on Sixth and Grand. Heard it’s a pay for play.” The bartender goes back to wiping down his bar top after that. He must feel sorry for us. I’ll take it. I heft Josie higher and carry her out of the pool hall and onto the sidewalk. I let her slide out of my grasp while I order up a car. It pulls up moments later, and a short time after that, we’re home.
Inside, as she forces a snack down, she says, “You leaving me here?”
“I want to.”
“I’ll hate that.”
“I know.”
We stare at each other for too long before she interrupts the silence with a half plea, half promise. “I’ll be more careful.”
I hate that she feels at fault here when I’m supposed to be watching out for her.
“You got some athletic shoes at home?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Because we’re going to the basketball court.”
