“Don’t think about stealing my car.” Her voice came from behind me.
“What? That piece of junk? No thank you,” I replied.
“Hondas consistently rank at the top of the charts for dependability. They literally go over two hundred thousand miles when you stick to a regular maintenance schedule. And don’t get me started on the excellent gas mileage it gets. You’d be a fool not to want my car.”
I turned around to face her. “How do you know so much about your car?”
“Duh, it’s my car. I should know everything about it.” She rolled her eyes and went to the driver’s side and tossed her bag into the backseat.
“Most chicks only know how to start it and pump gas.”
“Yeah, it’s sad.” She shut the door and leaned against the car, looking at me. “Do you have a lot of pain?” She jerked her chin at my leg.
“Some days more than others.”
“Do you know the difference between phantom pain and real pain? From what I could make out, it’s been a year since your accident. You should be doing a lot better.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “My injury is none of your business.”
“True. But it’s my job to care. Sue me.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Pain meds are addictive. After a while, they mess you up more than help you.”
“I’m not addicted to them.” Why was I still talking to her? I didn’t appreciate her butting into my business.
“So you are still taking them.” It wasn’t a question. She took a few steps toward me and looked into my eyes. “Alcohol and oxy shouldn’t be taken together.”
“I know. But I sleep better.” Again, why was I still talking to her?
“When was the last time you saw your doctor?” She bit her bottom lip considering me.
“The day after my last skin graft surgery.” My gaze lowered to her pouty lips and damn, that mouth seemed familiar to me.
“When was that?”
“After Christmas,” I replied. “What’s your name?”
“Kelly. Are you still in physical therapy?” she asked.
“Kelly what? And no, I’m walking. What do I need therapy for?”
“Typical answer from a badass biker. Are you able to ride your motorcycle?”
“Not for long. My tailbone hurts after thirty minutes. What’s your last name?” I asked her again.
“Why do you need to know that?”
“Because you seem familiar to me.” I checked out her body, which was not familiar at all. “I knew a girl named Kelly a long time ago.”
“Interesting. I’ve never known someone named GQ, so I can’t be the Kelly you knew.”
“GQ is a road name. My real name is Gideon.” Why I revealed my given name was a mystery to me.
“Gideon?” Her eyebrows raised, wrinkling her forehead and she smiled. “Quick.”
I smiled back. “That’s me. And you’re Kelly Lloyd.”
“No, way!” Her smile stretched wider. “A biker. I would have never guessed. I mean, you weren’t all that mechanical and kind of clumsy if I recall correctly.”
“People change, Kel.” I let my gaze roam over her body. “You’re not the tomboy I remember.”
