I open my mouth to break this unbearable silence, but before I can speak, he moves.
His hands rise slowly. Deliberately. He grips the helmet and pulls it off. His blond curls are a mess.
And there he is.
Just Cristiano.
The menace I felt evaporates like morning mist.
His amber eyes are soft with concern. He looks worried, like any person would look if they stumbled across someone hurt on the side of the road.
“Are you okay?” His deep voice is gentle. “I was back there when I saw you fall.”
“I’m fine,” I manage, but my voice comes out strained. “I just twisted my ankle.”
He swings off the bike in one easy motion and crouches beside me, close enough that I can smell him. Leather andgasoline. A man’s smell that’s distractingly sexy despite the pain in my ankle.
“Can I take a look?”
I hesitate. Cristiano touching my ankle? It feels too intimate, but my ankle is throbbing and swelling. It could be broken, for all I know, and I can’t exactly run away from him right now.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He’s careful. So careful. His hands cup my ankle like he’s afraid of hurting me, his fingers probing gently along the bone. I wince when he finds a tender spot, and he immediately eases off.
“Sorry.” He looks up at me, genuinely apologetic. “Can you flex it?”
I try, gritting my teeth. It moves. Painfully, but it moves.
“It doesn’t feel broken,” I admit.
“I can take you to the hospital for an X-ray. Just to be sure.”
That means sitting for hours with Cristiano, because he’ll probably insist on waiting with me.
“No.” The word comes out too fast. “No, I just—I just want to go home. Mom can take me later if the swelling doesn’t go down.”
He nods, accepting this without argument.
“I can take you home,” he offers, nodding toward his bike.
I look around at the empty street, the distant bus stop, and the complete absence of any other options.
“I’m heading home anyway,” he adds. “I was just having coffee with Valerie.”
Valerie. The cloud over my head darkens. That must be the girl from the pizza parlor, the one with the big smile and the annoying hand on his arm. It occurred to me that Cristiano might have been following me just now, but of course he wasn’t. He was on a date, and this street is on his way home.
Valerie. What kind of stupid name is Valerie? A rich-girl name, probably passed down from a wealthy grandmother. I’msure Valerie has a chauffeur and doesn’t trip and wind up in gutters, embarrassing herself.
I find myself glowering at Cristiano’s chest, which is filling my vision. I don’t care who Cristiano has coffee with. I don’t care about Cristiano at all.
I look around again, helpless. No bus. No one I can call. Rosa’s at work. Mom’s at work. Katrina is at basketball practice and Priya is visiting her cousins.
“I don’t want to be a bother,” I say, but my voice is weak.
“It’s not a bother.” He says it simply, like it’s obvious. “We live in the same house. It would be strange not to take you home.”
He offers me his helmet.
