passive-aggressive stuff that spewed out of his mouth.
“I’m getting something to drink,” my current boss said suddenly, standing up. He paused for a second, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t my imagination that it hurt him to offer, “You want something?”
“No, thank you.” See? I was trying. Because I finally knew I wasn’t going to be at Maio House much longer. That was the one and only bright side to today, even though it was a double-edged joy. Losing my friend but gaining my freedom.
Gunner shrugged though and headed off toward a corner as I sat there, cradling my elbow against my side and breathing in and out through my nose.
If I had just walked the other way toward the bathrooms….
I pulled my phone out again and started to send my sister a message before deciding I should wait until I was all stitched up. I didn’t want her freaking out, because she would, or blowing up my phone, because she would do that too. I’d send her a picture when I was done and out of here. That would be perfect.
Leaning back against the chair, I closed my eyes and tried to think about what I could work on in my next video. It would have to be something easy because of the stitches, that was for sure. At least it was my left arm.
Hmm. It had been a while since I’d made something cold. It was still warm enough, in Houston at least, to where that would be a hit.
More frozen yogurt?
Something touching my knee had me jerking my leg back and opening my eyes with a flinch.
But the second I focused, I found a familiar set of light blue eyes inches away from me.
He really had come.
Zac’s face was careful as his gaze slid from my head down to the elbow I was holding on my lap, wrapped in a towel. The hand he had touched me with flexed on my knee, and he tipped his head to the side before asking softly, “You all right, darlin’?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “It just hurts.”
He frowned, and one of those great big hands landed on my inner forearm, his callused thumb making a small circle there. He was in sweats and a T-shirt, a cap pulled down low and covering his hair and most of his face. And he’d never looked better to me as he gazed down at my arm with his forehead furrowed. “I bet. What happened?”
“Someone had broken a glass earlier and they didn’t sweep it all up. I tripped and fell right on it like an idiot. Just busted my ass. We asked the manager for a vacuum to get all the pieces, but he never brought it,” I explained as he stared at me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Why didn’t you call me?” he answered, lifting his head. His eyebrows were knitted together, and the corners of his mouth were tight.
“Because it’s just a little cut, and you have more important things to do.”
That got me a blink. “Yeah? Like what?”
I pressed my lips together. “I don’t know. Doing your thing with your coaching staff. Football stuff. I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me.”
“Bianca.” He was still watching me carefully. “Why you always sayin’ stuff like that?”
I partially smiled as the thumb on my forearm did a little circle that felt pretty freaking nice on the sensitive skin there.
And I felt that thumb, and his entire palm, slide to my upper arm and squeeze it gently, gaze still intense. “Didn’t I tell you already I’ll never be too busy for you? Are we clear on that now? Once and for all?”
I gulped, and he just raised his eyebrows. I might have swooned if I wasn’t already sitting down. And you better not take his words like that because he doesn’t mean them that way, I reminded myself. Futilely.
“You say things like that, and it hurts my feelings, darlin’, but we’ll talk about that later when you aren’t bleedin’ to death. I’ll think about forgivin’ you once I know you’re gonna live.”
“Aww, Zac—”
“Don’t ‘aww, Zac’ me. Your feelings would be hurt too if I got hurt and didn’t tell you because I thought you’d be too busy.”
I hated it when he had a point. But it was different. I groaned, and he shook his head just a little as he squatted there in front of me.
“No. Don’t you dare say some dumb shit. I can see it in