how cute she looked trying to be mad and catch her breath at the same time, but he was too concerned for her well-being to dwell on her appearance for more than a second. He waved down the nearest onlooker. “Go see if the medic has a rescue inhaler, but whatever you do, don’t tell Toni she needs help.”
Toni glared at him for a brief instant before doubling over and wheezing in misery.
Logan had no idea what to do for her, so he just crouched at her feet, patting her knee. Toni glared at the man who returned with a tank of oxygen hooked to a face mask.
“I said no”—wheeze—“oxygen.”
“How about a nebulizer with albuterol?” the medic said. He seemed to be used to working with difficult patients.
She nodded and closed her eyes while the medic slipped the clear plastic mask over her nose and mouth. She sucked in a deep breath. And another. Tears leaked from beneath her tightly squeezed eyelids. Logan touched her hair, his heart twisting with a mixture of anxiety and anguish. Her wheezing lessened slightly, and she took another deep inhale, finally catching her breath. He wasn’t sure what she was so upset about. Perhaps she was embarrassed. But he sensed there was something deeper going on in her head.
“Better?” he asked when her breathing normalized.
She opened her eyes and nodded. She then tilted her head back, panting at the ceiling as she fought the tears pooling in her eyes.
She pulled the oxygen mask off her face and tossed it at the paramedic.
“Thank you for helping her,” Logan said. “I’m not sure why she’s being so cranky. She’s usually really nice.”
“Leave me alone,” she said.
“I could start an IV. Give her some meds to help her breathing,” the concerned paramedic offered.
“Go away!” Toni yelled. “I can breathe just fine now. Having the wind knocked out of me triggered an asthma attack, is all. I haven’t had an asthma attack in over ten years.”
Feeling completely useless, Logan shrugged at the paramedic. If she really needed the meds, he’d hold her down if necessary. “Will she be okay without the additional medication?”
“She should be.” The young man grinned. “She seems to have her wits about her.”
Logan didn’t fully agree with the man’s assessment. Her behavior was irrational. At least for her. Still, he couldn’t call her out on refusing medical treatment. He’d once walked around for three weeks on a broken foot because he was sure he was fine after a rather tame wipeout on his dirt bike.
He sat beside her on the equipment case and took her hand. She squeezed with surprising strength, but refused to look at him as she used a soppy tissue to blot her eyes and nose.
“Toni? Tell me what’s wrong.”
She shook her head.
“Toni,” he said cajolingly.
“I don’t . . . I don’t belong here,” she said.
Logan laughed. That was all it was? Seriously? She felt out of place? “You’re at a metal concert. The only requirement for fitting in with a bunch of metal heads is to not fit in.”
She wiped at her tears with the heels of both hands. “Then I must be the most metal metal-head who ever lived.”
“You did just do a stage dive onto a stage. We usually aim for the crowd. But hey, keep the audience on its toes, I always say. Do the unexpected. I don’t know why I’ve never thought to get the wind knocked out of me onstage. Very metal.”
She rolled her eyes at him and then produced a breathy laugh. “That really hurt.”
“Your head or your pride?” He stroked her hair again, wanting to kiss her so badly he was practically salivating.
“My rear end.”
“Oh,” he said.
She rubbed a hand over her ass and winced. “I think I’m going to have a huge bruise.”
“Well, there’s only one thing to do in a situation like this,” Logan said.
She frowned at him. “What’s that?”
“Let me take a look.”
“You just want to see my butt,” she said wisely.
“Your butt?” he asked. “Oh no, I want to take a closer look at dat fine ass.”
Her eyes widened at his use of ghetto speak. “You’re weird.”
He tapped her nose with his index finger. “I prefer to call it obsessed.” He rose to stand before her, his best bored supermodel look in place. “Obsession by Logan Schmidt,” he said, framing her face with his splayed hands. “Obsession,” he repeated, like the distant echo heard in an arty commercial, at the same time framing her boobs with his hands. “Obsession.”