Before & After - Nazarea Andrews Page 0,15
adjusting my hard-on. She glares at me, shoving her hair out of her eyes and I grin.
“No one likes a tease,” she says and I smirk, leaning down to brush her lips lightly.
“Maybe not. But you, sweet girl, like me.”
She growls lightly and I slap her ass before steering her toward the door.
“We’re going now?”
“You ok with that?”
She shrugs, nibbling at her lip nervously Something I didn’t expect from her. “Hey,” I say softly. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”
“What if he doesn’t like me?”
I hesitate. I could tell her that it wouldn’t matter, but this girl knows me well enough to know better. She’s picked up too quickly just how important Scotty is. She won’t buy my bullshit and maybe that’s what I adore about her.
She’s so fucking different from every girl I’ve ever met.
“Why don’t—” I say, catching her by the hand and lacing our fingers, drawing her into me “—we figure that out if it becomes a problem? And until then, we agree that neither of us will worry about it. Ok?”
She bites her lip, and my dick, still hard, twitches in my jean. I nod at the door, and nudge her slightly. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
Chapter 8: After
Easy doesn't make the lonely
easier to bear, and less
Suffocating.
It simply is.
I've tried them both.
And I would rather,
Fight and laugh and puzzle
Through the riddles,
And all the not easy.
If it means being with you.
(Rike’s poems to Peyton)
I’m leaving the hospital.
That’s what they keep telling me. That I’m leaving, and I’ll be going—where?
Rike keeps trying to come back, and I keep refusing to see him. He’s not offering me anything and he’s holding all the cards. The fucking bastard is holding my memory hostage. It’s psychological warfare and I don’t care how he might make me smile, how sweetly he treats me—nothing can excuse that. It’s indefensible.
But there’s nothing more that the hospital can do for me. I have money—plenty, according to the ATM I use with the debit cards I find in the purse the EMTs brought in with me. So I make a plan.
And when my doctor discharges me, two weeks after I wake up with no memories and a shattered leg, I wheel myself out of the hospital. Alone. I think, very briefly, about going to see Lindsay before I leave, but the truth is I’m not sure what the point would be. She’s got her own set of problems, recovering from the internal organ damage and the broken bones. They’ve moved her from ICU, but no one is even starting to talk about her going home. It’s completely quiet on that front, and I’ve asked.
I think something is going on with her that no one wants to let me in on. Because I’m so fucking fragile. I huff a breath at the thought.
I hate being weak.
It takes the better part of two hours to get myself to a hotel, and settled in. It’s not terribly nice. As much as I have in my bank account, eventually it’ll dry up, and I’m pretty sure that whatever job I might have had is long gone. So this little nest egg will have to last until I can find a new one or remember who the hell I am.
The hotel doesn't have a bellhop, but there is a big black man from maintenance sitting behind the counter, and he offers to help me carry my stuff up to my room. There isn't much—three bags from the hospital with meds and clothes, a bloody purse that came in from the accident, and the stuff that Rike brought to me. Which I should get rid of. I've tried to, a few times. I almost left the bag of his gifts on the bed when I left, but at the last second, I chickened out. I'm furious and I don't think I'll ever forgive him, but I also can't seem to bring myself to break ties completely.
I'm clearly an idiot.
"You shouldn't be here alone, ma'am," the guy rumbles at me as we take the elevator up to the third floor. I glance at him, and he's staring at his feet. The man is a giant, but he's got a shy gentleness about him that sets me at ease.
"Why?"
"Dangerous. And you're a lady," he adds, flushing a darker shade of brown.
I glance away to hide my smile, and shrug. "Beggars and choosers. You know the drill," I say.
“What happened?” he asks, nudging the wheelchair.
“Car accident. It left me a scrambled memory—I’m trying