“Just came by to make sure you’re alive,” she says. “And to drop off a piece of art you obviously bought.”
She holds up the sculpture I purchased the second I saw it. Before she saved my life. Before I even knew she existed. I never bothered to meet the artist, never do.
It’s a sculpture that in no way looks like it was made by Shirley Temple.
I push the button to unlock the door. “Come in. I’m in the last room on the right.”
She pushes through the door, and I wheeze on a breath, feeling the crack in my ribs wreaking havoc, just like the doctor said it would.
She walks in, looking perky and refreshing.
“Hey, Shirley,” I say with a grin, surprisingly happy to see her.
Well, to see anyone. I’m dying of thirst. And pain.
“It’s Kylie,” she corrects, narrowing her eyes at me.
“I know. Thanks for bringing that sculpture by.”
She shrugs, coming over to check me out.
I couldn’t stand being at the hospital, but now I wish I hadn’t left, because…no one is returning my calls, and I can’t walk around alone. Everyone keeps saying they’ll swing by later, but then they dodge my calls when I try to make them hold true to their word.
I was lucky to get my sister to drive me here and help me to the room, before she abandoned me to hurry off to the country club for a date.
“Loki. Funny choice in a sculpture from a girl who looks sweet like you. And an interestingly dark take on it too.”
She tilts her head. “I’m not sweet. Like, not even a little bit,” she says with a sweet smile.
Sure she’s not.
“You were sweet enough to drop thirty or forty feet into the water and drag my ass out of the lake before I drowned, and call an ambulance. Thanks for that, by the way. I’d have thanked you sooner if I had your number.”
She smiles at me like she wasn’t expecting me to show gratitude for the fact she literally saved my life.
“I only have a phone on occasion. They’re too expensive for not much purpose, and I prefer to spend my money elsewhere. And Rudy called for the ambulance.”
My smile grows even more. Who the hell doesn’t have a phone? My nephew is four and has a phone.
“You’re kidding.”
She shakes her head, and she hops up on the bed, careful not to jostle me as she points down at her boots. “My only big expense.”
My eyes run down her legs instead, noting the soft, barely-there tan coating them. Her little white shorts do a number on me too. However, an erection hurts. Hurts damn bad. Because it makes my leg tense. And my leg is pitiful at the moment.
“You okay?” she asks when I grimace.
“I think they’re tricking me with water pills instead of pain pills, because I hurt all over.”
Obviously I don’t explain the erection issue.
She leans over, and her strawberry scent makes me harder, putting me in more pain as she pulls back my pill bottle.
“You must be hurting if you’re taking these and yet you’re still in pain.” She looks over at me, frowning. “When was your last one?”
“Six, maybe seven hours ago.”
Her eyes widen. “It clearly states you need to take one every four hours. That’s why you’re hurting.”
She looks around like she’s noticing we’re all alone.
“No one is here to help?” she asks, looking back over at me.
I laugh humorlessly, then wince again when it jostles me.
“Everyone had something more important to do. Apparently.”
Not even going to lie; it’s embarrassing to say that. I realized I wasn’t loaded down with real friends, but no one? Not even my family?
I pay for my family’s lavish lifestyles, and no one can spare a few hours to help me out?
“You won’t be able to use those crutches for at least a couple of weeks. Rudy said you cracked a few ribs, and that’s a bitch with crutches.”
She says this as though she’s experienced it before, and then she glances down at my leg.
“No one is coming?” she asks, no expression on her face.
I shake my head, looking away from her eyes.
“Guess not.”
“I’ll get you some water, and unless you have a problem with some strange girl roaming around in your house, I’ll help you out until you can use them.” She gestures toward the crutches. “Or until someone comes to take my place.”
I grimace for another reason this time. Now I feel…pathetic.
“You don’t have to. You don’t even know me, and let’s face it, I was a bit of a dick.”
She grins widely. “I’m fully capable of handling any personality. And,” she says, looking around, taking in my room, “these are way better than the digs I’m staying in. You’d be doing me a favor, because I’m sick of smelling my cousin’s ex-college-roommate’s dirty socks.”