I decided to refer to the blond-haired, blue-eyed man I had taken into my home as ‘Mr. Arrogant.’ This was simply because he refused to tell me his name when I asked him as we entered my apartment. Of course, there was also the fact that he was simply being arrogant, demonstrated by his disdainful behavior and the supercilious aura he exuded.

With him still leaning heavily on me, I guided him into the living area, our pace slow and steady. There, I made him sit on the sofa by gently guiding him onto the seat. He must have not had any strength left to support himself, because he simply collapsed onto it, his body flopping onto the softness of the sofa with a thud. Because he still had his arm wrapped over my shoulders, and I in turn was still holding on to him, I inadvertently fell along with him.

With a swoop, I found myself falling against him, my feet entangled with his long legs and my face buried against the massiveness of his hard, muscular chest.

A whiff of citrus and sweat danced across my nose, which oddly enough, made my body warm. Heat rushed to my cheeks as I knew my immodest position on top of him was certainly uncalled for.

Gosh, how much clumsier could I get? And certainly this wasn’t the way to aid an injured person, tumbling around and falling on each other like this. I knew colliding with him, and my body landing on top of him, must have hurt severely, especially on top of his injuries. I hastily removed myself and sat properly on the sofa. I licked my lips and then asked with concern, “Sorry. Are you okay?”

He grunted loudly in response to my query. I thought he sounded like he was in pain, and I felt dreadful. The dark expression on his face told me a great deal, that he was doing his damned hardest to keep it all in.

“Why don’t you lie down?” I suggested, aiding him to rest against the sofa. “I’ll go and get the first-aid kit to clean your wounds.”

He grunted some more in response to my proposition. That was when I noted that his face was a little too pale for my liking. Those numerous bruises, too, were becoming more prominent about his forehead and the left side of his cheek. They’d be black and blue by tomorrow morning, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Once I thought he looked as comfortable as he could be—half lying there as if he were giving up on life itself—I went about searching for the first-aid kit in the attached kitchenette. I found it in one of the cabinets where we stored prescription drugs, which Dad took for depression, and some painkillers.

With the small box of the first-aid kit in my hands, I watched Mr. Arrogant from the kitchenette with interest. He was sitting there on our worn-out sofa, which had seen better days, his head bowed low and the fringe of his pale blond hair framing his high forehead. His shoulders were slumped and his face, though I could barely see his expression clearly because of the position he was sitting in, I assumed was scowling in pain.

I came over, put the first-aid kit on the coffee table, and took a seat beside him. He lifted his head and stared hard at me, as if it confused him greatly as to why I was working so hard to help him, as if this was truly alien to him.

Well, perhaps it was? Perhaps in his world, every man was for himself? Then, on second thought, so was the world I was living in. Maybe I was the odd one out, helping a beaten-up stranger like this.

I gave him a smile, which I hoped would lighten the tense atmosphere that was currently charging between us. When he still stared at me, I became nervous, licked my lips, and tucked my long hair behind my ear, both habits I found hard to break.

I said, “Sorry, we don’t have a lot here. Err… What I mean is this kind of place isn’t something you’re used to, right?”

What I meant was the small cramped living room, worn-out furniture, and everything in between that was currently residing in our apartment, the type of things that belonged to poor people—which definitely translated to junk to the rich.

When he still didn’t respond to my attempt at starting a friendly conversation, I sighed and proceeded to the important job of cleaning up his wounds instead. I grabbed for the first-aid kit, opened the box, and said, “Shall we get started?”

I got some cleaning pads out and leaned toward him. I was just about to clean the scratch on his forehead when he caught my wrist, halting me from proceeding further. My heart leaped in my chest as he stared long and hard at me.

He said, his voice deep and reverberating, “I can do that myself.” He took the cleaning pads from my hand and asked, “Can I use your shower?”

“Shower?” I queried him, confused.

“To clean up,” he said. “If that’s all right with you.”

“Of course,” I said. “Do you want to use it now?”

“It’s easier to clean the wounds with water.”

I nodded in understanding. It was then I had a suspicion there were probably a lot more scratches and bruises about his torso, from the kicks and bashes he had received from the fight. If so, then it’d be a lot easier to clean the wounds with water and then apply antibiotic ointment.

I rose from my seat and said, “The bathroom is the first door along the corridor.” I was just at the door as a thought struck me. I turned to him and asked, “Err… Can you clean yourself in the shower? I mean, you’re injured quite badly.”

My concerned question, oddly enough, made him grin with amusement. Oh, Lord! But the man was gorgeous when he smiled. It lightened up his face, and his eyes twinkled like a pair of jewels. My heart, without my permission, leaped with joy. I couldn’t help myself and grinned at him in return.

“Do you want to come in and help me?” he asked.

Was that teasing I heard in his tone of voice? I didn’t know. God, I didn’t even know how a guy actually teased a girl. Despite being seventeen, I had never had any experience with the opposite sex. Of course, there were definitely lots of guys in school, but I wasn’t close enough to any of them to know about flirting.

Then again, I thought, maybe it was sarcasm in the tone of his voice that he meant to portray.

I blinked and then blushed profusely. I shook my head furiously.

“No. No. No,” I stammered in embarrassment. “That’s not what I mean.” I felt flustered and was eager to explain the meaning behind my words. “I mean, you’re obviously injured, so I wondered if you’ll be all right in the shower by yourself. I mean, like, umm…”

He stood, which made me jolt back at his sudden movement.

That was odd. Only moments ago, he seemed pale, weak, and, well, just generally sick and half-dead, like a person who had just recently been beaten should be. Now he seemed fine, which confused me. Were his injuries not that severe?

I swallowed. Gosh, him standing so close to me, tall and lean, and the heat of his body radiating all around me, made me flustered. I slowly raised my face until my eyes met his.

He said, “I’ve never met any girl like you before.” He cocked his head to one side as if he found me truly bizarre, like a sort of unknown creature that just landed on Earth.

Suddenly, he leaned close to me so that his warm breath was fanning my skin. It made my body feel warm and my tummy fluttery.

In his dark tone, he said, “Why are you helping me? Are you sure it’s safe to let me into your house?”

I thought for a moment, and then it dawned on me. Well, now that he put it that way, I did feel naïve and stupid for doing this, helping a complete and utter stranger, and even inviting him into the house.

I cast my eyes downward and said, “You’re right. What girl would do that? Especially in Las Vegas, or anywhere, for that matter.”

I thought further that Dad would have scolded me severely if he knew what I had unthinkingly done. Suddenly, I was upset with myself for being so naïve and trusting, just like Marie had always told me were my flaws. Another most damming one was that I was too kind-hearted. It seemed I always wanted to help people when I couldn’t even help myself.

Mr. Arrogant touched my chin gently, which pleasantly surprised me, and guided my face up so that he could see my eyes. He gave me an infectious smile that made my young heart skip a few beats before continuing to pump furiously.

“Don’t worry, I’m not the type of stranger who takes advantage of young girls,” he said. “Speaking of which, where are your parents?”

I blushed and said, “They’re away for Christmas vacation. To Canada.”

He frowned. “Leaving you here alone?”

His tone implied disapproval, and I was offended.

“I’m old enough to look after myself, thank you very much.”

He chuckled. “Feisty, aren’t we?”

I glared at him, which only made him laugh. Gosh, he had beautiful laughter, I thought in wonder.

Once he managed to stop, he changed the subject completely and asked, “The bathroom?”

“This way,” I said, moving back from him and turning on my heels.

I took him out of the living area, into the hallway, and then into our small bathroom. “In here,” I said, opening the door for him.

He stepped over the threshold and said, “Thanks.”

I nodded. “Just call if you need anything. Oh, wait, I’ll get you a towel first.” I rushed over to the closet across the corridor and retrieved a well-used towel. Once I’d handed it to him, he thanked me again and then shut the door.

As I made my way back to the living area, I heard the shower going.

Honest to God, I had never done anything like this before, helping an injured stranger and bringing him into the house. Even allowing him to use the shower. Had I done the right thing? Should I have left him back there in the street instead? All wounded and in dreadful pain? I knew that eventually he would have managed to regain enough strength to walk away from here. Well, maybe…

Then again, the thought of leaving him there didn’t sit well with me. I might have done an unthinkable, stupid thing helping him, because he was a stranger and I didn’t know him, but at least it was something I felt was right, to begin with.

Nodding my head and convincing myself that what I had done was a good deed, I sat on the sofa and waited for Mr. Arrogant to finish his shower.