Sara
“I’M SUCH AN idiot,” Emma lamented as we strolled out of class. “This burn is going to make lab suck for the next week.” Her mouth twisted as she examined the scaly burn on the side of her hand.
“You aren’t an idiot. It happens all the time. I see your burn and raise you my cut.” I held up my palm to draw attention to the slice I made down my hand when I was supposed to be carving a chicken. “You should’ve seen my waitress injuries. I came home looking like I handled a snake in a fire pit.” I laughed to myself. I could laugh about those days now; it was anything but funny back then.
“What did you do? I can’t miss lab.” She cradled her injured hand against her chest.
“A good cream and liquid bandages work wonders.” I gave her forearm a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll live, I promise.”
“How did you work through all of that?” She scoffed and shook her head. “I couldn’t.”
A humorless laugh fell from my lips. “You’d be surprised what you can do when you have no choice.”
My landlord wouldn’t have cared that I burned my hand, and the supermarket didn’t allow you to put food on loan, so I worked through the pain. Because I had to.
“Hey, ladies!” Drew waved as he passed us on the way inside. “Good class? Any leftovers?” He gave us a wide smile, but Emma groaned before I could answer.
“No. We’re the walking wounded. I got burned and Sara got cut.” Still clutching onto her hand, she nodded her chin at me.
“Wounded? What’s wrong?’ Drew’s brow pinched as he squinted his eyes in concern—at me. Emma was forgotten to him, but she was too busy over-nursing her burn to notice.
“A cut, it’s no big deal. Occupational hazard. My personal best is ten stitches down my wrist from a serrated knife.” I jutted my chin out in mock pride, but Drew didn’t laugh.
“I’m going to find some cream and run more cold water over it.” Emma backed away from us, regarding her hand as if it were about to fall off. Poor thing. She’d learn soon enough.
Drew grabbed my hand to get a closer look. He shot me a concerned glance as his thumb drifted down the open cut. I gasped, but not in pain. I didn’t want to acknowledge the jolt of electricity caused by his skin sliding across mine.
“It’s fine, really.” I withdrew my hand, wincing at the sting as I wiped the sweat from my palm onto my jeans. “Comes with the territory. All I need is a liquid bandage or even some Krazy Glue.” I shrugged, and the flat line of his lips curved into a smile.
“Krazy Glue?”
“You never watched a medical show? Krazy Glue is gold for cuts. You should try it, you know in case you come down too hard on one key and injure yourself.” I raised a brow, fighting the urge to rub at the painful sting across my palm. If glue didn’t work, it would be a long and painful night.
“Always the warrior.” He sighed and crossed his arms. “I bet you were one of those kids who had perfect attendance every year.”
“I was raised as long as you didn’t have a high fever, you went to school. If you could crawl, you could still go. I guess I still think along those lines.” I shrugged. “How long are you here tonight?”
“Tonight is my late night if you want to come by, but you probably want to rest the hand.”
I gave him a slow shake of my head. “I work tonight. I’ll fix it up and it’ll be fine.”
The worried pinch of his brows returned. “Are you sure? No need to be a hero, Sara.”
I fought a roll of my eyes. “This is nothing, and I could use the extra money.” Every cent I could spare went into a new life fund for Victoria and me when my year was finished. I couldn’t renege on that even for one night for the sake of a silly cut. I’d get us the best apartment I could find, and she’d love it as much as Josh and Brianna’s new place. Not that I was subconsciously competing or anything.
“Promise me you’ll cut the night short if it hurts too much.” The pleading in his dark eyes almost made me stumble. When was the last time anyone worried about me? My mind rewound to when my grandparents were still alive, meaning decades ago.
“Yes,” I lied. “I’ll show you my just fine hand tomorrow at breakfast. I believe it’s your turn to buy.”
The more time I spent with Drew, the more I liked him. He was funny, charming, and as easy to talk to as he was on the eyes. Our comfortable friendship made me feel less alone. The old Sara would be mean enough to make him never want to speak to her ever again, and it only would have taken a couple of tries. This new Sara enjoyed his company and his adorable wisdom beyond his twenty-five years.
His lips spread into a slow smile. “I believe you’re right. I’ll meet you after my run.”
“I miss running,” I sighed. “The gym is so boring.” I worked out at the free gym in Berman Hall but running on the elliptical was like watching paint dry. I’d wanted to run on campus but didn’t feel comfortable alone so early.
“Run with me. Meet me on the campus track at six.”
“A.M.?” I gaped, pulling a throaty chuckle out of Drew.
“A.M.,” he confirmed with a cheeky grin. “Any later, the track team takes over and it’s crowded as hell. Embrace the dawn, Caldwell.” He slapped my arm before heading back into the lab.
“Why don’t you take a break?” Loretta, one of the chefs I was assisting for the night, glared at me as she motioned to the break room behind the kitchen.
“I’m fine. It’s busy tonight and I’m here to help you.” I waved her off, the rush of air hitting my cut and bringing out an involuntary hiss. My usual go-tos didn’t work, and three Band-Aids fell off when I had to wash my hands.
“You’re working in pain, and you won’t learn anything that way. You only have a half an hour left anyway. Why don’t you head to the back, clean it up and put a fresh bandage over it? Last thing I need is my best worker getting an infection.” She squinted at me and pointed to the door.
I nodded, reluctant and pissed off at myself for not paying attention in the lab today. I couldn’t afford injuries or sickness now but agreed with Loretta that I wasn’t of any use for the remainder of my shift. I lumbered out of the kitchen and once again rummaged through the first aid kit. I whimpered as I cleaned out the deeper-than-I-thought wound, hoping I could hold the steering wheel on the short ride home.
I fell into one of the chairs and dropped my head back, attempting to will away the self-pity at the number I’d done on my hand. The vibration of my phone in my pocket startled me. Carefully digging it out with my good hand, I couldn’t help but smile when I glanced at the unread message on the screen.
Drew: How’s the hand? You took it easy tonight, right?
My smile grew wider as my heart squeezed. I wasn’t used to anyone checking on me. I pictured his dark brow crinkled with worry. This boy was hopeless. Adorable, but hopeless.
Me: It’s fine. Not my first rodeo, I’ve worked through injuries a ton of times.
Drew: Stop distracting me with visions of you as a hot cowgirl. That was a bad cut and looked painful as hell.
Me: I told you, I’m fine. And cowgirl? Are you kidding me?
Drew: You’re the one who started it. Now I’m picturing you in the tight pants and boots.
I groaned as my head fell back. He was exasperating, but my lips quirked into a smile. Two seconds ago, I was feeling sorry for myself and even though pain still seared across my hand, our ridiculous banter over text made me forget, if only for a moment.
Me: Okay, stop. I’m not in tight pants or boots. I’m in a filthy assistant chef uniform with sweaty hair and runny makeup.
Drew: And now you’re telling me you’re filthy. If you want us to stay in the friend zone, this isn’t helping, Caldwell.
Me: Me being filthy is a turn on to you?
Drew: . . . you have no idea.
My bandage-wrapped palm scrubbed down my heated face. I peered into the mirror next to the couch and was surprised to see a smile still stretching my cheeks. He was getting to me—or had already gotten to me—and I was still dead set on denying it.
Me: You’re sweet to check on me. If it makes you feel any better, I’m done for the night and just put a fresh bandage on it.
Drew: It does. I was worried and knew your stubborn ass wouldn’t rest unless someone told you to.
Drew: Which is what happened, right?
I scowled at the screen.
Me: Maybe.
Drew: You can never admit when I’m right.
Me: Because who wants you more full of yourself?
Drew: I’m letting that golden opportunity slip right by . . . can you drive, or do you want me to come get you?
Me: I can drive, thank you. See you in the morning at the track?
Drew: 6 a.m. Get home safe, Caldwell.
Me: Thank you for checking on me.
Drew: What are friends for?
Friends didn’t give you a case of the butterflies with a text message. I eyeballed my throbbing hand and let out a long sigh. In my old life, I would have never allowed a close friendship with anyone, much less someone I was fighting an attraction to. I was happy in my solitude—or so I forced myself to believe.
So what if we were spending more and more time together and he checked on me? It didn’t mean anything.
Too bad I didn’t believe me, either.