Her excitement over my ride is real—not at all forced. The skin beneath the sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks is a soft pink, and she sounds out of breath.
Her encouragement shouldn’t feel this good. I shouldn’t like that she’s excited. So, I just say, “Welcome to the wild side, Princess.”
I turn to walk away, wanting to get the vest off. Just the weight of it against my shoulder is agitating me. I wave her along but suck in a breath as I do. Pain lances up into my neck.
I hear the clicking of her heels behind me, and then her hand slips over my elbow, dainty fingers splayed over the joint as she leans close and whispers, “Did you make it worse?”
I grunt back because I don’t want a bunch of people knowing I’m injured. It’ll just give them one more thing to talk about, and I’m not feeling terribly trusting right about now.
“Let’s just get back to the hotel.” I want out of here before a tour doctor gets wind of this or before someone convinces me to come out and party tonight.
Her fingers rub gently, making the fabric of my shirt rasp against my skin. Heat blooms through the joint in an unfamiliar way before she pulls away with a stiff nod.
Our drive in the rental car from the arena is silent, something I don’t entirely mind. And when we’re back at the hotel, the silence continues all the way through the lobby.
In the elevator, we lean against opposite walls. Some shitty instrumental version of what I’m pretty sure is that song from Titanic filters through the speaker. My arms are crossed, and hers are pressed behind her.
And we stare. Actually, I glare. But this girl doesn’t back down. My eyes on her don’t make her nervous, and she just stares right back. Not saying a goddamn thing. Like she can read the thoughts running through my head.
“Staring is rude, Summer.”
She doesn’t smile. “Running yourself into the ground when you’re already injured is stupid. You need to take care of yourself.”
“Don’t ride, don’t get paid,” I bite out. It sounds harsh—harsher than I intended—but this isn’t a new conversation for me. Everyone in my family tries to get me to retire. They haven’t succeeded, and neither will Summer.
“What are you doing to manage your injuries? Anything?”
I cross my arms tighter across my body and clamp my molars together. “You going to play nursemaid now too? Go all Mary Poppins on my ass?”
She sighs deeply, shoulders drooping as she does. “Do you remember the part where she daydreamed about holding one of those kids down and gagging them with a spoon full of sugar?”
I go back to glaring now.
“Yeah, me neither,” she mutters.
When the doors slide open, I storm out, leaving her behind. And I feel like shit about not letting the lady go first the entire way to the door of my room and into the scalding hot shower. The guilt almost outweighs the pain of removing all my clothes with a mangled shoulder.
But not quite.
I’ve just gotten out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my waist, and am pouring a miniature sized bottle of cheap bourbon into a plastic cup when I hear a knock at the door.
“No!” I bark toward the door. These fucking buckle bunnies are relentless. It wouldn’t be the first time one followed me back to my hotel. But I don’t want that right now. And even if I did, I’m too sore to put out tonight. I’m not opening that fucking door for anyone.
“Yes!” Summer barks back, banging again. “Open up.”
Except maybe Summer.
I sigh and take a huge swig, the liquor burning down my throat as I stride forward and pull the door open wide.
Summer shoots me a dirty look and barges past me—without being invited in—toward the desk near the window overlooking the parking lot. She plunks a plastic bag on top of it and starts pulling out small boxes and tubes of cream.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I ask, taking another sip.
“Taking care of you,” she mumbles, unboxing a bottle of pills with jerky movements.
“Why?”
“Because you’re too dumb to take care of yourself. I went and bought some stuff at the pharmacy across the parking lot so we can try to patch you up.”
“I don’t need your help.”
She makes this adorable little growling noise that sounds like an angry kitten as she props her palms on the desk and drops her head down, staring at the glossy expanse between her hands. “Has anyone ever told you what a massive prick you can be?”