Page 13 of Nine-Tenths

I yank my gaze to where my left hand is cradling my right elbow tight against my tummy to keep my arm from moving. His gaze must follow it.

"Does it hurt?" the dragon asks softly.

The scoff is out of my mouth before I can catch it behind my teeth. "What do you think?"

I'd meant it to be funny, but he flinches, and shifts so there's a careful inch between us. It's not until he's gone that I realize how soothing it was to have him pressed all up the side of me, curled toward me to protect me from the cold glare of the evil paramedic.

"Sorry, that was a shitty thing to say."

"I do apologize again," he mutters. "I have a wretched temper and I must control it better."

"It was an accident."

He does a sort of half-shrug, head shake move that's awkward as hell, andoh fuck, cute. Dammit.Dammit.

The Rules, I remind myself firmly.Don't forget The Rules.

"Been wondering," my mouth says without any input from my brain, and okay, so that shot of whatever it was the paramedic gave me before she started packing my wounds is kicking in strong because I can't feel my face any more. "Why do you come in and stare at me every morning?"

"Stareat you?" he echoes like an offended maiden aunt.

It's hilarious, so I laugh. And then I wince, and grab my elbow harder. Goddamnit, thathurts. The paramedic heaves a sigh, grabs a roll of fabric out of a box by her feet, and leans over to wrap my arm in a sling.

"Ouch," I complain as she ties the knot behind my neck.

"Your fault. I told you not to move it."

"I'll make sure he stays still," the dragon says to her with a sort of condescending solemnity.

Is he taking the piss?

I think he's taking the piss.

"You're not my keeper," I snipe back, smirking to show that I'm teasing, that I'm trying to get that light mood back. That I want him to lean back in and press all of that delicious body heat against me again.

"I've injured you. It's on me to ensure—"

"Fun as that would be, this isn't actually a draconic romance novel," I interrupt. I want to put my hand on his knee. Good thing it’s trapped in the sling. "I get it. You're being nice, but like, you don'toweme a debt of honor or any of that possessive Harlequin stuff."

A smile breaks out across his face, andthank fuck. This one is a sarcastic little thing, curling up just one side of his mouth. "Read many draconic Harlequins, do you?"

"Man, shut up," I grump, but I can't seem to control my matching grin. "You can't shame me for my taste. There's nothing wrong with liking happily ever afters."

"Nothing at all," he murmurs, but it's so soft I decide he didn't mean for me to hear it. Fine, I can pretend. I'm in too much pain to pick a fight, anyway. Or, to continue picking it, or… whatever this is that we're doing.

We're notactuallyfighting, are we?

My stupid brain-weasels grab that idea between their sharp teeth and run away with it, and suddenly I wonder if I've misread this whole thing. Just because he's attractive doesn't mean he's attracted tome. Fuck, maybe he's just doing this because he feels guilty for torching my place of employment and clawing me up.

What if he doesn't even want to be here?

I hate taking pity-favors from people. If that's what this is, I'd rather do this alone. No one needs to see me being whiny. It's not cool, and it's not sexy. And I want very much to be cool and sexy for him.

Choking on my humiliation, I say softly: "You didn't need to come."

"I really did," he replies, infuriatingly calm.

"We'll probably have to wait for hours."