Page 57 of Connectio

Chapter Ten

Irode in the ambulance with Will to the hospital, and after numerous tests and scans, he was released, suffering a mild laceration and concussion. Toby sustained a graze to the knee and was understandably shaken, but it was Jeremy who I think suffered the most. The poor guy was ashen and intermittently slapping his head in frustration as we drove away.

“I nearly died,” Will says as the glass doors part and we step outside of the Emergency Department.

I roll my eyes and smile then reach up and touch the bandage covering three stitches on his scalp. “You did not.”

“I did. For you.”

“For me? What do you mean for me?”

“I nearly died so you’d agree to go out with me.”

Halting my steps, eyes narrowing, my finger pointing, I laugh. “You. Did. Not. You can’t pin this on me.”

“Yeah, I can.”

“Well, I can take back my agreement to go out with you.”

He pouts.

“Ugh! Fine, I won’t take it back. I said I’d go out with you, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

His pout magically vanishes, a smug grin in its place.

“But only once,” I reaffirm, my finger pointing again.

Will slides his hands into his trouser pockets and rocks back on his heels. I shriek and reach out, ready to catch him should he fall—not that I’d be able to catch him, even if I tried.

“Whoa!” I say, scanning his eyes. “Steady there.”

He dips his head and lowers his voice. “Afraid I’m gonna fall on you, your body under mine?”

“Yes, are you diz—?” I pause, remembering his smartarse remark at lunch about being on top of me. “Hey! Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m tempted, trust me.” He rocks back again, this time teasing me, then chuckles and pulls out his phone. “Want to share an Uber?”

“Don’t be silly. Put your phone away. I called Carly. She’ll be here any min—”

Just as I mention her name, a car horn blasts through the car park to the tune of “We Will Rock You”.

I facepalm and mumble, “Right on cue.”

Will chuckles and taps his foot. “She’s actually got good rhythm.”

“She’s got problems; that’s what she’s got.”

Carly’s red Suzuki Swift pulls to a stop right in front of us. I take hold of the door handle and pull it, but it’s locked. What the?

Bowing my head, I knock on the window, and it slowly winds down. “What are you—”

“Hey, sugar,” she interrupts with an awful American accent, “you lookin’ for a date?”

Recognising the line from Pretty Woman, I raise an eyebrow at her. “Carly, open the door.”

“I want head and a threesome. How much?”

Heat burns my cheeks, and I tug at the handle. “Oh for God’s sake,” I say, laughing. “Open the damn door.”