Page 6 of Missed Steps

“Here.” He slows the car to a stop and takes a piece of paper out of his pocket. He rolls down the window and leans out, tossing the receipt into an outdoor bin. Without a word, he continues forward.

I groan. “You’re so annoying. I don’t need all of this.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Mark.”

“There’s a bottle of water by your feet. You can use it to take some pills. I also got ones that dissolve in your mouth if you prefer those.”

I glare at Mark’s handsome profile, and he ignores me. Grumbling under my breath, I dig out two painkillers and swallow them dry. My leg isn’t even bothering me. I’m too distracted by Mark being all—I can’t even say nice. Forcibly nice. Meddling. Ugh. I sink down in the seat and grunt. “Feeling all superior, are you?” I mutter. I don’t mean it, of course. I like that he’s taking care of me, even if I don’t understand why.

“Kyle.” We’re pulling into the underground parking at my apartment. Mark waits until the car is stopped before facing me. “You slipped on ice, it happens. Why would I feel superior about that?”

Well, when he says it like that, I feel silly.

“Because,” I say.

“Because why?” Mark presses. He’s leaning in, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I’m not a total asshole.”

“I said you’re annoying, not that you’re an asshole.”

Mark holds my gaze for several charged seconds. Then he turns, gets out of the car, and opens my door. “What apartment are you?”

“Third floor, number three.”

Mark gets his arm locked around my waist and we go to the elevator. It’s nice and clean, better than what you’d usually get for student accommodation. Only reason I can afford it is the insurance pay out.

Mark hits the button and keeps his arm locked around my waist. I can see his reflection in the metal doors as they shut. He’s looking at me. “The only thing I’m feeling is worried, Kyle.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Mark says nothing. He probably thinks I’m embarrassed about falling in front of him. I’m not. I’m off-kilter and defensive, but I’m not embarrassed.

We hobble to my door and dig out my keys. The apartment is icy cold. Mark’s body does a good job of keeping me warm, however…

“Can you turn up that dial to your left?” I ask. I switch on the lights as Mark adjusts the heating. And then my door is closed, and Mark is in my apartment. This has been the scenario of countless fantasies.

“Do you want a drink?” I ask.

“Sure.” Mark adjusts his grip on my waist and we walk into the apartment. It opens into a spacious kitchen-living room, and I am very glad that I am a tidy person. If I had shown Mark a pigsty, I really would be embarrassed.

“The counter seats—”

“Couch.” Mark doesn’t give me a choice. He leads me to the couch and lowers me onto it.

“You’re bossy. You know that?”

“I’ve been told,” Mark says. He places the pharmacy bag next to me and strolls into the kitchen like he owns the place. I crane my neck to watch him. “Tea?” he asks.

“Above the kettle.”

“Do you take sugar?”

“A spoon of honey.”

Mark opens the fridge and takes out the milk, though his gaze lingers on the contents of my fridge. “You cook?” he asks.

“No. I’m signed up to a meal service.” I have dietary requirements I have to meet, and I’ve never been fond of cooking.