Page 43 of Wild Card

He sits down on the bed, another oversized piece of furniture with messy sheets that are wrinkled and look like they’re in desperate need of a wash. A stack of containers is on the nightstand and a trash can in the corner is full. I’m starting to think he’s not letting the maid in here.

“What are you gawking at?” He catches me staring, and I look up at him.

“The state of this place. Guessing you’re not allowing the maid in here?”

“Fuck no. I don’t need her snooping around or being in my business when I’m trying to recover.”

“Okay well, I’m going to start on the sheets today. I’ll have Harper show me where the laundry room is.”

“The fuck you are.”

“You going to do it then?”

He gives me a pointed look, turning his eyes to the crutches and back on me before he rests them against the headboard.

“Then I’m doing it. You can’t live like this. It’s not good for your mental health while you try to recover.” I set the coffee and the donut on the nightstand.

“Jesus Christ. If you come in here and fucking start bitching me out like this, it’s lasting a few hours max.”

“You got a backup option? You want whatever random nurse they can find? Maybe she’ll be a fangirl and talk your ear off all day about how amazing you are—or worse yet maybe it’ll be a teammate of yours she can’t shut up about. All day, every day you’ll have to hear about Xander’s arms or Colt’s eyes—”

“Holy fuck, Scarlett. Enough,” he interrupts me, and I give my best saccharine smile.

I look around the room and suddenly my concerns about bullying him evaporate. I get why Xander felt this was an emergency.

“Then don’t argue with me. It’s what I’m here to do. It’s what Xander’s paying me for.”

“What I’m paying you for. I’m not fucking having you take his money to take care of me. Fucking ridiculous idea.” He takes a bite of the donut.

“From what I’ve heard, you’re the one who forced him to get creative about things.”

His eyes snap up to mine.

“I’m fucking fine.”

“It definitely looks like it.” I circle my finger around the room and smile again.

“I don’t want you here.”

“I’m aware.”

“So why are you?” His eyes narrow.

“Friends help their friends even when they think they don’t need it, Tobias.”

His eyes flick over me, assessing me, like he’s not sure how he feels about the statement.

“Or you just needed the money,” he says flatly.

“I did need to be gainfully employed to keep the roof over my head. And I can’t be here and waiting tables at the same time. So yes.”

His eyes narrow that I’ve flipped his nasty remark over on him.

“Just don’t be fucking snooping around or getting too comfortable here. You’re out as soon as I can move a little better. So keep those callback numbers close.”

“I have no interest in snooping. You’re the one with that particular habit.” I raise a brow at him, and his eyes darken with the accusation.

“Yeah well. Don’t worry. I don’t have a secret shrine to you in my closet.”