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Her eyes fall closed, giving me the impression she’s drumming up patience, before they flare open. Wary defensiveness paired with stubbornness lines her tone. “I have my doctor’s appointment in town.”
Suspicion floods me. “What kinda doctor’s open on Sundays?”
“The fertility doctor who’s implanting multiple embryos in my uterus.”
I hold her eyes for a long beat while neither of us speak. It’s like a partial standoff until I finally grit out, “Anybody ever tell you you’re a pain in the ass?”
She offers me the sunniest, fakest smile. “Only on days that end in y.”
Jesus. I grip the back of my neck, my fingers digging into tense muscles. I sigh, my tone exasperated. “How ’bout the real answer.”
Averting her gaze, she adjusts her ponytail. “It’s the trial I’m in. They administer therapies to help with the debilitating headaches…and my memory issues.” A hint of vulnerability laces her admission, and it throws me off.
That off-kilter feeling puts me on edge, and I scramble to set things back to our “norm.” It’s what has me saying, “It supposed to help with your overall attitude, too?”
Her glare sparks with contempt, and I’m relieved to see her feistiness back in full swing. “Why would it, when I already have the sweetest disposition?”
“What time you need to be there?”
“Why?” Wariness flares in her expression.
“I can drive you there.”
A derisive sound falls from her lips. “No.”
“Why not?”
She looks at me like I’m slow. “Uh, because just this morning, someone shot up your car.” Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she adds, “And also because I’m not a complete imbecile who gets into a vehicle with a self-admitted gang member who’s murdered people.”
She stalks over to the small sink and pumps some cleanser into her palm. Scrubbing her hands thoroughly, she tacks on, “I take the bus.”
“What time do you leave here?”
She scrubs some more without answering. I wait while she finally rinses her hands free of soap. Once she grabs a few paper towels from the dispenser mounted on the wall and dries her hands, I’m antsy as fuck.
“What time?” I press again.
She tosses the paper towels in the trash and whirls around on me. “I have to be there by eleven forty-five. But I always feel like shit afterward, so you’d be wasting your time hanging around tomorrow. I won’t be worth much.”
A sudden surge of protectiveness rises inside me. “I’ll be here to head to the bus stop with you.”
Caution colors her gaze as she studies me. “Why?”
Because there’s still a shit ton of questions surroundin’ you.
Because I don’t trust you.
Because I’m curious to know more about you.
I don’t say any of those. Instead, I settle on, “’Cause the more I think about it, it’s only fair I help you out since you’re gonna help me.”
There’s a long beat of silence before she finally offers, “I need to leave here by eleven.”
I nod. “See you then.” Heading to my car, I tug open the door and pause. “The rest of that food is in the break room fridge. Do me a favor and eat some more for your dinner tonight.”
Her eyebrows rise in fake dismay. “What? You’re not going to hand-feed me dinner, too?”
I press my lips thin to suppress a smile at her smartass remark and toss out, “See you in the mornin’,” before sliding behind the wheel and shutting my door.
