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“Nah. Doctor me up you ropeless, hopeless man.”
“Hopeless? While I don’t have a first aid kit, I’m making do. That seems more brilliant than hopeless.”
She sighs out a breathy laugh and eases down to her back, peering up at the blue sky while I play nurse.
She flinches only a little as the cold water rushes over her dusty, scrape. “Kal, if we drove for two hours, how is our hike only one?”
“We didn’t zipline down the entire way. Had we gone that far, it would take you two days to get back up.”
She hums out a laugh, a heavy breath falling from her lips. “That makes sense.”
The blood on her knee only pools again after I’ve rinsed it away. So I pull out my pocket knife, nick a small cut at the bottom of my T-shirt, then tear.
Meg pushes up on her elbows with the noise. “What are you doing?”
“Well, I wouldn’t be much of a doctor if I left your wound open and oozing. I tie the strip of my blue T-shirt around her knee, ending with a tight knot.
Pleased with my work—despite my lack of a rope or a first aid kit—I stand and hold out a hand to her. Meg slaps her hand into mine and I yank, helping her to her feet—and right into me. Her free hand smacks flat to my chest, bracing herself with the hit. I grunt and she laughs.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I may have overcharged that help up.”
“You think?” She peers up at me, then pats my chest with her right hand, as if I were a small child. “I get it. You don’t have to convince me. You aren’t hopeless, Kalani Jex. I’m sorry I ever suggested it. Now, before you pull my arm from its socket, can I have it back?”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Her eyes drop from my face and she steps back, peering at me, as if to look me over. Her lips part and her eyes crease—though I think she’s attempting to rein in her expression.
“What?”
Meg pinches her lips together, her cheeks swelling. She’s trying not to laugh—at me, I think.
“Ah, hello? What’s up?”
She sniffs, her eyes dropping to my waist. “You should always wear belly shirts.” A chortle bubbles from her lips. “They look good on you.”
“Belly shirts?” I peer down, even as the words leave my mouth. I tore off the end of my shirt—clear around. Yes, I may have torn higher than planned. I was trying to be helpful—the Samoan MacGyver. In the end, I gave myself a belly shirt.
She clears her throat, and while she may be trying not to smile or to laugh, she’s failing miserably. “I like it. It suits you.”
I roll my eyes at this girl who has suddenly decided to show her sense of humor—at my expense. And while she thinks she’s tormenting me with this, I know exactly how to torment her back. I pull my shirt up and over my head, using the now rag to wipe the sweat from my forehead.
Meg blinks, her smile sobering. She clears her throat and stumbles forward once more, right into me.
23
Meg
A very shirtless Kal Jex drops me off at my back gate. “Do you have your key?”
I roll my head back. “That was one time. Once. Out of the two of us, I’m Mrs. Prepared and you—well, you are not.”
“Mrs.? Who’s your mister?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t mean—”
“Because he might be a little jealous of this.” He nods down—to himself. He is not charming, acting all full of himself.
Only he kind of has good reason to be full of himself, but I don’t say that. And I avoid all eye contact with the abs, the six-pack staring back at me. I will not look. How does a beach bum get a six-pack, anyway?
