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Mine. Mine. Mine.
“It’s your job, too, or have you forgotten why you’re here?”
She’s not just a job to me. I think the words but tuck my lips between my teeth before I can set them free. I have no idea why I feel this way about her. We’ve barely exchanged more than a few words. She’s in a vulnerable, horrible situation. If anything, seeing her like this is inspiring a level of insane, feral protectiveness I’ve never felt before.
Stanley chuckles, clicking his tongue. Apparently, I’m not hiding my feelings as well as I thought. “You’ve lost the fucking plot, man.”
He’s not wrong, but something inside me is swirling like a cow-filled tornado on the farm, growing bigger and stronger with every whimper, tear, and pained sob. I can’t just leave her here. Can’t just walk away after we’ve assessed her injuries. If she really refuses to go to a hospital, this could be it. These next few moments could be the last time I ever see her.
Fuck. What am I supposed to do?
A loud clang fills the air, pulling me from my chaotic thoughts just as the firemen snap off the first cuff with a pair of bolt cutters. A minute later, the second arm is released. Story immediately curls into a ball. The movement shifts the thin sheet, exposing the side of her sweet, curvy body. My already hard knob pulses with desire.
Despite the gravity of the situation, it’s difficult to ignore how absolutely breathtaking she is.
Focus, Fred, focus.
The firefighters clean up their tools and quickly exit, leaving Story alone with Stanley and me. I feel him shift next to me, preparing to step in, no doubt, but I get to her first.
“I’m going to check you over now, alright?” I say, my voice surprisingly steady despite the mix of emotions welling within me. She sniffles, but doesn’t respond.“Is it okay if I check your injuries, Story?”
She wraps the sheets around her body tightly until only her head is poking out the top. Against my will, I smile. Cute little caterpillar, isn’t she?
Her weary gaze collides with mine and as one, we suck in audible gasps. With her eyes on me, it’s like I’ve been sucker-punched while simultaneously taking my first real breath in what feels like forever.
Is it possible she feels the same?
“Look, this is cute and all, but I’ve got shit to do,” Stanley drawls, shoving me away.
I stumble backward. That’s the only reason he gets to Story before I can intervene. Without care, he drops his big body onto the bed, making her cocooned-self roll into his side. She cries out when she collides with his knee, and rage like I’ve never known before swells within me. I try to breathe through it. Try to act like a normal human, a professional, instead of the monster I’ve suddenly become.
She needs help.
Stanley wraps his hand around the sheet and tugs, glaring at her when she refuses to release her death grip. “Let go, lady.”
I tense, stepping forward. He may be my superior, but if he hurts her, I’ll kill the fucker.
“No.”
The single word reverberates around the too-quiet room like a gunshot. Pride fills me at the strength in Story’s voice, the anger and fierceness in her gaze.
That’s my muffin.
Stan shoots her an incredulous look. “No?” She shakes her head. “Let me get this straight…” He trails off, his brows crushing together. “You called for help. Now you’re refusing it?”
She shakes her head again and takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Her brown eyes move from him to me. The second she sees me, her shoulders drop. In relief? Or something else?
“No, I’m not refusing help,” she says firmly. “I want help. I–I think I really need it.” And then her eyes are leaving mine and the urge to chase her attention becomes almost too much to take. She looks at Stan, and if it weren’t for the disgust written all over her pretty face, I might be jealous. “I’m refusing your help.”
He jumps to his feet and gapes down at her. “What the fuck?”
Her lip twitches. “That’s right, mister. You can’t touch me.” The smile she turns my way is enough to melt butter. “Only Fred can.”
Well, skiddly rinky dinky doo, Story. I think I might just love you.
