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“You should.”
Laurel’s call waiting beeped in her ear. It wasn’t a number she recognized, but as long as it got her out of this awkward conversation, she’d gladly listen to a spiel about timeshares. “Skye, someone’s calling. Gotta go.”
Laurel heard Skye’s “Call me back,” right as she punched the screen to switch over the other call. She’d used the index finger she’d tried to amputate without thinking.
“Fudge, that hurts!”
“What hurts? What’s wrong?”
No way.
“Are you okay?”
“Jake?” she asked tentatively. Maybe she was hearing things because of the pain.
“Yeah, it’s me. Answer the question,” he ordered. “Are you okay? Do you need me to come over?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Besides, you don’t know where I live.”
A horrible thought entered her mind. Skye wouldn’t have given him her address too, would she?
“You don’t know, do you?” she asked. If he said yes, she was going to strangle her best friend.
“How would I? But tell me, and I’ll come over.”
Laurel looked down at her sad blue robe that’d seen better days. After getting home from work, she’d showered and changed into her jammies. “I don’t want you to come over.”
“Are you okay?” He said the words deliberately, punctuating them like they were of the utmost importance.
The genuine concern in his voice worked like a salve, dulling the throbbing of her finger.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Just sliced my finger open, cutting broccoli.” Which was her own fault. She’d made all her dinners for the week yesterday, but nooo, she had to have broccoli tonight. She should’ve stuck with what she’d made and none of this would’ve happened. Better yet, she should’ve kept her mind off the possibility of a certain fireman calling.
Holy hotcakes!
“Do you need stitches?”
He’d actually called!
“No, it’s not that bad.”
“Are you sure? I can come over and take a look. I’m an EMT.”
“I thought you were a fireman.”
“I am,” he confirmed. “But I’m also a certified EMT. We all are.”
“Why do you want to come to my house so badly?” she asked. “Are you a serial killer or something?”
He snorted. “God, now you sound like Emery. She’s obsessed with serial killers.”
“That’s not disturbing at all. Who’s Emery?”
“Notmy girlfriend,” he said, guessing her thoughts. “She’s my sister’s best friend. Why do you keep assuming I have a girlfriend?”
