Page 10 of Rafferty's Rules
Wonder what it’ll look likewhen I’m old and grey, if I make it that far.
Nope. Not thinking about it because I’m still here, alive and kicking. Alive and kicking ass. Maybe after I stop feeling icky.
But, yup, it’s only a matter of time until he asks.
‘Your T-shirt is in the wash,’ he says instead, surprising me. Most people can’t help but ask, curiosity overcoming courtesy any day of the week followed by comments ofoh, you were one of those blue babies? I saw a TV program about it. But you’re okay now. But I’m one of the unfortunate fortunates, you might say, destined for more surgery someday. ‘Pity we couldn’t do the same with the inside of the Merc.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘The caa.’ Again, it takes me a second to understand what he means.Car, not caa.‘It needed a hose down.’
Would it be wrong to admit hearing that was a little worse than him asking about my scar? Great. I vomited all over his car like a drunken sorority girl. What the hell is wrong with me? And if those are the kinds of things he knows and I don’t, I’m good with being left in the dark.
‘I amso, so sorry. I’ll pay for it to be cleaned.’
The stranger shrugs my mortification away. ‘We’ve all been there.’
‘I’ve never been so drunk I’ve been sick, and I’ve never been put to bed by a strange man before.’ By his amused expression, I’m not sure he heard exactly what I just said.
‘Going to bed with a stranger isn’t always bad.’
Oh,boy.
‘You didn’t . . . we didn’t?’ Heck, that would be something I wouldn’twantto forget, I suddenly decide.
‘That’s the second time in twelve hours I’ve been asked that question. Do I look like the kind of man who needs to take advantage of intoxicated girls?’
‘No, but you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover just because it’s pretty.’ Pretty is as pretty does. ‘Look at Ted Bundy.’ I clap a hand over my mouth as I rephrase my words. ‘I’m sorry. That was rude, and you’ve been nothing but kind to me.’
‘And not even a bit serial killer-ish,’ he adds with a wry glance.
‘I am sorry. I’m really not usually this ridiculous. I certainly didn’t mean to insinuate anything inappropriate, and I appreciate that but for the grace of God and... ?’
‘Rafferty.’ Damn. Even his name is kind of exotic and sexy.
‘Thanks to GodandRafferty, I didn’t wake in some gutter this morning.’
‘It’s gone two in the afternoon. You were dead to the world every time I checked in on you.’
‘Two?’ Why does this feel like a problem?
‘And while we’re on the subject of sleeping, I didn’t take your clothes off. Except to help you with your puke-covered shirt.’ I absolutely cringe this time. ‘Hey,’ he says, moving my hands from my face. ‘The main thing is you’re safe.’
Safe? Am I? I don’t feel very safe. Yet I don’t feel threatened either. At least, not by him. But that’s ridiculous, right? I’m in the house of a stranger. The fact he’s a hot, Australian stranger with an accent that makes my ovaries quiver shouldn’t have any bearing onhowI feel. Yet it does. Call it instinct, but I know he’s one of the good guys. How I can know this but not recall what I did last night is, I suppose, another one of Gammie’s sayings:one of life’s many mysteries. Maybe the details of last night should remain the same.
As my hot (definitely) good Samaritan (probably) speaks again, his words don’t sink in as I continue to weigh the pros and cons of asking.
‘Petunia?’
‘What?’ Despite my current circumstances, my question is delivered on the swell of a burgeoning laugh.
‘Petunia. That’s your name, right?’ His mouth hitches in one corner, suggesting he finds this ridiculous, too.
‘It’s probably someone’s name,’ I respond with a shrug.
‘Yeah, you said that last night, too.’
‘I think you should consider repeating the things I said last night on a strictly need-to-know basis.’
