Page 82 of Tight Ends & Tiaras
My kitchen is fine.
The yoga room looks like it always does.
But my bedroom...
I step around Johnny and Olly, who are blocking the doorway.
My breath catches. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
My room is wrecked.
Clothes are scattered everywhere. My pillowcases are shredded and feathers cover every single surface. Books lie scattered on the floor with pages ripped out.
But it’s the sight of my sand collection shattered and lying in a heap that tears a cry from my throat.
Every trip I went on with my family, every time we went to the beach, those vacations we took before my parents broke up—it’s all destroyed.
I don’t realize I’m kneeling down next to the shards of glass until Olly gently grabs my shoulders and gets me to stand.
“You probably don’t wanna try to clean this up just yet. Maybe we should call Officer Rivera about this too.”
Blood drips from my hand and pools in the sand at my feet.
“Oh, damn. You cut yourself.”
I hear the guys talking behind me, and then I’m wrapped in Ben’s warm embrace. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get that cut cleaned.”
After Ben washes my hand in the bathroom sink, dries it, and cleans it again with hydrogen peroxide, I find myself sitting on the vanity.
“Keep the towel pressed against it to stop the bleeding,” he reminds me as he digs around in the cabinet.
He carefully removes the towel and studies my palm where blood quickly pools.
“It’s deeper than I thought it was.” His dark eyes meet mine. “You might need stitches.”
“No. I... no. I might have some butterfly bandages in there somewhere. We’ll...” I’m too flustered to finish, but he nods.
“Okay. Let’s try that. As long as we can get it to stop bleeding, it might work.”
Once he applies several Steri-Strips, the bleeding finally subsides. Then he wraps my entire hand in gauze.
I hold it up and laugh. “I look like a mummy.” Another laugh spills from me, along with several tears. “Ugh, what’s wrong with me?”
Ben steps between my legs and pulls me into his arms. I lay my head against his chest and listen to the steady beat of his heart. It’s so soothing, I close my eyes.
“I don’t remember grabbing the glass. I was just so upset, and I feel like my brain froze.”
“A network error. Or, um, a TCP connection timeout,” he teases, and I still.
Pulling back, I look at him. “This feels like a stupid question to ask this deep into... whatever we are... but what’s your major?”
See, that’s a first date question, but we never went on a first date.
His eyebrows furrow. “Computer science and business. Double degree if I can swing it.”
Of courseI’m falling for the computer science hot-jock nerd.
I fold my lips and shake my head. “So... you code?” I remember telling him how it all looked like hieroglyphics, and he laughed.
