“I’m sure you love to break girls, but I’m not a girl.”
“You think I don’t know that?” His smirk softens into a smile. “You can’t deny that you love the attention. You lap it up. Tell me, do you lap up—”
“I’m gonna stop you right then and there,” I say, holding up my good hand.
“You look a little pale there. You aren’t going to upchuck, are you?”
“Not going to, no,” I say. Despite a wave of dizziness washing over me, I manage to stay upright and not sway where I’m standing.
“You’ll break at one point,” he says as he revs his engine.
“Not if I break you first.”
“I’ll enjoy watching you try.”
He rides off, and I no longer have a distraction or a reason to ignore the pain radiating throughout the side of my body. Every step hurts, but I’m starting to learn my way around, and I walk toward the hospital even though I don’t have insurance. The little bit of money I have won’t be enough either. My arm hangs limply by my side, and I struggle not to cry. What am I going to do? I can’t continue on like this. My shoulder’s most likely dislocated, but that’s never happened to me before. I’m not sure how to just pop it back in. The movies make it look like it’s relatively easy but also super painful. Not that having it out of its joint is any better.
But maybe I can try… I could brace against the wall of the hospital…
As I approach the hospital, the doors open, and out walks a surfer hunk. Corey Jarvis. Shit. The last thing I need is more crap from any one of the Mutineers.
His blue eyes are all stormy as he hesitates, glancing around. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want to be seen here. Interesting. But his rigid stance, the tight fists at his side… he’s clearly agitated and pissed off. All the more reason for me to try to avoid being noticed.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Erika.”
I bristle and glance over, watching as Corey saunters over. “I was just leaving,” I inform him, and I turn to go away.
He reaches for my arm, and I jerk away, my right hand coming up toward my injured shoulder. Tears don’t come to my eyes, but pain has to register in my expression despite myself.
Corey narrows his eyes. “What’s going on?”
“I… I fell.”
A muscle in his neck jumps. “You fell,” he says flatly.
“It’s the truth,” I insist, and it is the truth. I’m just omitting why I fell.
“I’m no doctor,” he says, “but it looks like you dislocated it.”
“That’s what I’m figuring.”
He glances behind him at the hospital. “You don’t have to go in there to have it fixed. I can do it.”
Before I can protest, he grabs my shoulder and my arm near the elbow. He kisses the tip of my nose, probably as a distraction because he chooses that moment to shove my shoulder back into the joint. The sound is sickening, and I grab him with my right hand, clinging to him, biting my lip so I don’t cry out.
"There. Not so bad now, is it?" Corey asks, rubbing the arm he just fixed, definitely touching me longer than he needs to.
“Ah, the pain is going away, yeah,” I mumble, dazed. Why is he helping me?
“I fell once,” he says. “I like to say that I first dislocated my shoulder while riding my skateboard, but that’s not true. Not the first time anyway.”
"So, how did you really?"
“I’ll tell you if you tell me.”
I wrinkle my nose. He’s still rubbing my arm, and the soft touch is causing goosebumps to form all over my arm. Why is he being like this? Is it because the others aren’t around? I hate the emotional whiplash these guys put me through all the time. I can’t handle it.
“You first,” I whisper.