Branson laughs. “Here, I don’t have her number, but I have Connor’s.” He scrolls for a second, hits call, and hands me the phone. The sheriff answers with a gruff “Yeah?”
“Hey Connor, it’s Alex. Is Willow there? I lost my phone and wanted her to know my date isn’t an ax murderer.”
Branson chuckles behind me, and I feel warm lips against the curve of my neck. His breath feathers over my skin as he places a kiss on the sensitive spot behind my ear. I bite my lip so I don’t let out a breathy little moan for Connor to hear.
“Willow ran out, but she’ll be back soon. You’re with Branson?”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “Long story. Can you just let her know I’ll call her once I get my phone back?”
“Sure thing. Tell Branson I know where he lives.”
Connor hangs up, and Branson chuckles again. “I heard that. No need to repeat it.”
I turn in his arms, handing the phone back, and holding his shoulder. I hop once, slipping my broken shoe off my foot to inspect it. The three-inch heel is snapped clean off, and I spot it a couple feet back, sticking out of the cobblestones like a little monument to ruined shoes.
“Oh… hang on,” Branson says with a grin. He takes the shoe, checking the size and shoots off a text message. I can’t read the screen, but he gets a response and replies before pocketing the phone.
“Why do you look so smug?” I ask.
“Because new shoes are on the way.”
“What? From where?”
“My sister.”
“And she just happens to have a pair of shoes my size?”
Branson laughs. “Yeah. She owns a boutique. Come on.” He dips to pick me up like a bride, but I smack him on the shoulder.
“Ew, no! I’m not a damsel in distress. I broke a shoe, not an ankle.”
“You can’t walk like that,” he argues. “As a doctor, I can tell you it’s horrible for your spine, and you’re probably going to twist the other ankle in the process.”
“Fine, I’ll go barefoot. No way am I letting you carry me around like a helpless little princess.”
“Noooo,” he says, shaking his head and dragging the word out dramatically. “We’re downtown. Portland might not be New York City, but it’s still a city. Broken glass, nails, tetanus, hepatitis. You name it, it’s probably on these sidewalks.”
“Well, you can’t carry me! So, I guess we’ll just stay right here until your sister turns up.”
Branson hooks a finger under my chin, lifting my face so our eyes meet. He frowns, and it makes him look like a freaking model. “Why?” he asks, voice stern.
“Why, what?” I reply, raising my eyebrows.
His eyes narrow and he speaks slowly, his eyes searching my face. “Why won’t you let me pick you up?”
“I’m not exactly a tiny little fairy,” I snark back.
Branson laughs. He actuallylaughs.
“Fuck you,” I say, pushing away from him, anger burning in my chest. I’m not ashamed of my body. It took me the better part of a decade to appreciate my body for what it is. Capable. Strong. Beautiful. I’m not a waif, and I don’t need to be.
But Branson doesn’t let me go. “Alex, look at me.” His voice goes soft and affectionate.
To my horror, I can feel tears burning behind my eyes. I’d rather die than cry right now. I’m not going to let this asshole make me feel ashamed. I’mnot. I glare up at him, my lips smashed together, cheeks fiery.
He points at his face. “I have two eyes and, with the help of contacts, 20/20 vision.”
“Good for you?” I say, confused at the turn this argument is taking.