Page 15 of Five Stolen Rings
“Stay,” he grits out, his gaze darting to my foot again. “Just—don’t move, unless you want to make that worse.” He looks around. Then, as though every word is being wrenched from his mouth, he says, “There’s probably a first aid kit somewhere.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Becausewhat. Is. Happening?
“What are you doing?” I say faintly as he strides into the kitchen.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he says over his shoulder. “Don’t move.”
“I’m not,” I say, not bothering to hide my irritation now, “so you can stop making all these growly demands.”
“Sorry, Princess,” he calls. “Growly demands are a key part of my personality.”
I hear a sound like he’s digging through cupboards; then I hear the sound of the kitchen faucet.
“People don’t like to be bossed around,” I say loudly.
The faucet shuts off, and he speaks again. “Not much I can do about what other people like and don’t like.”
“A real delight,” I mutter.
“Don’t flatter me,” he says sarcastically as he emerges back into the living room, a medium-sized white container in his hand. His gaze focuses on me more seriously. “Do you think there’s glass embedded in your foot?”
“Yes,” I say through clenched teeth. It’s taking everything I have not to let tears leak out of my eyes, which makes me the biggest wimp alive.
Jack hums but doesn’t say anything else; he just crouches down on the floor in front of where I’m seated on the couch. Then he holds out one hand.
“What?” I say, looking at it.
“Foot.”
I raise my eyebrows at him, and he sighs.
“Foot,” he repeats, the word impatient. “Give me your foot.” And, when I still don’t move, he adds, “Well? Do you want the glass to stay in there forever?”
STELLA
As a matter of fact, I do not want the glass to stay in my foot forever.
I saw an episode of a show once with bizarre medical stories, and this lady tried to give herself a pedicure, but she had an ingrown toenail that got infected, and she ended up getting really sick and having to go to the hospital. The pictures were disgusting.
It is this disgusting ingrown-toenail lady that I force myself to think about when I stick my foot out into Jack’s waiting hand.
I startle at the contact, because his hand is warm and surprisingly gentle; he grips the back of my ankle and then shines his phone light onto my heel, a detached, businesslike expression falling over his face.
“Yeah,” he says with a little frown. “There’s glass. Let’s get that out.” He pauses, glancing up at me. “We need to clean the wound first. It might hurt a little.”
“It’s fine,” I say, wondering if I can mentally raise my pain tolerance in the space of two seconds.
As it turns out, and to nobody’s surprise, I cannot. The disinfectant spray Jack spritzes over my heel stings, but I try my best to maintain a neutral,I-do-this-all-the-timefacial expression. My wince is just a touch too obvious, though, and Jack doesn’t try to hide his eye roll at all.
“Big baby,” he mutters, setting the spray bottle aside and grabbing a little paper packet. He only has one free hand, since he’s still holding my foot up, but that doesn’t slow him down; he rips the top of the package off with his teeth—why is that attractive?Why?—and pulls out a fresh pair of plastic tweezers.
“You’re a doctor,” I say, my voice faint. I don’t know this for sure, but he clearly knows his way around a first aid kit, and he’s working with easy, practiced hands. An EMT, maybe?
“Of course I’m not,” he says in a low voice. His dark eyes swing up to me. “I became a thief, right? Even worse than you expected. Isn’t that what you said?”
I don’t have to touch my cheeks to know that they’re burning. “I didn’t mean that, and I apologized for saying it,” I say, my jaw clenching. “It was uncalled for.” I pause. “Although…you’re still breaking and entering, which is still against the law, so…”
He shakes his head but doesn’t reply, instead turning his attention back to my foot. I remain still and silent as he removes the tiny piece of glass that’s worked itself into my heel, my hands clenched tightly together in my lap.
