Authors: Teresa Noelle Roberts
“Your health is…”
“Fine,” she snapped, “except when I’m stupid and forget to eat for most of the day and then have wild weasel sex.” Her expression softened. “Which was amazing, by the way, but took the last bit of energy I had. My bad. Stop arguing with me, cancel the damn ambulance, and get me something to eat before I faint again. Or smack you. Or smack you, then faint again.”
“You need to be checked out,” he repeated helplessly. Why wouldn’t she listen? She followed orders with glee in the bedroom, kept to the couple of rules he’d set for her… Well, mostly, except when she was distracted by doing too much at once, and then she was sincerely sorry, and he could work with that. But when he tried to do something normal for her, something any vanilla partner would do, she flipped. “Why don’t you lie here while I get you your clothes and something to eat. Then let the EMTs look you over. I’ll grab your phone so you can call in to work.”
“I have a better idea,” she said with great, strained patience, obviously trying not to bite his head off again. “I’ll lie here while you get me food and a glass of juice, because passing out is alarming and I don’t want to do it again ever, but especially not around a hot oven or molten glass. While I’m lying here, I’ll call 911, say my boyfriend overreacted and I’m fine. Then I’ll let you drive me to work. I don’t want to risk passing out again when I’m riding my bike. I’ll have someone drive me home in the morning if I’m not up to walking.”
He stared for a second, thinking that maybe stress had gotten to him so he wasn’t processing what she was saying. Had she actually stated she planned to go to work tonight? Was she crazy? “Fine,” she said, attempting to stand, “I’ll get my own food.”
Just then, someone knocked on the door, loudly, then opened up.
“On the other hand”—she sat abruptly on the bed—“maybe we should get some clothes on. If they’re here, they may as well poke and prod me. They’ll charge me if they’re going to at this point. I’ll figure out some way to pay for it. But I’m not going to the hospital. Well, are you going to get the clothes, or are you going to be naked when they come upstairs?”
Thinking that Jen’s mouth, at least, was energetic, Drake scrambled for his shorts and Jen’s robe.
Jen did her best to hurry the damn EMTs so she could get to work, but they seemed to have a procedure they needed to follow. She did her best not to snap as they asked her dumb but probably necessary questions such as her name, her location, her age, and the name of the president. (She added the deans of both Cornell and Ithaca College out of sheer annoyance.) They shined a light into her eyes, took her vitals and, seemingly content with what they saw, asked about allergies and other medical conditions—she had none—her day’s activities, and what she’d eaten recently.
“Nothing today except a carrot stick and a granola bar.” She felt, rather than saw, Drake glaring at her. “Started feeling better as soon as I had some of this.” She mock-toasted with the orange juice. “Now can you get on to the part where you tell me that was a dumb thing to do and leave?”
“You’re probably right that your blood sugar crashed,” the older EMT, a comfortable-looking fortyish woman, said. “Also that it wasn’t smart not to eat. But we do have a few more things to check, and after that, we’d encourage you to go to the hospital for further evaluation.”
“No hospital.” Jen was adamant about that. “And can you hurry up the other things? We all know this happened because I was hungry and probably overtired. Can we get on with it so I can eat and feel better?”
“We don’t charge by the hour, you know,” the young male EMT teased.
“Don’t charge at all unless we transport,” the female EMT said. “Though I might send your boyfriend a bill for hovering. This isn’t the Hangar Theatre.” The EMT glared in Drake’s direction, half-jokingly but Jen suspected not entirely, since Drake had been crowding them in his concern, although he’d wandered off once to refill the orange juice. Drake glared back, a cool gray stare that probably worked getting a bratty sub to pipe down but didn’t do a thing for the EMT, who glared back and went back to her poking and prodding and asking of questions.
Finally, after an excruciatingly embarrassingly long time, the EMTs started packing up their gear, saying that she appeared to fine now. She’d probably had a blood sugar crash because she’d forgotten to eat. “I’m sorry you had to come out for nothing,” Jen said. “I feel stupid. Things got crazy this morning, and I ran out without eating and without anything except my water bottle. And I’ve been going ever since.”
“We love coming out for nothing,” the young guy said. “Seriously. Only better kind of shift is one where we get to hang out at the fire station, watching TV and playing poker. In our line of work, exciting isn’t good.”
“Just remember to eat from now on,” the female EMT said in a motherly voice. “You appear to be fine now, but you really ought to let us take you to the hospital.”
Jen shook her head again. This time, the EMTs whipped out a release for her to sign, saying she’d declined transport. As she signed it, the female EMT said, “It’s your call, but at least see your doctor tomorrow to be safe.” As if she hadn’t said it once already. As if Jen didn’t know Drake was making a note of it and would try to bully her into going tomorrow morning. “And watch how much you exert yourself for a few days. It sounds like you push your body pretty hard.”
“I just rode my bike from down by the inlet. Nothing major. I do that a few times a day.”
And I had vigorous sex, which you may have figured out from the just-been-fucked hair and the funky musk in the apartment, but we don’t need to get into that.
The young EMT grinned. “Just up from the inlet, like it’s not a few miles, mostly uphill. I think I like you. Those few miles may not seem like much if you bike a lot, but it burns more calories than you’d think, and you didn’t have them to spare.”
“Rest tonight, and keep nibbling steadily,” the female EMT said. “Juice and other carbs will get you going again quickly. Get some protein into you as well to stabilize. And if you’re not going to let us take you to the hospital, do remember to see the doctor to rule out a more serious condition, or even pregnancy. We’re not doctors, and we can’t do a full series of tests. However, fainting’s more common than most people realize. It’s usually something as simple as getting busy and forgetting to eat, like you did, or being dehydrated or overtired.”
“All of the above, probably,” Jen admitted sheepishly, glancing at Drake as she did. “I’ve been working crazy hours in a hot glass studio and then…”
The woman roared, leading Jen to think she may have been blushing as she looked at Drake. “Say no more. Love’s grand, but you have to sleep sometimes, even if you’re young and athletic.”
“Yeah, well, sleep’s for the weak and feeble.”
“Which you are at the moment. I’m not going to forget that, even if you try.” Drake glared again—it seemed to be a talent, along with advanced math, crazy sex, making good coffee, and simultaneously enchanting and irritating her with his controlling, overprotective ways. This time the glare was softer, more affectionate. She stuck her tongue out at him. The older EMT beamed. The younger one looked a bit disgusted. Jen suspected that if they’d met under other circumstances, he’d have been hitting on her and didn’t like the reminder that she was with someone else.
Drake followed the EMTs out to lock up behind them. Jen checked the clock again.
Shit! She’d have to scramble if she was going to make it to work. No time for a shower. They’d just have to put up with a rut smell. She grabbed clean clothes out of the drawer, pleased that the black cargo pants and green T-shirt would look all right together. She didn’t have time or free brain cells to coordinate the way she usually did. She popped the dirty T-shirt over her head, replaced it with the clean one, and stripped off the shorts. She was just stepping into the cargo pants when Drake reappeared, carrying a package of deli turkey and a roll from her own bakery—a fresh, perfect one that he’d paid for, not one of the stale or burned ones she appropriated. “Something that wants to be a sandwich when it grows up,” he announced. “Wasn’t sure if you prefer mustard or mayo.”
“Thanks. Mayo’s fine, though at this point I’d eat it dry. If you could put that together for me, I’ll eat it on the way to work.” She paused. “You’ll drive me, right? I feel fine now, but biking would definitely be dumb even by my standards, and I’m running late. I can get a ride home in the morning.”
Drake set the sandwich fixings on the dresser and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry about work. I already called in for you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“What? When?” She didn’t have enough energy to actually yell, so she tried to convey her fury through tone alone. “Why?”
“The EMTs told you to rest. You know you need to rest. And I figured your boss might get unhappy if you called in too late for them to see if someone could cover for you. I called while the EMTs were doing their thing.”
Jen opened and closed her mouth, still trying to find words to convey how furious she was without completely blowing up. Behind the flame-orange fury, Jen understood why, to someone of Drake’s temperament, his behavior seemed reasonable. But couldn’t he see that by trying to take care of her or make sure she took care of herself, he was only adding to her troubles?
“Andrea said she hopes you feel better, and to call her if you want to pick up an extra shift later in the week.” He looked proud as he added, “I almost told her you wouldn’t be doing that, but I figured that would piss you off.”
That was the last straw, the way he seemed pleased at not completely wrecking her chances to make up the money she’d lost tonight. For that, she’d bother wasting some energy to pitch a fit. “You mean piss me off more than you already have? How dare you! I need those hours if you want me to pay you the rent. I’m already going to be short since I’m taking Friday night and the weekend off for the show.” She threw a pillow at him, wishing she could afford to break something more solid on his stubborn, idiotic head.
In a heartbeat, he was on her, pinning her hands to her sides. “Forget about the rent. I don’t need the rent. You’re my sub and my girlfriend. I should probably stop taking rent from you anyway, but we can talk about that when you feel better. You need to rest now.”
“Don’t you get it? I can’t rest! I can’t afford to!” She tried to squirm away, but his strong arms pinioned her. What would normally be sexy was now just infuriating. And he wasn’t letting her get a good angle to kick, especially not with her pants still around her ankles.
So she sank her teeth into his shoulder, as hard as she could. He didn’t flinch, even though blood was welling in the deepest areas of the bite. Jen felt vaguely queasy.
“Why you little…” To her surprise, Drake sounded like he was laughing. “I said you were brave, and I was right. Not too sensible sometimes, but brave. Relax and stop fighting. I’ve got you.”
The way he said, “I’ve got you,” sounded like the way he spoke when she was soaring on pain and pleasure, risk and safety. It stroked her clit, or maybe it was her heart, urging her to relax and let him take over.
Then it punched her in the gut. He would take over. He
had
taken over. It was costing her precious money, which was precious freedom. And no amount of great kinky sex was worth that, even coupled with cheap rent on a turret and stained glass windows. “Let go of me, or I’ll do it again.” Jen’s attempt at defiance was countered by the way her voice shook.
Just like her knees were shaking. And her hands. Most of her, in fact, and while her gut felt like it was quivering from rage, the more physical trembling was probably because she needed more food. Now.
But how could she say that and admit he was right, that at the moment she needed to be pampered, or at least sit down and relax and have that not-quite-sandwich?
“I’ll let go if you sit down and eat something,” he said. And since that was what her body desperately needed to do anyway, she nodded sullenly and plopped onto the bed, stepping out of the encumbering pants as she did. Drake wordlessly handed her a couple of slices of turkey, which she inhaled while he put an actual sandwich together.
It took her a few desperate bites before she slowed down enough to catch any flavor. “It’s smoked,” she said, joy coloring her voice more than she’d intended. “Black pepper smoked turkey. My favorite.” She didn’t buy deli meat as a rule. It was too expensive compared to beans and rice and noodles and the occasional dollar-a-pound whole chicken to stretch for a week. But once, at someone else’s art opening, she’d tasted the smoked turkey with black pepper and had fallen in love.
“Only the best for my girl.”
Again the searing joy, followed by the sucker punch that this wasn’t real, couldn’t be real, couldn’t work as anything but occasional sex. But damn, she might as well enjoy the sandwich.
She devoured the sandwich and several more slices of turkey before she sighed and conceded, “Maybe calling in tonight was a good idea. Being on my feet all night might have wiped me out enough I’d have trouble finishing the prep for the show. But you should have let me make the decision. My dom or not, that one wasn’t your call.”
“Would you? Or would you have made yourself tough it out even if you knew it was a bad idea?”
She ignored the question. The answer was she’d have sucked it up and gone in, and that wouldn’t help her cause, wouldn’t help her focus on the important problems: how to make up the money quickly and whether she needed to extricate her life from Drake’s when she was living in his house.