“Tucker, I’m serious.”
One side of his mouth lifts into a smirk. “So am I.”
Shaking my head, I open the freezer and look for a bag of something frozen to put on his hand. The freezer is unsurprisingly bare. Caroline and I exist on mac and cheese, spaghetti, and ramen noodles. I have to settle for a partially used bag of pizza rolls. I set Tucker’s hand on the table, cover it with a washrag, then top it with the bag.
He sits up in alarm, as though I just woke him. “What the fuck?”
“I’m trying to help you, but I won’t if you’re going to cuss at me.”
He closes his eyes again. “You’re cute.”
Incoherent Tucker is back.
I clean up his left hand, relieved to find the swelling and bruising aren’t as bad. When I finish, I put his hands together on the table, scoot the washrag to cover both hands, then adjust the bag on top.
“You should be a doctor, Scarlett.”
I move to the sink and wash out the towels. “Nah. I’m just exceptionally practiced at cleaning up injuries.”
“Your old boyfriends get in a lot of fights?”
“No. My mother.” There goes my filter again.
One eye cocks open. “Your mother was big into fights?”
My chest tightens. I don’t like talking about this. Why am I so truthful with this guy? “Let’s just say she was on the receiving end.”
His other eye opens, and he focuses his full attention on me. Something flashes in his eyes, as though he’s seeing me for the first time. I’m not sure I like it.
I turn around and get a glass and fill it with the water pitcher from the refrigerator. “You need to drink this. And we need to call one of your friends.”
He groans, and leans his forehead into the edge of the table. “I told you I don’t have any friends.”
I don’t want to argue this point with him again. “What about your roommate?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Fine, then I’ll call a cab.”
His head rotates from side to side, still leaning against the table. “No.”
“Tucker. You have to go somewhere.”
His head rises. “Can I just stay here for a little bit with you?”
I press my back into the counter while I study his face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Confusion scrunches his forehead. “Why?”
I gesture toward him. “You’re Tucker Price. You’re…” I shake my head. “I’m not like that, Tucker. I’m not that kind of person.”
The emotion on his face shifts to a look that resembles contentment. “I know.”
Something in his eyes tugs on my heart, unraveling the seam that separates us a bit more. I don’t feel threatened by him. I don’t even get a feeling that he’s looking for sex. It’s something deeper than that.
“Can I stay for just a little bit?” he whispers. “Please.”
This is the worst idea in the history of ideas, yet I can’t stop myself from nodding. He looks so lost. “Okay.”
He tries to get up and almost falls on his face.
“How much did you have to drink tonight?” I grab his arm and help him stand.
“Not enough. Not nearly enough.”
My plan is to take him into the living room, but it’s obvious he needs to lie down. I stop in front of the hallway and close my eyes. I should call a cab right now.
“Scarlett.” He sighs, resting his cheek on top of my head.
“Come on.” I lead him to my room and turn on the lamp on my nightstand. “Don’t get any ideas.”
I push him so that he’s sitting on my bed, and he lays down, grabbing my hand and tugging.
“I told you not to get any ideas.”
“Just sit with me.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, his hand still wrapped around mine. His eyes are closed as he buries his cheek into my pillow.
“Tucker?”
“Hmm?”
“Who’s Marcel?” I expect him to get angry or tell me to mind my own business.
“My brother,” he mumbles.
“What was he going to do?”
We sit in silence. His breath is less ragged than it was outside, but still has the shallow rasp of a drunk person.
“Ruin his life. And it’s all my fault.”
A soft snore comes from his mouth, and his grip relaxes on my wrist. I sit for a few moments then start to pull my hand away, but his fingers tighten. “Don’t go,” he slurs.
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
His grip tightens. “Promise you’ll come back.”
I pause. “Okay. I will.”
His fingers relax, and I pull free, easing off the bed and wandering to the bathroom. I pee and wash my hands, looking up to see my face in the mirror. The girl in the reflection looks just like me, but she can’t be me.
The Scarlett Goodwin I know would not have Tucker Price in her bed.
But then again, I don’t. He’s lying on top of the covers, and I have no intention of having sex with him.
I hear the front door open, and Caroline comes in. “Scarlett! Where are you?”
“What are you doing home so early? You were having fun.”
“I was worried about you. Tina told me you took Southern’s man-slut home.”
I watch her as she takes off her coat, unsure how to answer.
She lifts her gaze to me as she tosses her coat onto the sofa. “Did you really take him home?”