“It’s fine, Tash, I’ve got you. You’re safe with me,” assured Tudor as he gently began to lift me up, his whopping muscles flexing under his clothes.
His breathing was harsh, like he was fighting to keep himself together. Had I upset him? Angered him? I didn’t know, but I honestly thought I would collapse again. Cause of death: Tudor overdose. He might be moody, but gosh, he made moody sexy. The close proximity to this guy was affecting my nerves, and other areas of my sex-starved anatomy.
When I was up straight, he put an arm around my waist and began walking with me towards the car at a snail’s pace, which my aching head and I very much appreciated. His torso was too broad for me to put my arms around, so I settled for gripping tightly to his jumper. I noticed that Tink was exceptionally quiet, and I briefly glanced around to see where he was. Not for the first time, he was frowning, squinting his eyes and looking to Tudor, then looking ahead and back to Tudor all over again. I was in too much pain to even guess why.
Tudor kept me close, and I chuckled internally at the situation. An A-list movie star was walking me, a normal girl from Newcastle, to my car, after I had collided with him whilst roller skating on approximately one inch of ice. You couldn’t make that shit up!
Arriving at the Bumblebee Camaro, Tudor lowered me into the front seat and looked as if he was about to say something and then just… didn’t. I finally noticed what he was wearing, all dark clothing: gloves, a hoodie that was pulled up over his head and another woolly beanie hat, this time in black. I was desperate to pull it back and see how he wore his hair. I was hoping for shaved – he looked better that way. It was a good disguise; he looked like a generic, albeit ma-hoos-ive, jogger.
Tudor turned to Tate and whispered something to him. Tate nodded, turned and smiled shyly in my direction, and lowered himself into the back seat, putting a reassuring hand on my right shoulder. He was obviously not a talker, that one, just all quiet and sweetness.
Resting back against the seat, I felt something lumpy under my back. I reached behind slowly and pulled out a black scarf. What? Where? – ah, the pillow I had felt earlier.
I brought it to my nose and breathed in the scent that was all him, all Tudor. I smiled. Had he slipped this in the car for me to rest on? That was... unexpected. I clutched it tightly in my hands and turned my head to take in the view of the park whilst Tink was settling into the driver’s side bucket seat.
Tudor stood on the embankment next to the car and watched us slowly pull away. He looked so sad and alone. As we crawled past him, I looked his way, using the scarf to support my cheek on the door frame. He was staring at me intensely, never shifting his concerned gaze, hands tucked in his sweat-pant pockets. I took the opportunity to mouth a ‘thank you’, and smiled at him.
His head jerked back in surprise, like he was genuinely taken back by my gratitude. Without breaking eye contact, he gave me a little nod of his head and slowly pulled his face into that heart-melting lopsided smirk.
This man is killing me!
Tink put his hand on my knee, sighed and remarked, “At least the skates didn’t end up swimming in shit this time!”
Chapter 10
There is no such thing as impossible…
It was a mild concussion. After being checked over thoroughly and forced to wait several hours at Calgary General Hospital, I was given permission to go home with the promise that someone would look after me for the next forty-eight hours.
I was given a truck-load of pain medication to take away the majority of my discomfort, and so far it seemed to be working. My hair was matted with blood from where I had sliced my scalp in the fall, but luckily it was minor and required no stitches. I was beyond happy to go home; I was tired, felt horrendous and was thoroughly humiliated.
My ego had taken a bit of a battering after my second encounter with a certain movie star. I knew I was not a Playboy model by any stretch of the imagination, but I wasn’t ugly, and Tudor’s reluctance towards me was bruising. I felt a pain in my heart, a physical and sharp pain, every time I thought about his reaction when I had asked him to come to the hospital with me. Realistically, I knew that Tudor was just helping a girl out in her time of need, and I berated myself that I was so bothered by the fact that his behaviour didn’t mean anything more.
I had assumed that from last night’s disastrous meeting that he was a grade-A twat, one who I would probably never meet again. But today, his physical actions seemed to show him in a different light. He was gentle and caring.
Had I misjudged him? Judged a book by its cover? Did he have a warm, gooey centre under that rock-hard and stunningly tattooed outer shell? And more to the point, why was I so hurt by his rejection? He was unattainable, both physically and emotionally, and I was just making my headache worse by considering something that was so undeniably impossible. Absolutely bloody impossible.
Ahh well, enough of that now.
Tink and Tate had waited the day away with me in the ER, and it was lovely to see my normally bolshie and commitment-phobic best friend humbled by a geek-chic lovely with the sweetest disposition I had ever encountered.
Tate was very quiet in nature and only spoke when necessary, the polar opposite of me and Tink, the Odditt and Dodditt of Gobshite Central. Easy conversation had flowed and they chatted non-stop – well, mostly Tink chatted – but they each gave fleeting flirty glances and gentle touches at any given opportunity.
When we were leaving, all discharge papers signed and aftercare instructions dictated, we waved goodbye to Tate, who jumped into a nearby taxi, much to Tink’s disappointment but Tate made sure that before he left, he and Tink exchanged phone numbers and home addresses for the impending first date that had been promised during ‘skater-gate’. My loved-up fairy chatted excitedly about potential venues all the way home.
Walking through the door to our condo gave me that ‘there’s no place like home’ feeling à la Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. Tink placed me on the sofa and turned on the fire, making me all warm and cosy, the room only lit from the amber glow of the coals. He brushed a kiss on my head and walked towards the bathroom, where I heard the calming sound of running water. Tink may be as daft as a brush and as ditzy as all hell, but he is as loyal as they come and fiercely protective of the people he loves. I closed my eyes and let the world drift away.
“Oh no, missy! No closing those bush baby-sized shutters. Doctor’s orders,” chastised Tink from the end of the sofa, with his arms crossed and a disapproving look on his face.