47 Things (preview)

Chapter 3

"OF COURSE you live in a building with fifty bazillion stairs and no lift," Tyler commented the moment he pushed open the door of my unit block. We were at the hospital for most of the day, although after the chat in emergency room, we didn't bring up the subject of Moama again. I guess we both understood that the other had come to the city to start a new life. So our conversation turned more toward university and our imminent graduation.

By the time we left, I was sporting a cast to my knee. The only bonus was that I got to choose some purple gauze for the final layer. It was as fancy as a cast was going to get.

"It's only two flights of stairs. Normally, they aren't a problem at all," I assured him as I placed my crutches on the first step and tried to hobble up the narrow concrete stairs of the aging building.

"Let me help you," he insisted, placing his warm hands on my hips to help me balance.

"I have to learn how to do this myself. I've got six weeks in this thing," I reminded him shaking my hips to urge him to let go.

All I managed to do was rub his palms back and forth over my skin as he held on. Stubborn man.

"Yeah, but you're half doped up on painkillers, and I'm seriously about to have a heart attack watching you try to do this. How about I just carry you? It will be much faster."

"No. No more carrying. You seriously don't need to be here, Tyler. I can manage on my own," I grumbled, feeling slightly embarrassed at how warm I was becoming from his hand on my hips.

"I do need to be here actually, because you can't manage on your own. This is my fault, and I'm not just leaving when you could lose your balance and break your bloody neck. What's your problem with accepting help anyway? You've been fighting against me all day. Is it me, or is it the actual help?"

I put my crutches on the next step and hefted myself up as he continued to hold my hips and lift me up. His hands felt way too good as they surrounded my skin, putting my body at war with my mind, because I've spent years thinking that I hated Tyler Lohan. But today, he's been nothing but nice, and my body very obviously liked him – maybe that was what I hated? Or maybe I just hated that I might have been wrong?

I shook my head. "It's just..." I let out my breath. "I don't know. I just don't like help, I guess."

When I traversed the next step, he lifted me so it was effortless. "Coming from someone who wants a career in helping people that's a little backward, don't you think?"

Stopping, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, fighting a stubbornness inside me that was sitting firmly in my chest and acting like a crotchety old man. "Fine," I said eventually.

"Fine?" he asked, leaning forward so he was able to see my face.

Opening my eyes again, I turned and looked at him. "Fine, carry me up the stairs," I conceded in a way that sounded really juvenile.

"I love how you say that like you're doing me a favour," he chuckled as he scooped me up in his arms and began to carry me the two flights of stairs to my floor.

"Well, I kind of am. You said yourself it would be faster. I'm saving you time."

He glanced down at me and smiled with perfect white teeth. "I suppose you are."

***

"HOW LONG until your roommate gets home?" Tyler asked as he set me down on the couch and looked around my small one bedroom apartment.

"Um, never. I live alone."

He placed his hands on his hips and raised his brow. "You moved here all by yourself?"

"Well, we can't all bring mummy along," I teased, hearing him laugh as he headed toward my tiny kitchen and put the pharmacy bag of painkillers on the benchtop.

"It's not like I live with her," he replied, pulling a glass out of my strainer, which he held under the tap and filled with cold water. "I have my own place."

"So, no roommate for you either?"

Reaching into the white paper bag, he withdrew my pills and read the instructions before popping two capsules into the palm of his hand. "No. But, it's different for a guy. This isn't really the safest place for pretty girls to live alone."

I let out a laugh as he brought me the pills and water. "Is that a line?"

He held out the glass for me to take. "I don't need lines, Sarah," he said softly, as he placed the pills in my hand, his fingertips brushing along my palm. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm already alone with you in your apartment – anything could happen."

My breathing hitched, and I hoped he didn't notice as his eyes bore into mine, and I wondered if this guy was actually serious. The longer it went on, the more I felt my cheeks heat as all the blood rushed embarrassingly to my head. I don't think I was even breathing for fear of doing or saying something that would make the moment alter in some way. I was just...caught.

Then as quickly as the mood became intense, it shifted back to normal when he gave me a wink and stepped away. "I'm joking," he laughed. "Don't look so freaked out. I was actually asking about a roommate because you're going to need someone to help you out until the pain eases and you get used to moving around with a cast on."

"I'll be fine," I responded with a nervous laugh, still recovering from that weird intensity that passed between us.

He lifted his brow again as he studied me. "So you keep saying."

Tossing the pills into my mouth, I drank the water and he took the glass.

"I will be," I insisted, figuring I'd just watch Foxtel and dine on Dominos pizza until I was forced to leave the apartment when exams started. "Seriously. I have everything I need right here."

Giving me a dubious look, he took the glass back to the kitchen then checked his watch. "Listen, I have somewhere I really need to be. But, I'm going to give you my number, and if you need anything just give me a call, OK?" I watched him pull a pen off the sideboard and write on the back of the pharmacy bag. "Call me for anything at all."

"Sure," I told him, even though inside I was assuring myself that there was no way in hell I was going to call. "Listen, thanks for your help today, Tyler."

"It was the least I could do," he replied as he headed for the door and opened it. "I'll see you around, sweetheart." Then he gave me yet another wink, and he was gone.

"I'm not your sweetheart," I whispered the moment the door clicked shut, trying to ignore the little voice inside me that tried to tell me that it wouldn't be so bad if I was. Instead, I reminded myself of who he was, and that for seventeen years, we practically grew up side by side. In all the time, there had never been a reason for us to be friends. Just because he spat out the gum that caused me to break my ankle, and a small bone in my foot, didn't mean we needed to start being friends now. No – I wasn't his sweetheart at all.