The guy grimaced. “Yeah, my bad. Hey, can I at least sit up? Your boo here is crushing my kidneys.”
Rick glanced at her, eyebrows raised in question. She nodded, surprised that he’d asked her input.
Rick hauled the guy up and propped him against the wall. “Don’t move.”
“Pshh, whatever, man.”
Rick came toward Gina, keeping his eye on their inept thief. He squatted in front of her and brushed a thumb across her cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
The gentle touch and his quiet, concerned tone took her aback. He cared. A lump formed in her throat, and she turned her face out of his grasp.
“I’m fine.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve got something for your arm. Hang on.”
His brow furrowed slightly, and he looked like he was going to reach for her again, but then dropped his hand. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“You’re bleeding. It’s not fine.”
She dug around in her backpack for the little stack of Band-Aids she always kept with her and pulled them out, along with a bottle of water.
“Come here,” she said.
His eyes widened at her demanding tone, but he obeyed with a slight smile. She tried to ignore him as she poured water over the cut and dabbed at it with a napkin. Tried to ignore the warmth that spread through her from where her fingers brushed against his skin as she pressed the Band-Aids to the wound. Tried to ignore the way he smelled—a clean, fresh scent that reminded her of Irish Spring soap. The way his breath caught when she brushed against him. The way her heart pounded when he leaned closer.
“Yo, you got any more water in that bag of yours?”
Gina leaned around Rick and glared at her assailant, but he just blinked big round eyes at her and waited for her answer. Rick shrugged. Big help there. She gave the Band-Aids on his arm one last pat and pulled another water bottle out of her bag. Of course, it then occurred to her she’d have to help the little punk drink it. He leered at her, and she dropped the water back in her pack.
“Not likely, asshat.”
“Ah, come on. I’m thirsty.”
She had another retort all geared up and then had an idea. She dug back in her bag and grabbed her last juice box and a handy roll of hot-pink duct tape.
“Hot pink?” Rick asked her.
She shrugged. “I drive a hot-pink cupcake truck. Chances are, if I’m going to need to tape something, it’s going to be on that. Hence, hot-pink tape.”
Rick opened his mouth like he was going to question her again but thought better of it and instead just shook his head.
“What’re you doing?” the guy asked her.
In answer, she ripped off a big piece of tape and taped the juice box to his chest.
The guy looked down at the box on his chest and back up at her. “Seriously?”
“Oh, sorry.” She leaned back over, grabbed the straw, and popped it in the top. “There you go.”
The guy opened his mouth but couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. He finally shook his head and said, “Whatever,” before leaning down to drink.
Gina dropped back down by Rick and answered his raised-eyebrow unanswered question with a shrug. “What? I wasn’t going to hold it for him. I’m not his mama.”
Rick laughed and glanced down at his arm. “Thanks.”
Gina nodded. “It was the least I could do, seeing as how you got cut up defending my sorry ass. I should be the one saying thanks.”
Even though the words stuck in her throat, she meant them. She had a hard time relying on people. An even harder time admitting she might need someone else’s help. But the man had taken a knife for her and wrestled her assailant to the ground. No matter how incompetent the little shit was—the mugger, not Rick—he deserved some gratitude.
Rick leaned back against the wall next to her, so close their shoulders touched. “There’s nothing even remotely sorry about your ass.”
She looked up at him, shocked delight running through her.
“Besides,” he continued, “I couldn’t very well stand there and let you get cut up.”
“Yeah, you could have. But you didn’t. Thanks.”
Before he could say anything else, the quick whoop whoop of a siren cut through the air.
Rick sighed and stood up, pulling Gina with him. Normally, she’d have slapped him away. But at the moment, she wanted an excuse to take his hand, and standing up would do as well as anything else. They left the baby thug where he sat with his juice.
A few moments later, a pair of the city’s finest came through the door that led into the building. They glanced at Juice Boy and Rick, standing protectively in front of Gina, his arm covered in Band-Aids, and the good-natured ribbing began. Rick took it all in stride, though Gina couldn’t help but squirm every time their inquisitive eyes settled on her. Luckily, Rick seemed as anxious to get them out of there as she was. After a few more jokes about hot girls and juice box–sucking thieves, Rick’s cop buddies took their prize and hauled him off. Leaving the two of them alone on the rooftop.