Page 42 of Iron Will
“Okay,” comes a voice from the open doorway. We all turn to see Katie standing at the threshold. “Now that all the commotion is over, let’s get Paisley discharged!”
I leave them to it,promising Bethany I’ll be in touch very soon. Then, sighing, I exit Paisley’s hospital room, thankful things seem to have worked out okay, at least for now.
One thing seems odd, though. Rourke told me over the phone yesterday that he’d “see me tomorrow.” I assumed that meant he’d be here to witness Mickey’s takedown. I wonder if he’s gotten held up somewhere — or whether I should have tried to call him when Mickey showed up here.
I realize with a sinking heart that I was looking forward to seeing him. Now that Mickey’s taken care of, and Paisley will be leaving the hospital, it’s very possible I might never run into Rourke Powers again.
I’m not proud of it, but I’m a lot more disappointed than I have any right to be.
I go back to my office and sit down at my desk to try to work. But the excitement of the last half-hour has my brain in a jumble. I spend the rest of the day idly surfing the net, looking at cat videos, and trying unsuccessfully to focus. This isn’t like me; normally, I love my job, and I’m not much of a procrastinator, even for tasks I find uninspiring.
By the time five o’clock rolls around, I’m cranky, impatient, and nursing the beginnings of a headache. Frustrated, I push my laptop away from me and don’t even consider taking any work home. I need a break.
As I walk out of the hospital entrance, I’m already trying to think of something more inspiring to do this evening than a load of laundry and a meal of leftovers. I don’t even notice the lone figure leaning against the low brick wall separating the front walk from the decorative landscaping behind it.
“So,” a familiar voice rumbles, startling me out of my thoughts. “Mission accomplished, I hear.”
I laugh softly and turn toward Rourke.
“Mission accomplished,” I smile.
“You in the mood to celebrate?”
A week ago — hell, even a few days ago — I wouldn’t have even considered going somewhere alone with Rourke. But now, my stomach jumps with nervous excitement.
“Yeah,” I answer, trying to ignore the shiver that runs down my spine when his eyes lock on mine. “Yeah, I really am.”
17
Laney
Rourke wants me to go with him on his bike, but one glance at the tailored straight skirt I’m wearing changes his mind.
“Head home and change,” he directs me. “Give me your address and I’ll be by in half an hour or so.”
My pulse is thudding in my temples as I tell him where I live. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” His eyes twinkle as they slide over my body. “Wear something you can ride in. If I didn’t make that clear.”
I’m fighting against nerves as I drive home to the tiny house I rent on the north side of Ironwood. I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before. Hell, I’ve never eventoucheda motorcycle before. I have no idea what to wear, and I’m half-afraid I won’t have the guts to climb on the back of a large, black machine like the one Rourke drives.
But as scared as I am, I push down my worry. Because I don’t want Rourke to think I’m a ninny.
Figuring wherever Rourke is taking me won’t be someplace high-end and snooty, I opt for my oldest, most casual jeans. They’re the comfiest thing I own, but they also hug my butt and thighs in a way I know is flattering. A simple white T-shirt is next, and thankfully I have a leather jacket that’s just casual enough, without looking like I’m trying too hard for a “biker chick” look. I start to pull on some high-heeled shoes, then rethink that and grab some booties with just a little bit of a heel.
When I look in the mirror, I’m suddenly filled with doubt. This seems crazy, to be going out with him. I mean, is this actually a date? Or a hookup? Or something else? I have no idea what I’ve just agreed to. I’ve never even seen Rourke outside of the hospital. I don’t know what he expects of me — if he even expects anything at all.
I grab a ponytail holder and pull back my dark hair, hoping that way it won’t get too tangled up in the wind. Then, since I still have a little time, I run to the bathroom and brush my teeth, then reapply some of my makeup. The doorbell rings just as I’m putting on fresh lipstick, and I jump and let out a little squeak of nerves. Laughing at myself, I stick out my tongue at my reflection.
“Calm down,” I tell the woman in the mirror. “This is no big deal. You’re just going out to have a good time. That’s all.”
Unfortunately, she doesn’t look at all convinced.
Rourke is standingon the cement stoop when I open the front door. His large body practically fills the entire opening. He hasn’t changed clothes or anything since I last saw him less than an hour ago. But somehow he looks different, outside the sterile environment of the hospital.
“You look good.” A corner of his mouth tilts up. “You ready?”
Not trusting my voice, I nod and push open the screen door. I had the foresight to only bring a small crossbody purse, and after I’ve locked the door behind me, I drop my keys into it and follow Rourke down the small path to my driveway, where his motorcycle is parked.