Spellbound - Cara Lynn Shultz [99]
“Try moving it this way,” he instructed. I did as he requested, and then after gently making me flex my toes—thank God I’d given myself a pedicure the night before—he grinned. “I don’t think it’s broken.” I smiled at his concern, lost in those hypnotic green eyes of his, until we both realized that we were being watched—carefully—by my aunt. Brendan straightened up, and excused himself.
“I broke my ankle playing football a few years ago, and I’ve seen tons of injuries on the basketball court,” he explained to Christine, clearing his throat.
“Not that I’m a doctor, obviously. But it looks okay from what I know. Still, I should probably let you put that ankle on ice. It was lovely meeting you, Mrs. Considine.” With another of those angelic smiles, Brendan shook my aunt’s hand again and—winking at me—headed for the front door.
After it had closed, Aunt Christine leaned against the door way and eyed me suspiciously over her bifocals.
“This is all from him pulling you out of the way?”
“Yes, Aunt Christine. Really!” I stressed. “I stepped off the curb and I wasn’t paying attention, and a cab raced through the light. Brendan grabbed me and pulled me back on the sidewalk. I tripped on the curb when he pulled me out of the way. Really.” I held up my boot, which was freshly cut with a deep scrape on the toe.
“Okay, honey. I just worry about you sometimes. You didn’t have the best male role models.”
“Aw, Aunt Christine,” I mumbled. “All it’s done is make me really skilled at spotting the bad guys. My loser radar is sharp. That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about.”
She seemed satisfied, and began sticking little plastic bandages haphazardly to my palms. “It’s just worrisome, dear. Whenever you’re around this boy, there’s some kind of trouble or another.”
“No trouble that he’s caused,” I replied, feeling protective of Brendan.
“No, of course not,” Aunt Christine amended her statement quickly when she saw the sour look on my face. “I’m just saying it does seem to happen a lot.”
“That’s…coincidence,” I muttered. “And it’s only been twice.”
“One other thing, dear. The way you are with each other.” She sighed. “It concerns me. It looks a little serious for a couple of teenagers who’ve been dating—what, a week?” Or, a couple of teenagers who’ve been waiting for each other for a thousand years.
“We did meet when we were younger, remember?” I wheedled, reminding her of her earlier story about Brendan and me playing together as kids.
“That doesn’t count,” Aunt Christine said firmly.
“Well, the first time we hung out was four weeks ago,” I countered, thinking of our Met meet-up.
“Still, it seems a little quick for you to give your heart away.”
“I’ve got my emotions in check, Aunt Christine. Really, you don’t have to worry about me when it comes to that,” I insisted, trying to sound convincing, even though I’d practically gift wrapped my heart for him.
She eyed me suspiciously and said, “Don’t go getting pregnant or running off and eloping.”
“Aw, come on!” I cried. “Give me a little credit!” I covered my face with my hands and an errant bandage stuck to my chin.
“Well, let’s get you off this ankle,” Aunt Christine clucked. “With any luck, all you’ll need to do is wrap it with an Ace bandage and you can still wear heels to the dance on Friday.”
I looked down at the scrapes on my hands, peeking out under the bandages that were randomly stuck all over my palms.
“At least I’m wearing gloves,” I groaned, using the towel bar to pull myself up so I could hobble into my room, peeling the stray bandage off my chin as I limped along.
Later that night, after IMing with Angelique—who was still battling the flu—I was back in my bed, scrolling through celebrity hairstyles on People magazine’s website, trying to get ideas for the dance. I contemplated wearing it up in a dramatic, ornate style, then thought about copying Anne Hathaway’s soft, long waves. She always looked good. But then I realized that my hairdressing toolkit