MacKenzie Fire(48)

“Stitches and antibiotics first, bonding after.”

“Whatever you say, bossy boss pants.” I’m suddenly really tired. My vision goes a little burry, but I don’t fight it. The bouncy bouncing of the truck jerks my robot arm and makes me wince. Sleep will make that all go away.

“Don’t go to sleep on me,” Ian says, patting my leg.

“Juss a little…” My eyes fall shut and my head lolls to the side. Sleep. Sooooo nice. Just a little sleep…

“OW!” I sit bolt upright and glare at him. Then I look down at my arm. My eyes bug out as I take in the edges of ragged flesh and the blood seeping out onto the jacket underneath my arm. “What did you just do?!”

“I told you not to go to sleep. Stay awake until we get to the hospital or I’m going to poke your cut again.”

“Poke my …? Are you serious?!” I want to wrap my arm up in towels and hold it against me where he can’t reach it, but those towels in the back seat look like they’ve already been used for a lot of gross stuff and I don’t want to ruin my shirt. It’s an ugly sweatshirt, granted, but it is from my college days. I have a lot of memories wearing this thing. It’s bad enough it has a rip in it now.

“Did you hit your head?” he asks.

He reaches over like he’s going to touch my scalp so I lean away. “No touching!”

“Does it hurt?” He glances at me before going back to staring out the windshield. He’s leaning really far forward. The snow is making it very hard to see anything, even with the wipers going really fast.

“Like a bitch,” I say, leaning the side of my head against the seat-back. I’m staring at Ian’s profile. “You are seriously good-looking, you know that?”

Ian smiles. “You think so?”

“Yeah. I probably shouldn’t say that to you because you’ll get really stuck-up, but I just had to anyway. I’m tired of thinking it and not saying it out loud.”

He laughs. “Head injuries are kind of crazy sometimes.”

“So are dreams.” Visions of him in a tux standing at the end of an aisle assail my brain. “You think you’ll ever get married?” I feel like I’m drunk. There is no filter between my thoughts and my mouth. I probably should care, but I don’t. I’m just dreaming anyway. He’ll never know.

“Yeah, someday. I’d like to.” He glances at me and then he’s back to being a responsible driver. “I just need to find the right girl.”

“It’s not Ginny,” I say.

“No, definitely not her.”

“Is it The Banana?”

“The Banana?” He looks at me and frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay. Don’t I look okay?”

“Not really.”

“Rude.”

“You just asked me if I’m going to marry a banana. I think you have a skull fracture. You’d better not die on me.”

“No, I asked you if you liked that girl, that banana girl at the diner.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus. “I forget her full name. Hannabelle Lecter or something.”

He barks out a laugh. “Hannah? Are you talking about Hannah Banana?”

“Yeah, that’s her. Girl with the chicken-fat yellow haystack on her head.”

Ian’s laughing too hard to respond.

“Is that a no?” I smile through my pain, opening my eyes again. His laughter is too infectious not to. He’s so pretty.

“That’s a definite no,” he says. “No times a hundred. I’ve never touched her and never will.”

“She says you’ve been getting it on.” I keep smiling because I know instinctively that this will make him insane. I like seeing Ian go crazy.

He stops laughing. “That’s not funny.”

“Hey, that’s what she’s telling everyone. I didn’t make it up. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“You finally got that right.”

“Got what right?” I wince as we hit a big bump and my head bounces against the seat.

“That expression. And don’t worry. I’m not going to shoot the messenger, even though she shot me.” He gives me a pointed look. I think it’s supposed to make me feel guilty, but it doesn’t. It makes me happy.

I grin. “I didn’t shoot you, fool. Karma shot you.” I’m so happy right now I could pee my pants again and not even care.

“Don’t go to sleep,” he says, making me realize I’m staring at the inside of my eyelids again.

“I need to rest. I don’t want to miss the party.”

“What party?”

“Boog’s party.” I’m going to look extra hot at this party with my boob-guns on. I’m a fembot, and I’d be willing to bet they don’t get fembots in Baker City that often.

“You aren’t going to Boog’s party or anyone else’s party for that matter. You’re going to the hospital.”

“Bull honkey.”

He laughs. “We’ll see.”

“Yeah, we will,” I say. And then that’s the last thing I remember of that car ride or that conversation. Everything goes black and the warmth comes in and swallows me up whole.