To Each Her Own

by Molly Mirren

  Jay dropped the ratchet he was working with onto his lap and swiveled his chair around to face Erin, and if she'd thought his back muscles were impressive, his pectoral muscles were stunning. In fact, his muscles were ripped down to his waist, where his muscle tone abruptly morphed into a slight paunch that didn't show so much when he was wearing a shirt. Obviously, the area of his navel was where his paralysis began.

  He was wearing the same loose, worn jeans he wore often, but Erin quickly bounced her eyes away from his atrophied legs. She didn't want him to think she was perving on them.

  His disability didn’t detract from his fluid grace, and the fact that he used a wheelchair didn't make him appear weak. The well-engineered chair fit him perfectly, like a second skin, and insinuated strength.

  Erin's pulse picked up, and she got an urgent zing down in her nether bits, a longing. She hated her body for its betrayal and fought not to clench her eyes shut to block out the sight of him.

  He's not hot, he's not hot, he's not hot, she chanted to herself. He was a blond, for God's sake. She'd never been into blonds. Ever. She liked darkly handsome guys like Luis. Yeah, Luis had been a massive mistake, but that didn't mean he wasn't nice to look at. She wasn't about to start lusting after blonds now, especially not Jay Bontrager.

  He looked up at her, squinting into the sun, two little creases between his brows, and his sunlit blue-gray eyes were so gorgeous that her heart did a flippy thing against her will. She bit her lip, almost drawing blood, hoping the pain would bring her back to her senses.

  “What's up?” he said in his relaxed, rumbling voice. He picked up an old, grease-stained rag from his lap and wiped his hands.

  “I just . . . ” She cleared her throat, not liking how shaky her voice sounded. “Nothing, really.”

  When she didn't go on, he asked, “Did you need something?” His brows were raised a little, and he had that curve to his mouth that threatened a cocky smirk. She thought it was an unconscious thing he did, like it was ingrained in him to be flirty—like he knew the effect he had on women and what she'd been thinking about him. “You just out here smelling the roses?”

  Erin glanced at the barren backyard, which had been neglected for years, and laughed wryly. “No. I was, um, wondering if you were planning on going to HEB anytime soon?”

  He glanced down at his hands and then back up to her, just one eye squinting this time. It was almost a wink. “Just went yesterday, but that doesn't matter. I'll take you if you need to go.”

  She wasn't surprised he'd just gone because he went often. He liked that fancy HEB, the Central Market grocery store on Broadway, the expensive one with all the gourmet stuff. She'd noticed he bought a lot of healthy things like fresh produce. It was weird because he was so unpretentious. She wouldn't have pegged him as being someone who was particular about the groceries he bought, but she had to admit, whatever he cooked usually smelled really good. She was more into processed, prepackaged stuff herself and preferred the regular, cheaper HEB on Olmos Drive.

  Gripping her crutch handgrips tightly, Erin tried to say yes, she did need a ride, but it was killing her to ask him for help. She started to backpedal instead. “That's okay. Forget it. I don't really need to go.”

  A total lie. She mentally tallied what was left in her section of the pantry. She still had some Froot Loops left. Maybe. But she was for sure out of milk.

  He tilted his head a bit. “Erin, if you need to go to the store, just say so. It's not a big deal for me to take you.”

  She looked down at her feet—one shod in a new black leather biker boot (since her old ones were trashed in the wreck) and one wearing a cast—and felt suddenly like an awkward teenager. The toenails of her right foot, painted a midnight blue that looked almost black, were sticking out of the cast. She wiggled them. “I guess I kind of do need to go,” she admitted. She lifted her gaze, forcing herself to look Jay in the eye.

  His mouth curved into a definite smirk this time—the Jay smirk—but it wasn't condescending or derisive. He seemed pleased that she'd finally relented. He set his ratchet and the greasy rag on the worktable and said, “Just let me go get a shirt on and wash my hands.”

  Erin nodded and watched him wheel himself toward the house with sure, strong pushes. If it was possible for someone to swagger in a wheelchair, Jay did it.

  His car was what she would expect from him: a loud, sleek, black, muscle-looking thing. It was modified with hand controls, and he made driving it look easy. They drove to the cheap HEB in silence.

  Once they got to the grocery store, Erin sat on one of the scooter carts, tucking her crutches between her cast and the seat of the scooter. She was embarrassed to have to use a scooter cart—she'd always thought they were for super-old or super-fat people—but she didn't have a choice. She couldn't push a regular cart and use her crutches at the same time.

  Did that make her a hypocrite, the fact that she appreciated, had even been attracted to, guys with a disability but was snobby about it when faced with it herself? Yeah, it pretty much did, and she resolved not to be so judgmental the next time she saw someone using a scooter.

  As she went up and down the aisles, Jay followed her in his chair, occasionally throwing something in the scooter's basket that he needed, but most of the stuff was hers. They garnered a lot of furtive, curious looks in their roles as Gimpy and Gimpier, but Jay didn't seem bothered by it. Erin figured he was used to it.

  She tossed several cans of Pringles into the basket and said, “That should do it. That's everything on my list.”

  Jay arched his brows, causing his forehead to crease in a way that was somehow sort of charming—or it would be, if it weren't Jay. “Glad to see you finally put some vegetables in the cart, darlin',” he drawled.

  "Don't call me darlin'," she responded. It was rote now, something she said automatically without any real heat. She perused the less-than-healthy contents of her cart as she and Jay made their way to the checkout lanes and shrugged. “Pringles are made out of potatoes. Potatoes are vegetables.”

  Jay just shook his head.

  The store was crowded, so they had to wait in line behind two other people at the checkout stand. A lanky, nerdy-looking white guy was browsing the magazine rack next to Erin, and he bumped into the bulky leather purse hanging from her shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said with a polite smile.

  She gave him a short nod and small smile back. "That's okay."

  Wheeling up beside Erin's scooter cart, Jay continued to mock her grocery-buying habits. “Do you ever buy anything that isn't encased in some kind of man-made packaging? Do you ever, you know, actually cook anything?”

  “Yeah. Of course.” It was a lie, but she didn't want him to know she was a terrible cook.

  He looked skeptical. “Kraft mac 'n' cheese doesn't count as cooking.”

  “I like mac 'n' cheese," she defended. "And, by the way, what I eat is none of your business.”

  He considered her, his eyes thoughtful. “How about I make you dinner tonight, darlin'? Show you what a real meal is.”

  “Uh, no,” she retorted. "And I'm not your darlin'."

  He glanced toward the ceiling as if he might get some help from above. “You know, most women would like it if a guy wanted to cook them dinner.”

  She looked around and lowered her voice, trying not to keep their argument from calling more attention to them than they were already getting, but her tone was still hard. “You know damn well why I don't want you to cook me dinner.”

  “Actually, I don't, Erin." Jay punctuated his words like he was fed up with her. "I just want to do something nice. Why is that such a bad thing?”

  Fury simmered in her blood. How could he not know why? He had to know, and it pissed her off that he was pretending to be Mr. Magnanimous and making her out to be the bad guy.

  Did he think just because they hadn't had a knock-down-drag-out in the last three weeks that all was good between them, that she could ever forget what he'd said? The uneas
y truce of the last few weeks was only because she'd gone out of her way to avoid him. Every time she remembered his scathing tirade against devs, not to mention that he was also blackmailing her, it gutted her. And now he wanted to cook her dinner?

  She leaned toward him and hissed, “I don't want anything from you. And why would you even want to sit at the same table with someone like me, let alone cook me dinner?”

  His nostrils flared. “Jesus Christ. I—” He stopped abruptly and focused on a point beyond her shoulder, then reached with lightning-quick speed across her body.

  Startled, she turned her head to see Lanky Guy standing on the other side of her scooter with his hand inside her purse. She'd forgotten to zip the bag when she put her grocery list back in it. One of Jay's hands was gripping the wheel of his chair for leverage, and one was clamped down on Lanky Guy's wrist. Jay was scowling, those expressive brows drawn together, his eyes boring into the pickpocket. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” he growled.

  Lanky Guy reared back with his free hand and brutally punched Jay in the face, then took off running. The blow was completely unexpected and shocking in its intensity.

  Jay's head snapped back, his back slamming against the backrest of his chair, and the force caused the chair to tip over. With a hard thud, his skull hit the white floor tiles. He grunted and then stared at the ceiling with dazed eyes.

  Time stopped for a split second, then chaos erupted. The customers around Erin and Jay gasped and said lots of “Oh, my Gods,” while Erin's heart lurched into her throat. Two HEB employees, men who had been stocking a bin of sale items near the exit, saw Lanky Guy running for the automatic doors and tackled him.

  Another couple of guys, off-duty soldiers dressed in sand-colored camouflage uniforms, helped Jay right his chair and get back in his seat. He was breathing hard and dabbing at the corner of his eye. When his fingers came away, there was blood on them. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, wincing.

  One of the soldiers kept holding on to Jay's arm, even after he was settled in his chair. "I'm fine," Jay told him. Erin wasn't so sure, but at least his breathing was starting to return to normal.

  When the soldier didn't look convinced, Jay clenched his jaw like he was annoyed that the soldier was coddling him. As he spoke, however, his tone was firm but polite. "Really. I'm fine. Thanks."

  The soldier nodded and let go.

  Alarmed that Jay was bleeding, Erin turned toward the stunned lady behind the checkout stand. “We need something to wipe his eye.”

  A few seconds later, someone shoved a wad of brown paper towels into Erin's hand. She stood up on her good leg, then leaned toward Jay and braced herself with one hand on his leg for balance so she wouldn't fall. It felt weird to be touching him, to feel the knobby bone of his knee under the denim of his jeans, but she reminded herself that he couldn't feel it. He probably had no idea she was touching him. Still, being so close to him, she could sense his warmth. Her heartbeat picked up at the disconcerting intimacy of it. “Let me see,” she said to him softly.

  He let his hand drop and turned the injured side of his face a little toward her. He had a cut near the corner of his eye, and the area around the eye was red and starting to swell. “You're gonna have a nice shiner,” she observed, gently dabbing at the bleeding cut with the wad of paper towels.

  “Shithead must have had a ring on," Jay grumbled.

  Erin was close enough to feel the soft stirring of his breath on her face when he spoke, and she ignored the little shiver down her spine it caused. His breath smelled nice, sort of minty. If she weren't so grateful to him, she might have been annoyed by that. Did he always have to be so perfect?

  She lifted the paper towels away from his face and inspected the cut. “I think it'll be okay. It's already almost stopped bleeding. I don't think you need stitches.”

  He nodded and swallowed hard, still looking pissed off.

  It started to really sink in what he'd done for her, and Erin started to feel shaky now that the adrenaline rush was fading. She'd had nearly three hundred dollars worth of tip money she'd saved up for a rainy day in her wallet—money she desperately needed now that she couldn't work. If Lanky Guy had stolen it, she either would have been stuck with dry Froot Loops to eat until Zac could send her some money or would have maxed out her credit card, which was already precariously close to that point.

  Jay's gaze wandered from her face down to her hand, the one still on his knee. His focus lingered there, and a frown flickered across his face. God, it must repulse him, the fact that she was touching him—on his paralyzed leg, no less. He probably thought she was turned on or something.

  Embarrassed, Erin hastily pushed off—causing Jay's chair to roll away from her a bit—and plopped back down on the seat of her scooter. She wouldn't meet his eyes, but she could feel him staring. The weight of it made her feel flustered, so she inspected the contents of her purse to give her hands something to do. When she gathered her dignity and found the courage to look up, she was startled to see a warm glow in Jay's grayish blue eyes instead of revulsion or disdain. It wasn't what she'd expected to see, and she was captivated.

  A woman put a hand on Jay's shoulder, distracting him, and whatever had passed between him and Erin was broken by the concerned HEB employees. Someone put a Band-Aid on his cut and gave him one cold pack for his battered eye and another for the back of his head.

  The next hour was filled with answering questions from the police for an arrest report and Jay being fawned over by the HEB staff, including an awkward moment where an employee thought Jay was a veteran and thanked him for his “sacrifice,” assuming he'd gotten his spinal cord injury as a soldier. Jay seemed embarrassed, almost apologetic. He corrected the guy politely and told him he wasn't a veteran, but he didn't elaborate on what had caused his injury.

  Erin could see how someone might mistake him for a veteran: San Antonio was home to four different military bases, two major military hospitals, and a lot of young soldiers with disabilities. Still, cause of injury was a very personal thing for a lot of wheelers—most of whom didn't like to relive that traumatic moment of their lives by talking about it—and it must be irritating for Jay to have to explain himself.

  When it was all over and their groceries were loaded in Jay's car, they started back to Erin's house, neither of them speaking. From his profile, she could see his bruised, damaged eye and the Band-Aid just above it. She tried not to wince. It looked painful and marred his movie-star-handsome good looks, but only a little. She hated that he'd been hurt because of her.

  Breaking the lull, Erin said, “So, I guess I owe you a big thanks for stopping that guy from stealing my wallet.”

  “Don't strain yourself, darlin'.” Jay's voice was wry. “I know it must be killing you to say that.”

  She glanced down at her lap, her lips forming a small, involuntary smile. “Yeah, it is.” Looking at him more soberly, she said, “But I mean it. Thanks.”

  “You're welcome.” He grinned at her, flashing his pearly teeth and completely disarming her.

  That was bad. She didn't want him breaching the carefully constructed wall she'd built around her heart. She looked out her window so he couldn't see her face, afraid of what it might reveal.

  Chapter 7

  In the end, Erin was the one who made dinner—sort of. They picked up burgers and fries from Whataburger. While Jay would have avoided getting socked in the eye if given the choice, and was still feeling the ache from it, Erin's animosity toward him seemed to have eased somewhat as a result of his unintentional act of chivalry. She was less aloof and had even bought his burger. He'd offered to pay, of course, but she'd insisted on buying.

  They were sitting at the kitchen table now, sipping Shiner Blonde longnecks with their burgers. He sank his teeth into his and, once he was done chewing, said, “This is really good.”

  Erin took a pull of her beer. “That's why they're called 'what-a-burgers.'” She spoke in her laid-back, smoky little-gi
rl voice, and there was almost a smile on her lips. He knew one was playing across his own.

  “Is it a Texas thing? I've never seen one in Cali.”

  “Yeah. The chain started in Corpus Christi in, like, the fifties or something.”

  He nodded and took a sip from his longneck.

  “What part of California are you from?” She dipped a fry in ketchup and popped it in her mouth.

  “Stockton originally and then Oakland after my injury.”

  “Why did you come to San Antonio?”

  “Better job. Luis made me an offer I couldn't refuse. I had a pretty crappy help-desk job in Oakland that was going nowhere. The cost of living there is high, too. I'm making more money with Luis, and it goes a lot further here.”

  She took a bite and regarded Jay while she chewed. “You met Luis online, right?”

  Jay laughed. “You make it sound like we met on eHarmony or something.”

  A real smile spread across her features then, almost-dimples showing, and it intrigued him. He could stare at that smile all day.

  “You know what I mean,” she said. “You took a big risk, moving to a completely new place where the only person you knew, you'd never met in person.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I guess. But, like I said, I didn't have much to lose. And I'd been talking to Luis on the SCI forum for a long time.” He lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug. “I don't know. I just felt like I knew him, like I could trust him."

  She pressed her pretty lips together and stared at her longneck, tracing the rim with a delicate finger. “Yeah. Luis is good at that.” There was an edge to her tone.

  Jay guessed she was thinking of her own online relationship with Luis before Jay had ruined everything between them, and he felt guilty. “He's a good guy, Erin. You should give him another chance.”

  She glanced down and idly tore off a piece of bun. “What do you think'll happen to that guy who tried to steal my wallet?”

  Jay exhaled, frustrated she wouldn't talk about Luis, but he followed her lead and let it go. “I hope he gets a ticket straight to the clink.”