Kissing Skulls *Revised*

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

            Misty hadn’t been lying. 

             I was sniveling like a baby by the time she finally set the last of her tools aside.  Any other time I would have let a tear or two leak out—it hurt—but, I could sense Dustyn lurking behind me and I felt the need to threaten myself; don’t you dare cry.

            The last thing I needed was to break down in front of Mr. Perfect. 

            "All better!"  Misty chirped, standing back to observe her work with a small smile.

            My hand was neatly wrapped in gauze, as professionally as any hoity-toity doctor in some hospital could have done.  I could hardly feel the pain anymore—just a slight twinge as I eased myself off the examining table.

            “Thanks, Mist,” I said, bowing from my waist like a monk.  The movement only served to highlight just how tall she was.  In a few months or so, she would definitely tower over me.

            Damn my shrimpy genes. 

            “I owe ya one.” 

             I winked at her, as I ran my good hand over the wispy feel of the bandages shrouding the other.   The bindings almost felt like a hard glove—but spelled to give it the support of a cast without the confinement.

            Even so, it still felt awkward, and I was annoyed to find that I couldn’t fully open or close my fist—no knife wielding for me. 

            Misty certainly knew how to do her thing, but being a cripple was definitely something I would have to get used to.  That point was made all the more clear as Dustyn—Dustyn Grayson of all people—had to hold the door open for me to slip out into the drafty main hall.

            “Thank you Misty,” I heard him say before he followed me out.  “I’ll see you later tonight—six o’ clock sharp.”

            “Yeah,” Misty replied, an unusual edge to her normally chirpy voice.  “I’ll be there.”

            I dawdled, scuffling my shoes across the floor, intrigued despite myself.  This certainly wasn’t the average afternoon meeting they seemed to be referring to, and for the first time today I wondered just what I had missed.

            I should have asked Dave when I had the chance.

            “Mary.” 

            I jumped as Dustyn’s voice brushed my ear—way too close for comfort.  I whirled around to face him, hands coming up like a boxer’s to ward off any verbal blow. 

            “What?” I said, disgusted by how breathless I sounded. 

            His perfect face—crowned by too intense gray eyes—robbed me of all my wits when seen up so close.

            Why, had I been in the particular mood, I could have reached out and yanked one of the ghostly strands of white-blond hair that fell across his face.

            But even I knew where to draw the line.

            “Don’t go too far,” he warned.  “You aren’t off the hook—we still need to talk.”

            Shit.  I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.  Go figure.

            Being alone with Dustyn Grayson so he could rake me over the proverbial coals didn’t exactly sit well with me as an ideal way to spend a Saturday afternoon.