..there. Not joking with the men or flirting with the pretty girls in their barely-there club wear. Just watching with an almost preternatural stillness from his position next to the door in a way that Adam said he found unnerving but to her was quietly thrilling and a million miles away from Adam and his overinflated opinion of his own bravado. He would watch them come up the stairs and ignore Adam's “man to man” banter as she paid the cover charge for them both, keeping his eyes on them until they disappeared from view through the doors of the club. Quite frankly, the guy had Alpha stamped all over him. Not in a boardroom kind of way either but in a "kill or be killed" barely civilised way and she’d begun to secretly obsess about him, torturing herself with images of him and an endless parade of faceless supermodel-types thrashing around between his sheets. In her imagination those women were polished, willowy and ethereal. The perfect foil for his dark eroticism. They were not. “The pain will subside in a minute,” the doctor said. “Are you sure? It’s bad, really bad.” “Trust me!” I took Jill’s hand and squeezed it lightly. Her eyes were directed at me, but didn’t seem to be focused on me. “Jill!” I said worriedly. She flinched and withdrew her hand from mine. “I think I am better now,” she said. “Are you sure?” “Yep. Please, help me stand up!” Taking hold under her arms, I easily lifted her up. As I was supporting her back, she steadied herself, balancing on her good leg. Connie tucked the crutches under Jill’s armpits and bent down to adjust them. “And remember, you are not supposed to put weight on your broken leg,” the doctor said. “I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to. The way my leg is extended in front of me…” Jill was right. The angle at which her hip was immobilized made sure that her foot will be safely elevated above the ground, even if she wasn’t wearing a high-heeled pump. She took a tentative step, stopped for a second, then took.
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