A Betting Man

Chapter Five

I close my eyes and pretend, for half a moment, that this atrocious little incident never happened. I can still hear Justin's frantic voice in the background. He surely thinks I'm in a coma, which, to be perfectly honest, would be preferable.

Dear God, if you're listening right now, please have mercy and end my existence. This is quite possibly the single most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me in my twenty-four years of living. Thank you and amen.

He's shaking my shoulders lightly. I open both eyes.

"Oh thank God," he breathes. "You scared the shit out of me. Are you okay?"

Nothing hurt but my pride. And - fuck!- my wrist. I groan in response, still too humiliated to speak. I just want to melt into the asphalt and absolutely die.

I move to roll over but he puts a firm hand on my shoulder, forcing me back down. "I don't think that's a good idea, Addie," he warns.

"What?" I'm confused. Aside from my painful wrist, I'm fine.

"Your back could be injured. You hit the ground pretty hard. I'm calling an ambulance--"

"What? No!" I struggle against him and eventually peel myself from the pavement. My ass is sore, as well as my right knee, but nothing compares to the sharp pain in my wrist. A quick glance reveals it's swollen and starting to bruise. Justin notices.

"Your wrist is swelling. Does it hurt?" He touches it, and I snatch it away.

"Yes, it hurts!"

"I think you really need to go to the hospital..."

I groan internally, but I'm too distracted to argue once I realize several people have gathered around, asking us questions and making sure I'm not seriously injured. Then I look down and realize my jeans are ripped at the knee and there's a small amount of blood. Crap, my favorite jeans!

Justin is assuring everyone I'm fine. His helmet is off, on the ground, and I rip mine away and toss it aside. Fuck me - the last thing I want right now is an audience for this moment of total humiliation.

With my uninjured hand I pick up the scooter by the handlebars and right it. Everyone watches me, some even backing up a pace or two, as if I'm gonna jump on and peel out like I'm in the world's greatest scooter action movie ever. Justin quickly grabs the other handlebar.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asks, his voice thick with disbelief and anger. I glare at him.

"I'm taking the scooter back." I plan on pushing it back, like the total dunce that I am, but Justin's next words still piss me off.

"Like hell you are. You're not riding this again."

I'm sure I turn fifty shades of red. "Excuse me?" He's not my father and he certainly isn't my boyfriend. He has no right to make these demands of me. I narrow my eyes at him and he narrows his right back.

"If you think I'm letting you drive this again you're fucking crazy."

Holy shit. I've never wanted to deck someone as much as I do right now.

The pressure's building, and I'm close to unleashing the fury on his ass, but a bystander quickly steps in between us, taking the scooter. He's a young man with light-brown hair and squinty eyes.

"I really think I should take the scooter back," he offers. I refuse to let go, downright pissed off.

"No. I can take it back."

"Addie..." Justin says, a warning to his tone. Could this moment possibly get any worse? I stare him down, one hand still firmly grasping the scooter, refusing to relent. I'm sure this is the most entertainment these losers have had in years.