He's a Fighter & I'm a Runner

THREE

The weekend finally came around, and I decided to go for a walk around the downtown area to get to know the area.

It was really nice. The street lamp and string lights lit the area. The skyscrapers weren't nearly as tall, but they still reminded me of the city. The nightlife was buzzing, but it felt less busy and more calm than I'm used to.

It's nice.

I noticed I was heading toward the boxing ring I saw Luke at a few times during my runs. I intended to walk past it, but I heard a groan.

I looked over to my right and saw Luke stumbling as he walked, having trouble holding himself up.

I ran over to him and placed his arm over my shoulders. He looked up at me alarmed but decided to let me help him.

"Are you okay? What am I asking? Of course, you're not okay." I rushed out.

"Keys." He mumbled. "Front pocket."

I found a set of car keys and clicked a button. The car beeped, and I saw a black Mustang GT.

"Wow. Nice car." I complimented. "Mustang GT...2013, I believe?" I asked.

"Yeah. Stop admiring it and get in. You're driving." I was internally a little excited to drive a sexy sport car. I helped him in to the passenger side and drove.

He directed me where to go, and I followed his instructions. I was scared he was really hurt.

"Where are we going?"

"My place." He replied.

"What?! No! We should be going to the hospital!" I freaked out a little.

"No! No hospitals." He stated with no room for argument. I sighed and took him to his place.

He directed me into a parking garage, and I noticed he lived in downtown in an apartment. The gate opened, and he directed me to his parking spot.

I quickly parked the car and helped him out of his side. He's starting to lean on me more. He's probably getting weaker.

I shut the door and locked his car, slipping the keys into his pocket. We made it to the elevator, and he pressed floor 12. The elevator gave me a little break since he leaned against the walls of the elevator instead of me.

Once I heard a ding, I dragged him out and followed his directions. He unlocked his door, and I pushed my way in, dropping him on the couch.

I turned on the light, and it was only then that I saw him clutching his abdomen. The hand that was doing so was cover in blood.

"Luke! You're bleeding! Where's your first aid kit?!" An emotion flashed in his eyes before he told me it was down the hall two doors down on the left side.

I walked into a bathroom room and searched for it. Once I finally found it, I rushed back to him.

I lifted up his shirt, trying not to get distracted from his toned muscles that would make any girl drool.

I grabbed the rubbing alcohol and a cotton ball and started to disinfect the wound. He only tensed his muscles when I cleaned. I expected him to hiss or something, but he just tensed.

I added a huge band aid on top and prayed this would work. I cleaned up all the supplies, and when I came back, I saw Luke walking around his kitchen with a new shirt.

"Are you crazy?! You need to rest!" I scolded.

He shrugged. "I'm fine."

I walked up to him and pushed him out of his kitchen and sat him down on his couch.

"You need to rest. You don't want to reopen that, do you?"

He sighed and laid down. "I'm hungry though." He complained.

I huffed. "I'll make you something then. What do you want?"

"Oh so city girl can cook too? What can't she do?" He teased.

"If you don't want anything, I'll leave."

He sighed. "I want a three-course dinner with steak, lobster, caviar, and tiramisu."

"Pasta it is." I replied and made my way to his kitchen. I made the pasta and carefully set it on two plates, adding mozzarella and parmesan cheese.

I brought it out and gave him a plate and a fork. He eyed it.

"This is pasta in your world?" He asked. "This is fucking art."

I blushed. All my dishes were like that. I made them look pretty and professional. It just made me happy to see beautiful food.

He picked up his fork and tried it. "So city girl is basically a professional chef."

"I'm not that good." I replied.

"You said that about painting too, but I saw it, and it looked amazing." I blushed a deeper red.

I started to eat my pasta, hoping he'd drop the subject. I was wrong to hope.

"You don't like getting praised, do you?"

"You're very perceptive." I answered.

"Why not?"

I sighed. "I don't know. I guess I might have learned it from the city. No one really brags about how much money they make or how successful they are. In fact, people just don't talk about it. So I learned to stay away from the subject of how good I am at certain things or how my grades are." I rambled.

"Interesting." He paused.

Not a word was said after that. It's like he talked to me almost normally for a bit, and then went back to his stoic self, not talking to me again.

Once we were done, I washed the plates and dried them. I was about to leave when he asked something.

"Don't you judge me?" He asked.

"Judge you?" I asked confused.

"I live in an apartment, not a house." He mumbled, his expression still stoic.

"Why would I judge you for that? I love apartments. It reminds me of where I used to live."

He processed my words before asking. "Do you need me to drive you?"

"No, I can walk." I answered.

"You sure?" He asked, probably about to say it's not safe but then remembering I lived in a very unsafe place before.

"Yeah." I mumbled before leaving.