Free Rising by Holly Kelly

Mr. Dimitriou made Ron look like George McFly.
    Mr. Dimitriou took another key out of his pocket, put it in the lock, and held the door open for her. Warning bells rang in her head. He had a key to her apartment. He could come in here whenever he wanted. And she had doubts about this man’s sanity. He sure did a lot of things that seemed crazy, and despite his unreal level of hotness, she didn’t want to die at the hands of a lunatic.
    Sara wheeled past Mr. Dimitriou and was about to bid him farewell when he strolled in and shut the door like he owned the place. Well, technically, he did, but this was her apartment. She paid good money for it.
    “Excuse me, Mr. Dimitriou,” she began. He took three steps over to her sink, turned on the faucet, and washed out his eyes. Oh right. The eyes she’d sprayed with pepper spray. She had invited him in, hadn’t she? The man had turned her into an imbecile.
    “Listen, ” he said, “I’m sorry I scared you. It’s not easy being nearly seven feet tall. People always think the worst of you. And with you being crippled, it has to be hard living on your own.”
    “Excuse me? Crippled? ” Sara’s angst rose. “I know English isn’t your native language, so I’d better warn you. People in my condition don’t like to be called crippled. It’s not politically correct.” Sure, she called herself crippled all the time, but that was different.
    He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh no? So what’s the term I should use?” He leaned against her counter; it creaked under his weight.
    “Well, those who don’t have the use of their legs are called paraplegic. And those who don’t have the use of their arms and legs are called quadriplegic.”
    “Oh, so you can’t move your legs?” He looked suspicious, as if she’d faked her disability. She’d give anything to be able to walk like a normal person.
    “No , I can’t move my legs .” She glared at him. Technically, she wasn’t lying. Her deformity didn’t look anything like legs.
    “So , have you been this way since birth?” He pulled up a chair, straddled it, and made himself at home.
    “Do you always ask personal questions that are none of your business?” She narrowed her eyes.
    He smiled. “Only of people who spray acid in my eyes.”
    “It’s not acid, it’s pepper spray. And it doesn’t do any permanent damage.” She saw that his eyes were still quite red and so was the skin around them.
    Dang, she felt guilty. After all, he’d done quite a bit for her. She glanced at the door and noticed, for the first time, a peephole just her height. Was Gretchen’s theory really so farfetched?
    “I’m sorry I sprayed you with pepper spray,” she said just above a whisper.
    His brows furrowed as he flashed a crooked smile. “I’m glad you did.”
    Okay , maybe he was crazy.
    “Now I won’t be quite so worried about you being out on your own in this neighborhood.” He shrugged.
    Okay, now that was just sweet.
    “Listen, Mr. Dimitriou.” She sighed. “How about I try to make amends?”
    His brows furrowed. “What do you have in mind?”
    “Well, my friend Gretchen invited me to go on a double date with her tomorrow. And I would be happy to treat you to dinner and a show.” Did she just say that? What was she doing? There was no way this Greek god would go out with her. She felt her face heat with embarrassment. Great, there goes her confident façade.
    “You’d pay to take me to dinner with your friend and her date?”
    Actually, Gretchen would be paying, but he didn’t need to know that, so she nodded.

“I appreciate the offer.” He put his hand on her shoulder.
    Da rn it. Why did she have to ask him? She should have known he’d refuse.
    “But I just wouldn’t feel comfortable having you pay f or our date. But, if you’d allow me to pay, I’d love to come.”
    Her eyes widened. “Really?”
    H is dark eyes sparkled as he smiled. “Yes really.”
    She brushed her fingers through her hair. Was it hot in