Free Seven by Susan Renee Page A

while she surveys the products I’ve chosen. She grins and shakes her head, I think trying to stifle a laugh, and says, “A magazine.”
    “A what?”
    “A magazine.”
    “A magazine? For what? What kind of magazine?”
    “Look, when girls are sick they want to cuddle under a blanket and either sleep, watch TV, or read quietly. So go with something like People magazine.”
    “Why People ?” I’m intrigued by her logic.
    She sighs again before she speaks. I think I’m putting a kink in her day, but I’m sort of proud of myself for it. “Okay look, if you get an Inquirer , she’ll assume you think she believes the shit they make up. If you get her In-Style magazine, she’ll assume you think she needs help in that department. Does she need help in that department?”
    “Not as far as I’m concerned.”
    “Okay well if you choose Cosmopolitan, you’re basically telling her you want to screw her and whether you do or you don’t, it’s just not the right choice to make for your first time.”
    “Uh…this wouldn’t be my first time, Princess.” I smirk.
    “You’ve purchased magazines for girls before?”
    “No.”
    “Well then it’s your first time Mr. Magazine Virgin, so just take my advice and get People magazine. Info about celebrities, stories about real people and it’s not fully loaded with Oprah-spiration.”
    “Okay, okay. Just…give me whatever you think girls like.” I like this girl. She’s got spunk and definitely looks comfortable in her own shoes. Gotta give a girl props for that, but it’s time to get to my gir…to Seven. I gather up my bags and throw them on the seat beside me in the truck and head down the road towards Seven’s complex. She has no idea I’m doing this. The closer I get the more I feel those damn butterflies in my stomach. I don’t know why I’m letting her make me so nervous. The poor girl is sick as shit. She needs me.
    She just doesn’t know it yet.
    I gather up all the bags of stuff I purchased for my sick patient and head up to her apartment. Being that we’re in a small town, I don’t have to worry about getting buzzed in to her building, which is good because she would most likely tell me to go away. At some point she’ll at the very least have to open the door.
    She’ll open the door right?
    I can’t fuckin’ break in again.
    I knock loudly three times in a row.

 
    Chapter 9
    Savannah
    I must be dying. If I’m not dying, someone needs to just shoot me. Like a pathetic moron, I’m all wrapped up in my fleece blanket on the couch watching a TLC marathon of Say Yes To The Dress . I don’t even know why I’m watching it. It’s not at all a favorite of mine but there’s something about it that keeps me watching. Maybe it’s these girls who walk into a salon with a set budget and every damn time they fall for the dress that’s way outside their comfort level. It’s just a dress, bitches. It’s one dress, sometimes two, that you will wear for a few hours on one day of your life. Put that sixteen thousand dollars towards a down payment for a house for Christ’s sake. I roll my eyes one more time before I feel myself slipping away back into dreamland.
    I’m startled awake when someone knocks loudly on my door. I lift open my eyelids to see that the stupid bitch on TV did, indeed, throw her budget out the window and purchased the sixteen-thousand-dollar dress.
    Knock, knock, knock
    There it is again. Someone really is at the door. Damnit.
    Oh yeah, Rachel said she was stopping by.
    I grab the remote and turn the volume down as I slowly stand up off the couch. “Don’t know why you spent so much money honey. He’ll probably die on you anyway.”
    God, I have a headache.
    I reach for the door knob and swing the door open coming face to face with Bryant “The Giant” Wood.
    Son of a bitch. Now?
    “You’re not Rachel.”
    “No ma’am, I am not,” he says, half smiling. Actually, I’m not quite sure what to think of the look on his face.