Good Deed Bad Deed

comforted him. He leaned his head back against the seat and whispered, “Fuck, my shoulder hurts.”

CHAPTER TWO
The taxi driver had no choice but to join the heavier traffic flow on Regent Street, one of the main thoroughfares leading to Ana’s hotel. Neither Ben nor Ana had made any effort to separate their hands. His grip had relaxed, and when glancing aside she saw that his eyes were closed; however, his forehead was creased and showed his level of discomfort. She noticed the driver glancing at them in his mirror several times, possibly curious about the blood on Ben’s face.
At the next red signal, he turned to them and in an unrecognizable accent asked, “Might be he need doctor?”
Ben and Ana both started to talk at the same time. He said no and she said thanks anyway. The driver shook his head and turned back to face the road. Several minutes later the taxi turned a corner onto a quiet street, where about half way down there was a lighted hotel sign. Ana scooted forward preparing to get out. Ben turned slightly to reach for his wallet. He let out a stifled sound of pain as his left arm refused to reach back. Seeing the grimace on his face, she reached for his arm and gently rearranged it in his lap.
“I’ll get this,” she said, digging into her bag. She handed the pound notes forward and then hesitated. “Ben, you just can’t go back to your hotel. You won’t manage with so much pain and without the use of your arm. You really do need some attention. Besides, do you really want to walk through your posh hotel lobby with dried blood all over your face?”
“Who says I’m staying at a posh hotel,” he said, trying to lighten things up a bit.
“One would assume that the digs of a successful author would have more stars than my humble lodgings.”
Ben had a look of exasperation on his face and was shaking his head as he said, “I’m not staying at a hotel, posh or not. I keep a flat in Chelsea.”
“I besiege you, Benedict McKinnon, quit trying to be clever and face the reality of the situation. Come in with me, at least long enough to get an icepack on that shoulder. We can reassess later, after we see what the ice does.”
The driver revved the engine as a polite way of telling the couple to disembark and let him be on his way. With a sigh of agreement Ben pulled himself forward with his good arm, turned toward Ana and said, “I’m afraid you’ll have to reach across me to open the door.” Ana did as he asked and pushed it open as far as she could. Clearly aggravated, Ben added, “I should be going around to open your door and escort you to the entrance of your hotel. Instead, I’m being treated like a child.”
“You know what our parents always said: If you don’t want to be treated like a child, don’t act like one.” She looked at Ben impatiently. The driver got out and opened the door on Ana’s side, and she quickly went around the vehicle to help Ben.
He was out and had slammed the taxi door before she got there. He had put his hand in the pocket of his jacket in a vain attempt to support the shoulder. He took her arm with his other hand and led her toward the entrance, pausing for a moment to make what Ana took as a revealing comment. “I’ve been asked up to the hotel room of a few women in my time, but never because I was in need of an icepack. I hope this is the one and only time for that.”
Ana smiled and replied, “That’s a bit too much bragging for a man in your condition.”
He broke into the first smile she had seen since early in their conversation at the pub. Ana pushed open one of the double glass doors and held it aside for him to enter.
“I have to admit, most gals would be turned off by blood. But you’re quite a trooper.”
“You underestimate us. And besides, the boys in my neighborhood were always getting into fights. Your split lip and bloody nose aren’t the first I’ve seen,” she said, walking confidently into the lobby with Ben following close behind.
There were a few stares from guests who were still reading or socializing in the overstuffed chairs, and the concierge immediately set his eyes on them. He called out from behind the counter, “Is there anything you need, Ms. Doherty? Will your friend be staying?”
Ana knew that having guests in one’s room was frowned upon in London hotels. Her face blushed red, and she made a mental note to leave a negative comment at checkout regarding the privacy of guests. She responded with surprising bravado. “Whether or not my friend stays is not your concern. Your main responsibility is the comfort of guests, and in aid of that, we will need ice, lots of it, as soon as possible.”
The concierge seemed to shrink a few inches as a result of the reprimand, and injured or not, Ben could barely contain his laughter until they were on the lift. As the doors closed, he started to let it go, but the laugh quickly became a moan from the pain of jostling the shoulder. In spite of that, he couldn’t resist teasing her. “So much for your reputation!”
“Who cares about what strangers think? … Not me.” She pushed the fourth floor button then neither said another word. Soon the lift jerked to a stop, the doors opened, and she led Ben down the hall to her room. She pulled the key card from her bag, and soon they were inside. Ana turned on all the lights, which Ben thought was an overstatement, and then she asked where he would be most comfortable. She immediately answered her own question and ordered him to the bed