Mark put his hand on my leg. My very naked leg. The one the coat failed to cover any longer. “Mrs. Whitfield.”
I jumped a mile off the chair. My pocketbook crashed to the ground, my belongings falling out. My true identity evident in the contents sprawled on the ground. A few empty gum wrappers, a coupon keeper (yellow with a matching rubber band tied around it), a pack of mints, my checkbook, and a brown, worn wallet. Nope, no condoms or fuzzy handcuffs to match my outfit. Thank goodness.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that you seemed so uncomfortable. Would you like a recliner brought in for you?” He bent down on the floor next to me, helping me with the contents of my bag. Luckily I had my personal girl items safely zippered in the inside pocket.
“Did I just hit you? When I woke? Please, tell me I didn’t just hit you. Wesley never wakes me up anymore. He says I’m one of those violent people when I’m woken up. For that reason, I have to set my alarm clock extra loud in the mornings.”
“No, you didn’t hit me. You fell asleep, and I woke you. You looked very uncomfortable.”
I sat back on the chair, unaware that my outfit was still advertising my female goods. “Let me get you a recliner and maybe a set of scrubs.”
“Scrubs?” My posture became erect again. “I’m not going into an operating room, am I? I can’t stand to see blood.
I’ll wait here.”
“No, Mrs. Whitfield. It’s just that—” He looked down at my outfit. “I thought you’d be more comfortable in a pair of scrubs.”