Just A Memory Away. Helen Myers R.
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man. That’s one humongous Easter egg you have back there. No wonder your hurting. I’ll get you more aspirin as soon as we put something in your stomach. The good news is that there doesn’t seem to be any more bleeding.”
“Did I mess up your bed?” He began to twist around, only to wince at the sudden move.
“Easy.” Frankie stopped him with a fleeting touch to his cheek. “Don’t worry about blood. I’m an expert at stains and stuff. I have to be, or else I’d be replacing my clothes every week. Is the pain receding? Maybe you better lie back down.”
“It doesn’t hurt so much when you’re with me.”
How could anyone who looked like next month’s centerfold for a women’s pinup magazine be this sweet? She hesitated, but knew she had to ask. “Do you remember my name?”
Slate-blue eyes that should probably have seemed cold and hard warmed as he took in her sleep-tousled hair, her rumpled T-shirt and tanned, bare legs. “Frankie.”
She could have kissed him. “And your name?”
He tried. She could see it in the way the veins swelled at his temples, the way the muscles around his mouth and along his neck tensed. But in the end he could only make a negative movement with his head.
“Nothing?”
“Adam…?” he murmured, looking confused. “I remember hearing or dreaming the name Adam.”
Frankie grimaced. “That was a joke. I called you that last night when I found you, because you were—Never mind.”
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