She smiled, nodding. “Of course. Thank you, Doctor.”
My head throbbed from holding my breath like that.
What the fuck had gotten into me?
“Are you all right, Mr. Bishop?” Beth wandered over to me, reaching out to place her hand on my shoulder where she rubbed it in the same way my grandma used to. “You look a little flushed.”
Yeah, I wonder why.
All of two entire minutes had probably passed since he’d pressed the call button and grabbed my arm. Even less than that when he’d worked the tense muscles underneath the skin and sent me into a blind state of horniness to rival my teen years.
Without looking over toward the doorway, I knew he was still in the room, still watching me in that calculated way that had me wanting to squirm on my bed like some desperate bottom.
“I’m okay.”
Breathe, Terran.
“Those pain meds sound like a fine idea, though.”
She gave me another smile and a small pat. “We’ll get those for you. How’s that forehead of yours?
“Hopefully, not bruised. Though I am feeling the makings of a unicorn horn.”
She laughed at my joke, taking the bait quite easily and distracting us both for a temporary second. “Maybe an ice pack for that as well. You want tapioca or vanilla?”
“Either is fine. I’m not picky.”
When she pulled back from me, my gaze automatically darted over to the door, finding it void of a tall and handsome doctor who’d somehow spun me around with barely any effort. The sad pull in my chest was annoying, as was the instant drop of my mood.
Whatever.
I needed to sleep anyway.
Clearly, these meds were messing with my mind.
Getting distracted was only going to push my progress back. If I wanted to get home to my family and not break my promise like I told them I wouldn’t, then tunnel vision was a must.
Sexy, alluring doctors were out of the question.
No matter how good their hands on me felt.
CHAPTER 7
Terran
Early Saturday night,TJ surprised me with a visit and a bag full of my favorite take-out, held up in the air with an impassive expression that didn’t at all match with the cheerful swing of the full bag.
“Heard the food here sucks.” He set the bag down on the bed by my hip, deftly pulling apart the tie on top to part the plastic and fish out the first container. “Figured this was better than coming by with a bouquet of flowers.”
He knew me too well. At this rate, he was never beating the mother hen allegations.
The smell of overly processed food wafted over to me and had me forcing myself upright slowly, trying not to bother my stitches that were already starting to dig at my skin uncomfortably. I was sore from the constant moving around and getting up to walk every few hours; my determined spirit to get out of here was slowly beginning to wane with the growing exhaustion of my body healing.
I knew this road to recovery was going to be rough. I wasn’t that much of an idiot to delude myself in believing I was somehow immune to it. But goddamn, it was annoying to deal with.
My stomach was already twisting in on itself by the time he set the container down onto the tray folded across my lap; the corners of it were stained and bulging with how much food had been stuffed into it, a good sign he’d gotten the last of the shop’s stock before closing.
Grinning, I snagged the plastic fork from his outstretched hand and quickly peeled off the plastic top. “What, you didn’t want to add it to my growing graveyard on the windowsill?”
