He bats my hands away. “Going with you, obviously.”
“The fuck you are, Hunter!” I shout, then proceed to look like a crazy, overprotective mother as I hen-hover around, trying to coral him back to bed when he tugs on wires. “Hunter! No!”
“Ella,” he grunts, pausing with a heavy breath. His face is tight, and I know he’s in pain, but he also looks irritated. “Baby, I’m fine. The doctor even said it—”
“She said—”
“—it herself that the injury was minor and—”
“And you almost bled out!” I screech, interrupting his annoying mouth again.
He rolls his eyes. “Look, Mom, no hands,” he chuckles as he slides from the bed to his sock-covered feet.
I screech again, wrapping my arms around his waist as he wobbles. “For fucks sake!” I snap. “Just, shit, just hang on a second.” With a huff, I make him lean against the bed. “If you’re insisting on coming with me, we’ll need help.”
“Now we’re talking,” he laughs, though he sounds out of breath. “If they’re all looking at you like you’re the queen, go demand some royal assistance.”
I wave his words off and turn toward the door. “Princess,” I grumble, Madeline’s words flitting through my brain.
Princess of the fucking Bay.
“What?”
“Nothing!” I snap.
“Where are you going?” he calls.
I smirk at him over my shoulder. “This job calls for an Oliver.”
“Who the fuck is Oliver?” he bellows at my retreating back as I slam his door shut. Just before it clicks, I hear him groan in pain.
Fucking insufferable, annoying men. Can’t even stand a cold, but they get shot, and all of a sudden, they want to play superhero.
Don’t they know period pains have already made us invincible?
Chapter 21
“Are you sure thislooks okay?” Hunter grunts, tugging on the white button-down shirt with a scowl.
I bend, adjusting the wrinkled collar as my eyes scan down his body. He’s wearing the shirt, some fitted tan chinos that ride up high on his calves from his seated position,white socks that only cover half the exposed skin, and dad shoes. You know the kind. Old, beat-up, white tennis shoes with grass stains that should have been retired twenty-two years ago, but your dad insists on wearing them proudly with jorts?
Yeah. My boyfriend is wearingthose.
Even worse, he’s in a wheelchair, so they enter the room ten solid seconds before him like some kind of cringy beacon.
Swallowing down the laughter bubbling up my throat, I smile and brush his freshly washed hair from his face. “You look hot.”
He shoots me a glare, batting my hands away. “But is the fucking tie necessary?” he hisses.
A chuckle comes from over my shoulder, and I stand, grinning at a blushing Oliver. He shrugs. “Sorry, man. It’s the only thing I had that would fit over your bandages.”
“But thetie?” Hunter snaps, yanking the thin pink silk from his neck.
“What?” I laugh. “It completes the outfit.”
Hunter points at Oliver, taking in his nice, dark jeans that rest comfortably at his ankle, shiny shoes, and fitted black polo. “Why can’t I wear what he’s wearing?”
Oliver brushes his hands down his shirt, his deep dimple barely concealed. “You won’t fit in my shirt, dude. Not unless you want to rip a stitch.” His dimple pops out. “Besides, I’d never wear that.”
