I pinch my brows. “Good to know what?”
“That you love a good cock.” His face is bright red, even his ears, but he doesn’t look away like he usually does. Not only is he looking deep into my eyes, but he’s actually talking to me. I feel like I’m flying.
Again, that could be the head injury talking.
Shit, but what if this is all made-up? What if none of this is happening?
Before he can answer me, I pinch his arms and he yelps.
Did I really just pinch this man?
“Did you just pinch me?”
I nod, though my vision swims a little. “I did. You never talk to me.”
His blush deepens. “I do.”
“You don’t, and now we’re talking about good cock.”
“What makes it a good cock?” he asks, holding up the sculpture. “Girth or length?”
“Both. It’s all about the stretch.”
“Jesus Christ!”
I look at my mom. “Mom, he’s a medical professional. This is a regular Tuesday afternoon for him.”
Dr. Aldridge chuckles. “Well, unlike you, I don’t use the word cock when talking about the male anatomy. Nor do I see many, thankfully.”
I lean in conspiratorially. “Oh, so you don’t like cock?”
“What in the world is going on!” Mom exclaims. “She is obviously injured. This is not normal behavior.”
I raise a brow. “It’s not? I talk about cock a lot. I use the word at least a hundred times a day.”
Dr. Aldridge chuckles as Mom grimaces. “Okay, maybe it is. But surely you need X-rays and stitches.”
He nods. “She does. And now that you’re conscious and talking, let’s head over to my clinic.”
I push out my bottom lip. “But I don’t want stitches.”
Dr. Aldridge smiles that gorgeous smile before Mom says, “You need them. Maybe closing up that hole will make you think before you speak.”
His chuckle causes red-hot heat in my gut as he stands then reaches for me. The moment I take his hands, I feel static electricity up my arms. Now, I’ve written that feeling plenty of times, but I’ve never felt it myself. As my fingers lock with his and he lifts me to my feet, I watch how he looks me over, making sure I am okay, before sliding his hand to the small of my back. “Ready?”
I hesitate. “Not really. Don’t like needles.”
He rubs my back smoothly. “I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”
Why do his words leave me breathless? Or maybe it’s the head injury because my knees give out, and I’m falling. Until I’m not. With an ease that I’ve never experienced in my life, Dr. Aldridge picks me up in a bridal carry as if I’m not a full-grown woman but as light as a feather. Okay, so Dr. Do-My-Body-Good doesn’t play a sport, but he sure as hell doesn’t miss gym time.
Our eyes meet, and my lips part just slightly.
His eyes track the movement, and I’m left squeezing my thighs together.
I have really never spoken more than three words to this guy, and now, he’s coming in here and making me swoon like a real-life book boyfriend.
What. Is. Happening?
