I smiled. “Impressive. But your research left out the fact that I’m also a licensed EMT.” Her eyes widened. “So, no, I might not be a doctor, but I do know what I’m doing.”
She pursed her lips.I can think of at least three better uses for those, blondie. No, wait, four.
“I also know that you’re getting blood on the chair, and I don’t think June will appreciate the mess.”
It might’ve been a low blow, but as expected, Clarke relinquished the last bit of control she’d been clinging to.
I’d never been a betting man per se, but reading your opponents, judging whether they were going to bunt the ball or steal a base or if they were just good at bluffing was a major part of baseball. From what I could tell, Clarke was a terrible bluff. She wore every emotion front and center, fully transparent. She was also far more concerned about what a virtual strangermightthink about her staining a twenty-dollar lounge chair than any physical pain she was experiencing. Which was concerning to say the least.
I carefully gripped both her ankles and drew her toward me, sliding her down the chaise until she was practically flat on her back with her feet on my lap. Right on my dick.
She was patient while I inspected her feet and lower legs. Thankfully, her wounds were relatively superficial. Nothing some saline solution and gauze couldn’t fix.
“What about you?” I asked her.
“What about me?”
“Doesn’t seem fair that you know just about everything about me and I know nothing about you.” I grinned wolfishly. “So, spill.”
She hesitated.
“C’mon,” I pressed. It wasn't like I was asking for her deepest, darkest secrets, though I wouldn’t complain if she decided to unburden herself. What was holding her back?
“Seven. Mt. Pleasant. Tom Kha soup.”
“What?” I looked up from her foot.
She lifted her head, smiling nervously. “Shoe size, hometown, favorite food. Seven, Mt. Pleasant, South Carolina, and Tom Kha soup.”
“Tom Kha, really?" I had her pegged for more of a kale salad kind of gal.
"Minus the carrots. I hate carrots."
I nodded before turning back to her wounds. After that, we were quiet. In fact, I thought she might’ve dozed off until I felt her flinch when I rubbed Bactine over one particularly nasty scrape.
“It’s okay,” I whispered before blowing lightly on the spot.
“You better not kiss it, too.”
“Well, now, that would be unsanitary,” I said as I placed one last bandage on the top of her foot, just under her perfectly polished toes. She’d swapped out the red on her hands and toes for a bubblegum pink. Why did that not surprise me? “Besides, I prefer blowing.”
“Okay!” She removed both her feet from my lap and jumped to stand, nearly plowing into a nearby plant stand. With a hand wrapped through her terry-cloth belt, I drew her toward me until her back was flush with my front, save for the robe and sweatpants between us. Disaster averted. Well, one disaster at least.
She gasped. There was no missing the thick cock that was doing its best to burrow through her robe and into her heat. “Careful, blondie.”
She swallowed and looked back at me, her defiant gaze meeting mine.Ooh, I knew there was a brat in there somewhere.“Thanks,” she whispered, her voice huskier than before, “Sin.”
And just like that, my dick deflated.
Her words numbed me more than an ice bath after a doubleheader. Painful, piercing shards embedded themselves under every inch of my skin until all that was left was nothing. Hollowness. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. All Icoulddo was hope that my facial expression—the one I’d spent years honing specifically for blindsiding moments like this—wouldn’t betray me.
At some point, I must’ve let her go, because it was only the slamming of her trailer’s door that snapped me out of my impromptu paralysis. It was amazing how one word could hold such power over a person. Even more amazing when that one word was the person’s name.
Sin.
Clarke
Four Weeks to Opening Day
