“Go back to bed,” she instructs. Always authoritative, no matter the circumstance.
“I’m almost afraid,” I mumble, rubbing my sticky thighs together.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, I’m just rambling. Tired.”
Silence. Sam is never going to buy that BS.
“Okay, then,” she replies warily. “I’ll talk to you later . . .”
“Looking forward to it.” I yawn again and hang up the phone.
I close my eyes, attempting to fall back asleep, but the images immediately start to play. Bare chest, strong hands, and an insistent mouth.
If these fantasies keep up, I may not be able to be held accountable for my sleep-deprived actions.
Damn you, Devlin Dane.
4
Reese
My life as I know it is over.
I fall into a depression on the most uncomfortable mattress I’ve ever laid on. And that’s saying a lot, because I’ve stayed in some pretty slummy motels where the cockroaches had better sleeping arrangements.
I’ve crashed on a motorcycle umpteen times at over one hundred eighty-five miles per hour, slid across asphalt into padded walls and stacked tyres, and walked away with nothing more than a few bumps and bruises. But take a fucking Sunday drive down a nearly desolate interstate road, and I get fucking rear-ended by the only drunk douchebag in a hundred-mile radius. I slam my fist down like a hammer on the crappy bed. I’m twenty-nine-years-old, past my prime with only a few good competitive years left, and this shit happens during one of my best seasons ever. If I ever meet that driver face-to-face, he better be prepared. Fucking good-for-nothing piece of trash.
I barely ever come home, and this is just a reminder why. This fucking area is the pits. A wasteland I escaped from a long time ago. I’ll never understand why Dev moved back. He’s a glutton for punishment, I’m convinced. He had it all—big city doctor living the life, then he gets a job offer here and jumps at it. Why?
A quick visit and I’m condemned right along with him. I may live like a nomad abroad, but at least I’m living and away from this friggin’ depressing place. Or, at least, I was.
I’ve been in this hospital for twenty-four hours, and I already feel like a caged animal. I need out. I adjust myself on the bed. My leg is imprisoned in a cast, and my fucking shoulder is killing me. It’s like a constant throb the morphine just laughs at. I hit the button furiously if only to relieve some frustration. This sucks. Worse than sucks.
The only sliver of a silver lining is Dev was able to get me moved to a private room in his wing of the hospital. It’s much nicer and much quieter. Makes it easier to brood when no one is ogling you.
“And how is the patient doing this morning?” The nurse Dev was practically salivating over last night sings brightly.What was her name again?
I scowl. I’m in no mood for cheerful. I want miserable.
“Wonderful.” The sarcasm in my tone could vibrate a city street.
She looks at me almost condescendingly, like she has an opinion, yet, somehow, masks it with her sweet demeanor.
“Try and look at the bright side.”
“Which is?” I question callously.
“You’re not roadkill.” She smiles condescendingly.
I glare up at her as she fiddles with all the crap hooked up to me. “You’ll ride another day. I’ve seen more senseless lives taken than I care to admit,” she rambles as she scribbles on the whiteboard. I don’t really pay attention to what she’s saying, but I do pay attention to her tight ass. It bubbles under her pink scrubs. It makes me wonder what else she’s hiding under the unflattering outfit. I bet she’d look killer in a pair of leather pants. My imagination starts to run wild. I not only picture what she’d look like in them, but I also picture what she’d look like as I peel her out of them.
“Mr. Dane. Mr. Dane?” I hear my name and snap out of my explicit daydream. I was just getting to the good part. Her dropping to her knees.
“Huh?”
“Are you okay? You checked out on me for a second.” She takes my wrist and checks my pulse. I shift uncomfortably from the contact, and the fact I actually like it. I yank my hand away as soon as she’s done.
