My blood noticed anyway.
My cock twitched beneath the thin hospital blanket.
Barely.
Enough.
Heat slammed through me that had nothing to do with fever.
Shame followed so fast it nearly made me sick.
Georgia had walked in and out of this room. Had sat beside me for hours. Had cried over me. Had kissed my forehead and held my hand and whispered about fighting for us with her ring flashing under hospital lights.
My body had not done that for her.
Not once.
Not even when she leaned close.
Not even when her hand brushed my chest.
Not even when I told myself she was my future and Destiny was the past.
Then Destiny walked in wearing scrubs and exhaustion, and my half-dead body decided to prove I wasn’t dead after all.
Bastard.
My hand curled against the sheet.
Pain shot through my side.
Good.
I deserved that.
“How’s your pain?” Destiny asked.
“Manageable.”
She looked at me.
Just looked.
Then typed something into the tablet.
I narrowed my eyes. “Didn’t say seven.”
“You have a tell.”
“I do not.”
“You get meaner around six and quiet around seven.”
That line went straight through me.
Because she knew.
Still.
