JOSEPH
As usual, there isn't shit on the TV that can hold my interest long. Court room TV shows, pass. Cooking shows, pass. Talk-shows about groups of women sharing their over-opinionated stories, hell no. It's like I'm stuck in daytime television purgatory.
Leaning over, I grab my drink, glad to see that when I move, my lower body finally moves a little too. It's been a couple of days since they took me off the spinal block, but there's still a lot of numbness from my lower back downward. It makes it a hell of a lot harder to scratch the stupid tingly itch that crawls up my legs from time to time, like some kind of phantom sensation, because every time I try to scratch it, it's as though I can't get to it. Not to mention it's painful to even move that way to begin with.
The painkillers are only so much of a help.
I fucking hate pills.
I fucking hate being on bed rest.
I abso-fucking-lutely hate not being able to feel half my dick and balls. It's just not right, and it makes the whole bed rest part that much harder to deal with. If I don't keep myself moving in some capacity, I'm likely to go ape-shit and turn into a total mental case. Even more of one than Michael thinks I am, in fact.
So much for getting laid by that hot Instagram model skiing up in Aspen.
There's a loud knock at the door, and even though I'm just lying here channel-surfing, I tense up in anticipation. I know it's Rita, our housekeeper, but the last time she stopped in yesterday, she ended up catching me with my dick in my hand trying it out. That's how I learned how fucked (or how unfucked) my package is, and that's also how Rita learned that just because I'm bedridden doesn't mean I'm dead.
"Come in," I call out to her, hoarsely.
Just as I expected, Rita cracks the door open before stepping inside the room. "Miss Romero is here, and I've just put her things away in her room. Are you okay to meet with her now?" I can tell she's been cleaning something with bleach, the smell of it wafting into the room. Rita's been around for a long time in our family, sort of like Thelma, although not quite as long. Mom hired her after our father passed away, and me and Michael are still fond of her, plus she's got custody of her three grandkids, so we've kept her on.
I'm not really in the mood for visitors, but I suppose my new nurse isn't really a visitor. "I might as well."
Ms. Romero must have been standing right on the other side of the door because as soon as I nod, Rita opens the door wider and in comes a beautiful dark-haired nurse in full-on blue nurse scrubs. At first, I'm a little shocked. Lana Romero was hot in her resume picture, sure, but there's no way to explain just how much more there is to her in person. Even with her curly hair pulled back in a ponytail, and plain white sneakers, she has a sort of presence that immediately fills the room as she walks in.
I find myself trying my best to sit up, suddenly aware of the fact that I'm completely naked in bed. "Come on in, Ms. Romero," I say to her as Rita excuses herself.
When Ms. Romero walks over, it's with a confidence that I find stunning. "Please, call me Lana. I'll be here all the time anyway, so we might as well be on first-name terms, don't you think?"
Can't argue with that. "Of course. Lana, it is then. And you can call me Joseph, obviously."
There's a small smile on her face. "Okay, Joseph. I'd like to start out by getting an assessment of your comfort level."
Well. Right into it then, I guess. I nod as she takes a seat in the chair next to the bed. "Sure."
"Where would you say your pain level is on a scale of one to ten, with one being no pain at all, and ten being the worst pain you can imagine?"
I take stock of every weird, disjointed numbness, every prickle of itchy tingling, and shrug. "I guess a three, maybe." But when I pull myself up even further I can't help but wince as a pain shoots from the numb region of my ass all the way up to my mid-back.
And of course, she notices, raising a brow as she writes something down on her clipboard. "All right. Can you describe the issues you're currently dealing with to me? What's your personal concern at the moment?"
My personal concern is that I can't get the hell out of this bed and fuck Brigid from Norway in the hot tub at the ski resort. But I don't say that. "Just the usual back pain. My legs are kinda sore, but nothing I can't handle," I say, shrugging again. Call me crazy, but I'm no complainer. The last thing I want to do is whine about my injury to a smoking hot nurse like Lana.
"Mm-hmm. Usual back pain. In the region around the surgical site?" More note-taking, her dark eyebrow still raised.
I nod. "Um, yeah, I think so. Like the lower part of my back where they had it all numbed. The numbness comes and goes still, but it can be kind of painful when it goes." I play it off, turning to the side as if to show her there's not much of a problem.
She studies me for a moment, but not in a way I would call impressed. More clinical, than anything. Setting her clipboard down, Lana uncrosses her legs and leans in some. "I'll be honest with you here, Joseph. I don't entirely believe you. You're fresh off a major surgery, and while I know you must be experiencing some numbness, I would imagine there's more pain there than you're letting on."
It's like a shock to my bones hearing her say this, and as I go to open my mouth and argue, she holds up her hand patiently.
"I don't say this to upset you, I say this to help you. Bravado isn't going to serve you well, you know. In fact, it'll keep you in that bed longer, and from what I can tell by the way you keep fidgeting, you're not fond of sitting still. I can't imagine how aggravating bed rest must be for you."
I snap my mouth shut, this time studying her. Her assessment of me is right on the money, especially for someone who's only just met me. "Fine then. This shit hurts. I'm miserable and I'd like it to stop. Better?"
Narrowing her eyes at me, she nods. "Much. Now. I'm going to try a few adjustments here, to see if they'll help you at least while you're in bed…" She gets to work, taking two of the extra pillows kept nearby and pulling back the sheet from my legs. "Let's put this one under your thighs, and this one under your feet here."
Without so much as a twitch of her eyebrow, Lana pushes back the sheet to the tops of my thighs, not blinking an eye at my well-endowed lower half. She helps me move my thighs up enough for her to stick the one pillow up underneath, before fixing the sheet back over me, and fluffing the second one, sticking it under my feet. She doesn't care one bit about my complete nakedness, and while I know she's a nurse, it stings a little. I know what I'm working with, and I've put in enough hours at the gym and heard all the compliments from many a woman. Yet it doesn't even faze her.
But what's more surprising is that after a minute, the blood in my legs circulates a little less and the insane itching in my left leg fades. "Whoa. That uh, that actually helps some," I admit.
"I'm glad to hear it," she says, turning back toward me as she grabs her clipboard. It takes a little while longer, but once she's finished with me, I notice how she refuses to look anywhere else but at my face. Maybe she's a sucker for blue eyes?
"I've got your medicine schedule down, and I'll even be bringing in a board so you can see for yourself when you'll need everything. We can keep it across the room there if you'd like, and then, of course, I'll be assisting with your physical therapy in a few weeks, once you're ready for it."
The idea of having to wait three weeks before I can even begin PT is enough to drive me crazy on its own. Her eyes flicker again, and I begin to think that maybe I'm right. She might just be smitten on her patient, after all. I can't blame her, though it does make for an interesting time.
"I'll check on you hourly, but you can call me anytime. Here's my number, in case I don't hear you," she adds, slipping a piece of paper onto my tray table.
I bet you will.
"I'm also going to be adjusting your diet a bit and helping you keep clean at least until you can move around easier. It'll be uh, difficult, for you to attempt bathing on your own at the moment."
It might be every guys fantasy to have a gorgeous nurse rubbing him down, but the idea of Lana having to give me an actual sponge bath is absolutely humiliating. I look away, embarrassed to be in this state of total helplessness.
But as soon as I do, I get a good look at the bulging tent of sheet directly over my hard dick, and my jaw hangs open. Fuck! "Oh, god, I uh, well… shit, I'm sorry," I say as I try to cover it up with more sheets, already realizing that Lana was trying not to look at my raging boner, but she waves me off, obviously not as affected as me.
"No, it's totally fine. Just a normal reaction. Your spinal nerves can sometimes overstimulate other nerve receptors, and that can cause involuntary muscle spasms. And since you probably don't have a ton of sensation… It's no big deal."
Ouch. No big deal?
"I'm just… going to check on you in a bit. Let me know if you need anything. Really." And with that, Lana briskly walks out the door, shutting it behind her, and leaving me shaking my head at myself.
I groan loudly. "Now you work just fine? Traitor," I mumble to my dick which is already softening, starting to lie flat again.
Not even a full ten seconds go by before the door opens again, and I quickly grab another pillow, covering myself up just in case.
In walks Michael, an amused look on his face as he sees the peculiar pillow placement. "Seems like you two are getting along fine."
I groan again. "Oh, yeah. Fucking swell. I've already managed to humiliate myself and it's been all of what, twenty minutes? I think that might be some new personal record."
But my brother's already over it, moving on to more pressing matters as he does. "I met with Banks. He says the paperwork from Paolo looks good. Your thoughts?"
"Paolo Moreno? And do we trust Paolo Moreno with something like this?" I know I sure as hell don't.
Michael shrugs as he takes a seat. "It could be a risk; I won't lie to you. What is your gut telling you?" It's good to know he has the respect to listen to some of my instincts like I do, anyway.
"I get the sense that he's earnest, at least. And if he is being honest, well, it's an opportunity to do something worthwhile. I guess I'm in if you are," I finally admit.
He nods. "Then it's settled. I'll have Thelma bring you the paperwork for your signature." He pauses, something else entirely crossing his mind. "Lana's really something, isn't she?"
I think about the way she blatantly couldn't care less about my dick being out as she fluffed my pillows. "Yeah. She's something."
"At least you're in no position to try and screw this one. It'll be interesting to see how you deal with being in the presence of a woman you can't actually fuck." Sure, there's a chuckle, but it doesn't make me want to smack the shit out of his smug-ass face any less.
I roll my eyes at his stupid smirk. "Don't be so sure, big bro. Apparently, my junk works just fine. Even if not for me. She didn't seem to be complaining."
Now Michael's the one rolling his eyes while I'm left smirking. "Maybe so, but I suspect that there's something about dealing with a man's bed pan that makes him somewhat, well, less attractive to a woman. I could be wrong, though."
Leave it to Michael to take his leave on that note. Asshole.
I sigh, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling, debating on whether or not I want to try the TV again and wondering why I make such shitty decisions.