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.
“I’m fine . . . sorry, what was your name again?”
“Kayla. Kayla Kincade.” The nurse stares down at me with big brown eyes flecked with gold. She’s hot, there’s no denying it, and I decide right here and now that she’ll be my entertainment while I’m sentenced to this hospital bed. A man needs a project. Maybe some kind of payback for that roadkill comment. Smartass. Fine ass. I nearly break my neck as she bends over to pick something up off the floor. My suspicions were correct; she has one tight posterior. I just got a bird’s-eye view of a perfect, heart-shaped backside. I might’ve actually gotten an erection if I didn’t have this damn catheter shoved in my dick.
“If you need anything, hit the button.”
“I need to get the fuck out of here,” I reply irritably. “Can you help me with that?”
“Only if I have discharge papers.”
“Can we forge some?”
“Maybe we can just pass you off as Dev and sneak you out.”
Now, this chick is talking.
“Sounds like a plan. What do we need?” I perk up.
Kayla crosses her arms haughtily. “Me, nothing. You, a medical degree and two working legs.”
“Ugh.” I bang my head on the pillow. Fucking cock tease.
“Face it, moto. You’re stuck with me for a while.”
I swipe my eyes up to hers. I like this girl. She’s got spunk.
“I guess there could be worse people to be stuck with. At least you’re easy on the eyes.”
“I do what I can, where I can.” She breathes out sardonically.
“I have a few things you can do,” I blatantly insinuate.
She straightens her stance. “I think I’ve done plenty already, don’t you?” She gets testy, most definitely insinuating she saved my sorry ass.
“I’m an indulgent kind of guy. Enough is never enough.”
“I believe it.” Kayla glances around the room. It looks like a florist threw up in here. Big bright flower arrangements pour over every flat surface. A few from my managers and sponsors, but a majority are from adoring fans. Female fans.
What can I say; I’m a popular guy, on and off the track. I’ve been blessed with exceptional hand-eye coordination, and I’m intelligent enough to use it in a multitude of ways.