CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Sarah
I can’t get enough of this, of Jack’s frenzied thrusts. His touch is addictive, and the look in his eyes makes me feel like I’m teetering between bursting into flames because of my fast-approaching orgasm or falling victim to a panic attack because… Hell, those eyes, darkened with an unfamiliar intensity, are too much. And I know I can’t handle it.
I move to shift our bodies, trying to get him beneath me, thinking that might help. But when I do so, something happens, and I cause Jack to lose his balance, slipping off me and hitting the edge of my glass coffee table.
With his head.
“Holy shit!”
I rush to the kitchen to get a clean towel and race back to where he’s sitting on the floor with his hand pressed against the gash on his forehead. I quickly assess it with dismay before taking his hand to place it firmly against the cloth in an attempt to help staunch the bleeding.
“I’ll be right back. In the meantime, get dressed because you’re going to need stitches.” I’m pulling on my clothes as I rush to my bathroom for supplies.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” I hear a rustling and turn to help him tug on his shirt and jeans while he attempts to hold the towel against his forehead.
Minutes later, I manage to clean up his wound a bit and apply some Steri-Strips to the laceration, which will make do until I get him to the ER.
With a wry laugh, I grab my purse and keys and usher Jack out the door. Rushing down the steps to the nearby street parking assigned to residents, we get inside my car, and I drive us to the hospital.
I quickly dial Clint’s number using the car’s Bluetooth. Surprisingly, he picks up right away, and I’m hoping it’s a sign that things have been slow at the hospital.
“Hey, sweets. My break is about to end, but I have to ask: Did you get lucky with Mr. T.D.H. last night? Or should I continue to call him Mr. B.B.?”
I feel Jack’s attention on me, but I ignore it…as well as Clint’s question. “I’m driving Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome to the ER for stitches, as we speak.”
There’s a brief pause. “I cannot wait to hear the story behind this injury.”
Frowning as I navigate, and luckily only two blocks from the hospital now, I say, “We’re two blocks away. See you in a few.”
“Am I on speaker?”
I hesitate. “Yes.”
“Hey, handsome.” Clint’s voice takes on a flirtatious tone.
Jack tosses out, “Hey, man.”
“Talking back to our girl is dangerous, huh?”
Jack chuckles. “She’s dangerous, all right.”
“We’ll get you fixed up in no time. See you in a few.” The call disconnects, and I turn the corner to pull into the drive leading up to the ER drop-off.
“I’m going to drop you off and park really quick.”
“I can walk,” Jack protests.
Pulling up and stopping by the doors, I turn to him. “It’ll only take me a minute.” Frowning with concern, I nod to his head. “I’m worried about that gash, so let’s play it safe. See you inside in a moment.”
With a nod, he exits the car, and just as he’s about to close the door, he stops, eyes meeting mine. “Hey, Sunshine?”
“Jack?”
His features soften, eyes crinkling at the corners slightly. “I had the best day with you. Even this can’t put a damper on it.” With that said, he closes the door and turns to walk through the automatic doors.
* * *
“So let me get this straight. You fell into the edge of the glass coffee table when you were shifting positions on the couch?” Clint asks, his features screwed up in an overly serious expression.
“I just told you what happened,” I say through gritted teeth. “Three times.”
Clint grins. “Oh, but I enjoyed hearing it.” His smile widens. “Yet again.” Turning to Jack, he asks, “So you’re saying you were on top and then Miss Bossypants here had to change it up?”
My eyes fly to Dr. Mills, who’s concentrating on the last few stitches in Jack’s forehead, before narrowing back on Clint. “Would you please stop?” I hiss.
“Nothing to worry about, Miss Matthews.” Dr. Mills finishes up the final stitch before placing a bandage on it. “You know I’ve heard and seen a lot worse.”
“And it’s better when it’s one of our own,” Clint insists, smugly. To me, he prods, “So blue balls strikes again, huh?”
“Clint,” I snarl.
He pats Jack’s knee consolingly. “You guys are just two Calamity Janes trying to navigate your way to the elusive Orgasm Island.” He pauses. “Or two Magoos, blindly fumbling your way to Bang-Bang-ville. Or—”
“We get it,” Jack and I chant in unison.
“All set, Mr. Westbrook.” Dr. Mills hands Jack his paperwork. “Schedule an appointment with your family doctor to have the stitches removed in seven to ten days or”—he pauses to glance over at me—“if you feel brave enough, you can have Miss Matthews do it for you.”
“And maybe she’ll give you a little extra TLC wh—”
“Thank you,” Jack interrupts Clint, shaking the doctor’s hand.
“—ile finally providing relief!” Clint finishes with a flourish.
“Clint,” Dr. Mills, Jack, and I all scold in unison.
With a dramatic eye roll, he tosses his hands in the air. “I can’t possibly be the only one who finds this so fascinating! I mean, really,” he scoffs, “two people who seem like the universe is taking major offense to the prospect of them getting it on that something’s always cropping up.”
Shaking his head, he lifts his chin toward Jack. “Take care of yourself, B.B.” To me, he leans in and winks. “You, missy, had better not shove any other men into coffee tables while Mr. Winky’s still inside your hot box.”
I’m still sputtering after he’s left the room with the doctor in tow, leaving only Jack and me in the quiet room.
Heaving out a long sigh, I glance over at Jack. “Ready to head home?”
He flashes me a weak smile. “Ready to go, Bruiser.”
Except this time, his teasing doesn’t quite hit its mark. Instead, I’m still wondering about Clint’s remarks about the universe.
Wondering if there’s any validity to it whatsoever.