Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“What?” I yelp, turning to Donna to find her already walking away and removing her gloves.
“The morphine. It’s done.”
The argumentative nervousness inside me wants to question her rapidly about the timing of consent, but the rest of me is too busy relaxing as the warmth of the good juice spreads across my body and into my limbs.
Oh boy. That’s a little weird, but I definitely don’t feel my foot so much anymore.
I don’t feel my thoughts so well anymore either. Everything is spinning in a foggy alley of confusion, but Mack, much to normal Katy’s chagrin, sits stalwart at my side.
“I think…” I pause midsentence when it feels like my mouth isn’t connected to my face. I even reach up to feel my lips, verifying that they are, in fact, still connected to my jaw.
Dang, what’s in this stuff?
Drugs, my mind tells me, and I giggle-snort.
“I think I like drugs.”
“You feeling good, Katy Cat?” Mack asks, and I look over at him to note that he’s still smiling that big, handsome, stupid smile of his.
“Don’t call me that. We made a rule. No nicknames with cats or Katys.”
“What did you say?”
“I said, don’t call me that.”
Mack looks at me quizzically, and I start to question if being on morphine is supposed to feel like you’re having a stroke.
Oh God, what if I am having a stroke? Maybe the whole seashell in my foot thing wasn’t even a thing, it was a stroke thing.
Mack says something else, but I can’t listen with how hard I’m having to concentrate on Domma as she does something with my tootsie footsie. I don’t think they mess with feet during strokes, do they?
“Katy? Did you hear me?” Mack asks, and I just…I don’t know…I decide I don’t really feel like answering him.
I ignore him instead. He grabs my hand, but I lift it away with a jerk that nearly knocks poor Nurse Llama off my foot.
“Whoopsie woo!” I cry, clutching my arms to my chest and giggling.
Mack looks from me to the nurse, so I take the time to peruse the side of his face.
Goodness, his side profile is even handsome. It’s kind of infuriating that the one person I really don’t like, I find incredibly attractive. Stupid, good-looking motherfucker.
Instantly, I decide now is a really great time to give Mack Houston the middle finger. Discreetly, I lift my left hand and then proceed to hide my right hand behind it as I flip him the bird.
Ha. Fuck you, Mackie Mack!
He looks over at me, and his gaze flits from my eyes to my hand. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
He narrows his eyes, but he also smiles. “Are you flipping me off right now?”
“No.” Yes.
“Hmm,” he mutters. “Must be my mistake.”
“Darn right.” I shrug and casually put both of my hands in my lap, confident in my finger behind the hand concealment method. “Maybe you should get your eyes checked, bro.”
“Bro?” he asks on a cackle.
“Yeah, bro.” I nod. “I mean, we are at the hospital. Surely someone can help you with your crappy vision.”
Nurse Llama snickers from her spot at the foot of my bed, and she and Mack exchange some short conversation that I couldn’t care less about. I close my eyes instead and think about how good it feels to take a little nappy nap.
“Okay, Katy. I got your foot all cleaned up and put a numbing cream on it. Dr. Johnson will be in shortly to put a few stitches in.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic.”
She smiles. Mack laughs.
And like a secret spy agent lady, I entertain myself by flipping Mack off behind my hand…again.
Suck on that, Mack Attack.
Mack
Katy stows her hands once more, having just attempted to hide her flipping of the bird behind a hand she put in the wrong place once again, and laughs her head off for the fifteenth time.
She’s been the instigator of a riot, shouted complimentary things about my ass cheeks no fewer than a dozen times, and actually thrown down with a man who completed eleven years of schooling after high school alone just to have to deal with her morphine-drunk ass.
And for some insane reason, I’ve loved every minute of it.
I’ll take the double-morphine-dose-needing, doctor-kicking, gluteus-maximus-loving version of Katy over the Mack-hating one any day.
“You’re good at this, Doc. I can’t feel a thing,” Katy states, her eyes closed and a giant smile on her face.
Dr. Johnson isn’t in the room anymore. He finished up with her sutures about ten minutes ago and already headed to his next patient’s room.
Clearly, that second dose of morphine has her flying high into the sedative sky now.
“Dr. Johnson is all finished, Katy,” Donna tries to explain to her for the tenth time. “You’re all fixed up, and it won’t be too much longer before you’re discharged.”
“Damn, that was quick,” Katy says. “Super fucking quick.”