Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 69785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
She hadn’t even seen the worst of it yet.
The nurse disappeared, and I stood up, trying out my new walking boot.
“This blows,” I grumbled.
“Makes your ass look better,” he mused.
I rolled my eyes and continued walking around.
“You wear that to work today?” he asked curiously.
“What?” I asked. “The black shorts? Or the slipper?”
He nodded toward the ground. “Slipper.”
I looked down at my foot and wondered if the boot really did anything for my ass at all, or if Trick was just giving me shit.
The latter was likely the culprit.
The doctor came in just before I could reply about my slipper, in fact, being work attire.
“Sir,” the doctor said. “What do we have here?”
I rolled my eyes.
The doctor was looking at Trick warily.
Trick still had his leather cut on and the scowl on his face was adorably cute to me, but to other people? Not so much.
That, and word around town was that the ‘MC’ that Trick was a part of was ‘bad.’ A ‘bunch of felons’ in a motorcycle group doing ‘bad things.’
Or whatever.
I heard that at the grocery store yesterday morning as I limped my way through the aisles.
Trick and another man had apparently been in the supermarket before me—weren’t small towns lovely?—and they’d sparked up a long stream of conversations from everyone that I’d passed by.
Two older men saying how ‘youth these days’ weren’t the same as they used to be. Then there were the two mothers talking over their daughters’ strollers about how ‘hot’ they were but they were also ‘scary as hell.’
I agreed.
Trick was hot. But he could be very, very scary.
The funniest people talking about them, though, were the meat market guys.
“They just came in here and bought seven hundred bucks worth of Wagyu beef and didn’t even blink an eye. That was eight steaks!”
Yeah, eight steaks at nearly ninety dollars a pop? Those fuckin’ steaks better give me wings or something.
“What are you smiling at?” Trick asked as the doctor draped his arm over a tray and started to clean it.
“I’m smiling because I remembered a conversation between two men in the meat market at the supermarket yesterday,” I answered. “They were talking about you and whoever you’d come in with. How you spent ninety dollars on a steak.”
Trick’s lips twitched. “That was the best damn steak I’d ever had in my life. One of the men in the club started using a sous vide. I’ve never had a better cooked steak in my entire existence.”
“Those things are quite magical,” the doctor agreed. “Gets the meat to a perfect all the way through temp. Then you sear them and eat them? I’ve never found a better way to cook steaks.”
Seems I would have to look into this sous vide thing.
“I’ll look into it,” I said. “Can you do chicken in it?”
“I haven’t tried chicken yet,” the doctor admitted. “I’ve only done pork and beef in it. But I’m sure it can do chicken.”
I sat down beside Trick and practically leaned into him while I watched the doctor clean and stitch his wound.
“I’m betting you’re gonna have eighteen stitches,” I said.
“Twelve,” the doctor disagreed. “Maybe thirteen.”
I leaned an elbow into Trick’s thigh and practically laid on top of him as I watched.
“I wanted to be a doctor once,” I said to no one in particular.
Something underneath of me moved, and I looked down to see that Trick’s cock was getting hard.
Grinning, I stayed where I was.
“Why?” Trick asked. “You always said you wanted to be a lawyer.”
“I did,” I agreed. “After I met my stepfather. But before that, I wanted to be a doctor.”
“What made you choose one over the other?” the doctor asked.
I felt my heart get heavy. The memories assaulting me almost as fast as I could shut them down.
“My stepfather, who was a lawyer, died. It was then that I knew what I was going to do,” I admitted. “It was always that or a doctor. But when he wasn’t here anymore, I felt that would be a great way to honor him.”
The doctor made a humming sound. “How did he pass?”
“He and my mother were in a car accident,” I said. “Someone ran them off the road. They died on impact.”
The doctor winced. “I’ve seen a lot of those before,” he admitted. “Not a good situation to be in at all. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” I murmured.
“You shouldn’t be breathing that close to an open wound,” someone said from the doorway.
Ignacia.
The hoe.
“I’m sure there were more germs on that beer bottle that you were holding. You should probably stay away from broken beer bottles if you have a tendency to swing them at people,” I disagreed. “You’re lucky that Trick has such good reflexes. And he was holding a seventy-pound chair. If he hadn’t been, you would’ve probably taken a fist to the face for your actions.”