Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 90721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Blood wasn’t the easiest to clean up. I should know. I’d been a paramedic for eight years now.
Without thinking, nor acknowledging the fact that the door was closed when I’d specifically remembered leaving it open, I barreled through the door, and ran to the sink.
I cursed as the cool water hit my finger and shot a blast of pain coursing through my veins. “Goddamn, this hurts.” I muttered.
“Looks like it.” A man said from behind me.
Whirling around, I stared in shock at the man who was now zipping up the fly of his jeans. “What are you doing in my house?” I half screamed.
The man grinned.
If he hadn’t been so unbelievably hot, I might’ve had the common sense to be more scared than I actually was. However, my common sense took a flying leap out of the window and my attitude came out to play.
“I was using the john. Then you burst in.” He said by way of explanation.
“Why would you be using it in my house when I didn’t let you in?” I asked with a raised brow.
“That would be my fault. I informed them that they needed to come help.” Winter said apologetically.
Well if that didn’t take the wind out of my sails, nothing would. Reluctantly, I turned to the man I’d nearly seen with his pants down, literally, and smiled contritely. “I’m sorry. It was just surprising to have a strange man in my house.”
He nodded, and then gestured to my still bleeding hand. “Do you need some help?”
I looked down at my bleeding hand and groaned; I was a bleeder. I had von Weelbrand’s disease, which pretty much meant that if I cut myself, I would bleed.
A lot.
The disease guaranteed that any cut I received bled much more than it should.
That didn’t even begin to take into effect my horrid periods. Those puppies lasted for way longer than they ever should have, which was how I knew I had the disease in the first place.
I held out my hand and extended it to him, showing him the wound. “It’s not too bad. It’s actually just a scratch, but I have VWD, which makes me bleed more than normal. I end up pulling a Carrie way too often, if you ask me.” I teased.
It was around that time that I realized I was in my sports bra and short shorts that would be illegal in the state of Utah. “Uhh, if you don’t mind, I’ll go change. I’ll be right back.”
I didn’t wait for their agreement, I just ran to my bedroom. Then went to my stock of Band-Aids, double wrapped my finger, and then slipped out of my sweaty shorts, and bra.
Just as I was about to change into a more sedate pair of shorts, I realized that the hair on my legs could rival Chewbacca’s, and decided that a quick shave was in order.
Thirty minutes later, I was newly showered, shaved, and coiffed. Oh, and not to mention thoroughly embarrassed. I’d never meant to spend that long in the shower, but just thinking about the man I’d walked in on made my blood run hot.
When I finally emerged from the bedroom after putting on a fresh Band-Aid, the crew of five men Winter had brought with her, were hard at work. On my deck.
“Shit.” I cursed and rushed out the door.
“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t get the bleeding to stop.” I lied, holding up my finger and showing the group at large.
Sure enough, my finger was bleeding through the second bandage, but that was entirely normal for me. It’d stop eventually. It always did; it just looked bad until it did.
Winter knew of my condition, and didn’t look the least bit concerned. The big surprise was the man I’d walked in on earlier. He looked downright horrified.
Oh, and his shirt was off.
The man looked damn fine in his jeans. Shirtless, he could rival just about any man in the fire department I worked with. Which was saying something, because to be a firefighter, you had to be in shape. If you weren’t, lives could be at stake. People depended on a firefighter to save their lives; if their bodies weren’t honed into a perfect tool, then that could mean the death of someone.
This man had abs on top of abs, if that were even possible. He also had scars. One on his right lower abdomen that most likely indicated he’d had an appendectomy. Then there was a thin long one that ran down his side from armpit to hip.
Oh, and did I mention he had tattoos? They were delicious on his defined chest, and muscled arms. The entire length of the top of his arm was covered. A beautiful American Flag dominated his upper chest and bicep.
That would also make it hard to find a vein on the man if he ever needed emergency attention.
“You’ll have to forgive her. Baylee has an obsession with veins. She stares at everyone to judge how easy they’d be to get an IV on.” Winter teased.
My face flamed. I did do that. Not intentionally or anything, but when three days a week you spend the majority of your time thinking about those types of things, one tends to carry those weird habits into their daily lives.
“Sorry,” I muttered and then turned to the activity of the other men.
Those I knew. Not well, but enough that I’d say hello and ask how the kids were doing if I passed by them at the local diner or the grocery store.
Jack, Winter’s husband, sidled up to his wife, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “How’s it going, Baylee?”
I smiled at the man. He sure was handsome. Tall and built, much the same as the rest of the men; he was very pleasing to the eye. I was never one to poach, but I sure could look at the men of Free all day long and never get bored. They were all that hot.
“I was doing okay until the man two doors down distracted me, causing me to slip and stab myself with the screw gun.” I explained.