He swore as the ER doc walked in and shook his hand. “You must be Dr. Holloway, heard a lot about you.” He grinned widely. “Looks like it’s just a bad sprain with a pretty nasty-looking cut.”
“Cut?” Thatch looked back at me. “How did you get cut?”
“I think the force behind the hit sent me to the ground, my other hand landed on a sharp rock, and it lodged itself in my skin.” My lips trembled. All in all it had been a pretty traumatizing day.
Both hands hurt like the fires of hell; the knuckles on my right were all bloody and turning blue. And my left palm felt like I’d grabbed a sharp rock and had been forced to squeeze.
“Poor baby,” Thatch said gently. “You’re the only person I know who would actually punch someone in the face and walk away with more injuries.”
I scowled.
“I’ll treat her,” Thatch said without looking away from me. His eyes laced with concern. “Can you release her?”
“Already done.” The doc handed Thatch my papers. “I figured you’d want to do the sutures anyways, no scarring.”
Thatch thanked him and then shook his head at me. “You ready for me to sew you up?”
“It sounds sexier on Grey’s Anatomy.”
He barked out a laugh. “Just call me Dr. McSteamy.”
I shivered. He was way better looking, if that was even possible.
Chapter Thirty-Two
THATCH
I was just finishing up with my last patient when I got the call from Austin. I started running the minute she said “hospital.” My heart had nearly stopped.
The fact that she was actually conscious and talking to me told me that she was alive, but that fear, that sinking feeling of loss, still clung to me with every step into the ER.
I felt sick to my stomach.
Nauseated.
I couldn’t lose her.
Just the thought of not having her—of her even being injured—hell, it was a glorified paper cut, and I was ready to scrub in and save her life.
“Sit still,” I scolded. “Or you’re going to have zigzags on the side of your hand.”
“Sorry,” Austin hissed as I tugged the needle a bit harder, threading the sutures together. “It just feels funny.”
“Don’t puke,” I said without looking up at her. “It’s never the pain that gets people, it’s the tug they feel when their skin’s getting pulled and pinched together.”
Austin sucked in a breath and whispered, “Yeah, I’m going to need you to stop talking.”
I smirked down at my work as I made a final knot and cut the rest of the suture material. “Sorry.” Not too bad, she only needed six stitches around the base of her thumb. The cut had been deep, probably from the force of her entire body landing on the sharp rock. “Well, I think you’ll make a full recovery.”
“I’ll live?”
“As long as you don’t get the hand wet,” I said in a serious-as-hell voice. “So no showering, washing your hands, or eating.”
“Eating?”
“Austin, we can’t have you getting Mountain Dew in your cut, do you know anything? You could die!”
Eyes wide, she went completely pale. “But, but, that’s how I deal with stress and—”
I burst out laughing.
She went from panicked to pissed. “You big jerk!”
“Whoa, careful there with that language.” I winked.
She smacked me with her other hand, then winced and started shaking it, then blowing on it, like that was going to help.
I grinned and examined the other hand. There would be bruising, but she’d be fine. “Remember what happened last time you picked a fight.”
“And I can have Mountain Dew? And take showers?”
I licked my lips and leaned in. “Sponge baths . . . but don’t worry, I’ll be very thorough.”
“I think . . .” She met me halfway. “That you’re full of shit.
“That’s the drugs talking. Believe me, it’s way easier if you just camp out at my place and let me take care of your . . . every . . .” I kissed her hard on the mouth. “Single . . .” Another kiss. “Need.”
“You sure you can take care of all my needs?”
I gripped her ass and pulled her onto my lap, kissing her neck, inhaling her skin like a drug addict. “Pretty damn positive.”
“Well . . .” Our foreheads touched. Already her breathing was picking up, her eyes having trouble focusing on mine. “I have MoonPies in my nightstand, how can you really compete with that?”
“Easy.” I shrugged. “More MoonPies and a Mountain Dew trail to the fridge, where I’ll stash extra chocolate milk.”
She let out a little moan. “You know how I feel about chocolate milk, Thatch. Don’t joke about something so serious. I may never leave your apartment.”
I paused and then licked my lips. “Would you believe me if I told you that was part of my evil plan?”
Austin sighed and kissed my mouth softly. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “I can’t . . .” Shit, I needed to come clean. “I can’t live without you in my life. Not only that.” I gripped her face. “I don’t want to.”
Air whooshed out of her lungs as she kissed me hard, her body plastered against mine, her breasts sliding across my chest. I let out a moan as I returned her kiss and blocked out every single conversation I’d had with Lucas that day.
Why is he with your mom?
Why indeed.
The lie was on the tip of my tongue, but stole completely out of reach the minute my mom and the mayor grabbed each other’s hands and then let go whenever someone looked at them.
One could never be too careful.
And he was starting to become careless.
I returned to the present.
To Austin.
To us.
To tomorrow.
She moaned as I started slowly dipping my right hand into the waist of her leggings.
I’ll tell her tomorrow.
Chapter Thirty-Three
THATCH
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” I asked a guilty-looking Austin as she drank directly from the chocolate-milk carton. She froze and then slowly put the carton on the kitchen counter and wiped her face with the back of her bandaged hand.
She had no idea how cute she was.
Or how aroused I was by just watching her drink out of the damn milk carton. The light from the fridge cast a sexy glow across her smooth skin and nest of dark hair as strands fell across her face and long neck.
She smiled, busted. “I was thirsty.”
“And all the glasses were dirty?” I approached slowly, crossing my arms over my chest so I wouldn’t reach for her.
Again.
Because a man needs sleep.
And ever since the day before—I’d been kissing her, taking her in the shower, and making sure that every single space in my apartment was christened with her presence.
Including the kitchen counter.
It still had remnants of chocolate sauce on parts of the granite. My blood heated at the memory.
“Yes,” Austin finally answered. “Or, well, I didn’t want to get another glass dirty, because I know how you hate dirty things.”
“Do I?” Was she sleepwalking? When had I ever said that to her?
“Yeah.” She nodded encouragingly and smiled. “You hate it when things get dirty, so much, in fact, that you have to get them clean right away.”
Why the hell was I getting turned on again?
She reached inside the fridge, grabbed the chocolate sauce, and smiled.