by Lane Hart
“It’s okay,” we both say.
“I need to slip outside to call and give Malcolm an update,” Nash says when he pulls out his phone. As soon as he leaves the room, Casey closes the door behind him. Not only is her hair disheveled, but her scrub top is on inside out.
“What’s up?” I ask, trying not to blush since it wasn’t me who was having sex with a strange man in someone else’s bathroom and it’s none of my business what she does. We’re both single, recently divorced women free to do what we want.
“I was just going to see if you need anything,” Casey says. “After Hunt gets a quick shower, I’m going to give him a ride to the Dirty Aces’ pool hall.”
“Sounded like you already gave him a ride,” I comment, unable to help myself. “And he shouldn’t get the side of his head wet.”
“I know. That’s what I told him when I was…helping him get undressed,” she says, biting down hard on her bottom lip. “Oh, hell, I don’t care if you think less of me! He’s feeling much better after a little…sexual healing.”
“Sexual healing. Right,” I reply with a roll of my eyes.
“Hunt was feeling down about the shooting happening on his watch and getting his ear messed up…” she trails off.
“And you just helped lift him up.”
“Exactly,” she says with a big grin, not sounding the least bit embarrassed.
“You should give it a try.” Casey nods her head toward the unconscious man in bed.
“He’s burning up with a fever. Thankfully, Thomas was able to sneak some meds out. Now we just have to wait and hope he can fight it off.”
“He looks tough enough to fight off anything,” Casey says as she goes over to his side of the bed to get a better look at him.
“Infection can take down anyone.”
“True,” she agrees. When she reaches down to feel his forehead, I feel an unusual rush of jealousy, which is incredibly stupid since I barely know the man. “He’s warm but not too hot, maybe a hundred degrees?”
“Well, it needs to come down,” I snap at her, and she quickly pulls her hand away from him.
“Calm down, Joanna. I’m not the one who shot the man twice,” Casey huffs.
“I know,” I say with a sigh. “It’s just…this is all sorts of crazy, these guys coming out of nowhere and now we’re trying to save his life. Do you know that they call him Fiasco?”
“Fiasco?” she repeats with her brow furrowed. “Like he’s a fuck up?”
“Even if he is, that’s incredibly cruel.”
“Yeah, it is,” she agrees with a frown. “He could kick all of their asses if he wanted, but he doesn’t. They’re his friends, so he must be okay with the name.”
“Maybe,” I agree as I climb into bed and run my fingers down his arm to check his pulse. The small touch causes goosebumps to raise all the way down, which is odd.
“Pulse strong?”
“Stronger than it was since I gave him some blood.”
“I still can’t believe you did that,” Casey says.
“I’ve had all the tests before I got hired a few weeks ago. My blood is clean.”
“Yes, but it’s just…you really do go the extra mile for patients.”
“If it can save their life, yeah.”
Fiasco, Phillip, moans and then rolls on his side toward me. His eyes flutter open a second before he’s out again.
“Talking to him seems to help,” I say as I brush his hair back out of his eyes again.
“Touching him would probably help even more,” Casey encourages.
“I can’t touch a man I don’t know like that. He’s a patient.”
“It doesn’t have to be dirty!” she exclaims. “Skin-to-skin contact is good for everyone. It’s a proven fact.”
“If you say so,” I tell her with a smile and a shake of my head as I think about the skin-to-skin contact she just had with Hunt in my bathroom.
“I will not apologize for having amazing sex with a hot biker,” she says with her shoulders back to push her ample chest out.
“I didn’t say anything!” I remind her. “You can have amazing sex with whoever you want.”
“So can you,” she says with a waggle of her brows as she starts to the door.
“Want me to bring you something to eat when I come back?”
“Sure, thanks,” I tell her since I don’t want to leave Phillip’s side even to make something to eat.
Chapter Three
Joanna
It’s been almost twenty-four hours since I gave Phillip the pain meds and started the antibiotics, but he still hasn’t woken up. I’m well beyond concerned at this point. I’ve barely been able to get any sleep myself. I’m starting to feel sort of like I’m in a dream-like daze. Not to mention I’ve missed work the last two nights. As the newest nurse, I hate to use up any time off; but I can’t leave Phillip, and I sure as hell can’t take him to work with me.
The man beside me lying so still on his back is too strong, too handsome and healthy to die here in my bed. I feel his cheek, and it’s cooler than it has been. But I don’t stop there. I trail my fingertips over his chest, down the thick arm closest to me, with biceps bigger and harder than any I’ve ever seen, before gliding up his stomach that’s etched with muscles. Like before, the hairs on his arms stand up like he felt that even in his deep sleep, so I keep doing it. The soothing touch is starting to put me to sleep, so I lay my head down on the pillow and close my eyes.
“Don’t…stop,” his ragged voice says softly, making me pop up into a sitting position to look at his face. His brown eyes are cracked open, looking at me.
“You’re awake!” I say in relief. When he licks his lips, I ask, “Do you want some water?”
“You. I want…you…” he grits out before his eyes close again.
“Phillip?” I say as I cup the side of his face, and he leans into my palm, rubbing against it like a cat. So, I keep touching him – his face, his chest, his arms, and occasionally even his stomach, although that makes me feel a little indecent being so close to other parts of him.
“Mmm. Feels…good. So good,” he says, letting me know he’s still awake. More of those goosebumps break out over his arms; but based on his words, I guess it’s the nice kind.
I’ve never touched a man like this, just for the sake of touching him. It feels intimate in a way I’ve never been with anyone else. On the next tour of his body, I press my palm over the left side of his chest to feel his heartbeat. It’s strong. So strong that I lay my head on his chest to listen to the thumping. And while my lips are so close to his skin, I press them to his sternum once, twice. On the third time, a big hand grabs the back of my head, startling me so that I sit up and look down at his face. His eyes are open all the way and following me, no filmy haze over the deep brown irises from pain or medicine.
“You’re…alert,” I say in surprise.
“You’re a beautiful angel,” he says all in one breath.
“I’m a nurse,” I clarify with a smile. “Do you remember what happened?”
“You were touching me and kissing me.”
“I…I meant the shooting,” I say as heat suddenly warms my cheeks.
“Yeah, I remember. Two bullets.”
“That’s right. You had a fever, probably an infection, but I’ve been giving you antibiotics.”
“Thank you,” he says with a squeeze to the back of my head, reminding me his fingers are still there. “No one’s ever taken care of me like this.”
“No one?” I repeat, and he shakes his head.
“Not even your mother?”
He shakes his head again.
“I’m so sorry.”
Phillip gives me a smile just as someone knocks on the door.
“I…I should probably go get that. It’s probably Nash or one of your other friends coming to check on you.”
“Okay,” he agrees and starts to untangle his fingers from the back of my hair before he tugs on it again. “
Wait. What’s your name, angel?”
“Joanna,” I tell him with a smile. “And I’m so glad you’re feeling better, Phillip.”
Chapter Four
Fiasco
“Oh, ah, good morning,” Joanna, my guardian angel, says when I blink my eyes open and inhale the sweet scent of lavender. At least my eyes are not as heavy as the few times before when I’ve caught only quick glimpses of her before she disappears. Her face is close enough to kiss. And now that I think about it, my lips feel damp.
“Angel. Were you…did you just kiss me?” I ask her, my throat scratchy from sleeping for what felt like days.
“What? No, of course not,” she says as she starts to move away.
“Don’t. Stay,” I say, reaching for her arm to see if she’s real or I’m imagining her like I imagined her lips on mine and her hands on my chest and stomach. When my fingers wrap around her warm, delicate arm, I’m relieved. “You’re real.”
“Ah, yeah. I’m real. You’ve been talking to me,” she replies with a grin. “How are you feeling?”
“Like last week’s trash after it’s been smushed in the compactor thing,” I tell her honestly since I ache all over, but mostly in my side and leg. I’m afraid to even turn my head in case the pain starts up again. “Wait, what day is it?” I ask in a rush.
“It’s Tuesday, why?” my angel asks.
“Shit!” I exclaim, trying to push myself into a sitting position no matter how bad it may hurt.
“What’s wrong? What do you need?” Joanna asks.
“I need to go! I’m missing work, and I missed Sunday! Fuck, I never miss Sunday!”
“You’re recovering from two gunshot wounds. I think your boss will give you as much time off as you need!” she says as I throw my legs over the side of the bed, gathering up the courage to try and stand on them.
“You don’t understand. I don’t get days off. I only get paid for the days I work, for the hours I work!” I shout as I push myself up and a jolt of fire shoots up my leg and side. “Fuck!”
“Slow down, Phillip,” Joanna says, calling me by my real name. It’s so unusual that it doesn’t even sound right to my ears. “You can’t go to work. I think Nash and the guys called in for you. They’ve got it all covered.”
She’s right about that one thing. I’m in too much pain to lift my arms to put a shirt on, so I sure as shit won’t be climbing up on any roofs anytime soon. Reluctantly, I sit back down on the edge of the bed.
“Fine. I may not be able to go to work, but I do need to see someone. Can you give me a ride?” I look over my shoulder to ask her.
“I’m not sure if you’re up for going out just yet.”
“Please,” I beg. “It’s important or I wouldn’t ask. Trust me, I wish I didn’t have to get out of this bed, but I have to.”
“Will it take long?” she asks.
“No. Just two stops, five or ten minutes at most.”
Her palm comes up and cups my cheek, then slides up to my forehead like she’s touched me a ton of times and it’s no big deal to her, but it is to me. I like her hands on me, a little too much. “Your fever is gone.” She sighs, making her pretty pink lips part, and then she says, “Okay, we can try to go out, but only if you promise to tell me if it’s too much too soon.”
“Huh?” I ask since I had forgotten what we were talking about.
“You wanted to leave. Unless you changed your mind?”
“No. I do. I didn’t,” I say in a rush when I remember. Jesus, she’s going to think I’m an idiot. And I am; I just don’t want her to know that yet.
“You’re still on a lot of meds,” Joanna says. “They’ll make your head a little foggy until they wear off.”
“Oh, okay.”
“So, you still want to leave even though I would rather you not?” she asks.
“Yes. Please.”
“Okay, fine. I think one of the guys brought you some clothes yesterday,” Joanna says, going over to a pile of things on a chair in the corner of the room and coming away with a pair of gray sweatpants and a ratty old tee shirt with so many holes it looks like Swiss cheese. “Are these yours?” she asks.
“Yeah, they’re mine,” I mutter, hating to claim them, but I don’t think I can leave in just my boxer briefs.
Joanna, the saint that she is, helps pull the shirt gently over my head and even helps get my arms through the sleeve holes. Then she kneels down at my feet and helps get the sweatpants up to the top of my thighs. That’s when her position and the fact that my dick is semi-hard and so close to her face makes things awkward.
“Your boots are still here,” Joanna says before she gets up and retrieves them.
Imagining how ridiculous I’ll look in my steel-toe boots and jogging pants distracts me while Joanna puts them on me with no socks, and then we’re ready to go.
“Do you need help getting down the steps?” she asks when we get to her porch.
“No, I’ve got it,” I say, gritting my teeth to force my leg to bend and move down them instead of asking for her to help support me.
When I finally sit down in the passenger side of her car, I feel like I’ve just run a marathon.
“So, where am I taking you that’s so important?” I give her the address but nothing else. The less she knows about my fucked-up life, the better.
“Is this it?” Joanna asks when we pull up a few minutes later in front of a small, one-bedroom house with the paint chipping.
“This is it. I’ll be right back,” I tell her.
“Do you need me to…”
“Nope,” I interrupt her offer to help me get up the three steps that look like they were made for giants. How come I never noticed that before now?
I make it up them, barely. Then ring the doorbell.
The woman who answers the door with her strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a long ponytail is still as tall and thin as always wearing nothing but a pair of tight workout shorts and a sports bra. She probably just went for a run or came back from one and will get a shower before she goes to pick up Sierra from preschool.
“Hey, Giselle,” I say. “Can I come in so we can talk?”
“What the hell happened to you?” she asks, probably not because she’s worried about me but because I missed Sunday, the worst possible thing I could’ve done.
“I got shot Friday night.”
“Shot?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, come in and explain,” she says with a heavy sigh, which is a huge relief.
Chapter Five
Joanna
What Phillip said would take five or ten minutes turns into almost thirty. I consider going to knock on the door to make sure he’s okay several times but figure the woman would come out and say something if he passed out.
When Phillip finally does come out of the house, he turns and hugs the tall, beautiful modelesque woman before he starts down the steps. I should get out and go help him, but then the woman comes out and grabs his arm to guide him slowly down the three steps.
At the bottom, he gives her a quick kiss on the lips, the two of them nearly the same height, and then she jogs back up the steps, and he slowly, gently, comes over and lowers himself into the passenger seat of my car.
He smells strongly of women’s perfume or body lotion, making me wonder what he was doing in there for nearly half an hour. He wasn’t…they weren’t…were they? Hunt was injured but that didn’t slow his dick down.
“You’re too sick to have sex,” I blurt out, which comes out sounding more jealous than I expected.
“Oh, well, that’s too bad,” Phillip says, but doesn’t make any other comments about it.
He just gives me the direction to the next address, an apartment complex that’s not but a mile or two away from the last house. “Are you visiting another woman here too?” I can’t help but ask after I put the car in park.
“Yeah.”
“Should we have stopped and bought her flowers?” I remark sarcastica
lly.
“Flowers? Why would I get her flowers?”
“Because that’s what you do when you like a woman.”
“Trust me, no amount of flowers will make this woman or the last like me,” he says seriously. “I’m just trying to convince them not to hate me for missing Sunday.”
Frowning in confusion, I ask, “Were you supposed to see them on Sunday?”
“Yeah.”
“Both of them?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do they know about each other?” I question him.
“Well, yeah, of course. The three of us get together every Sunday at two. I’ve never missed a single one before this past one.”
Jesus. He has not one but two girlfriends?
“So, you’re…never mind,” I say with a shake of my head since it’s none of my business.
Phillip climbs out of the car, making a few grunting sounds like it hurts and then shuts the door behind him.
I shouldn’t care that he’s seeing two women, or that he sees them at the same time. He’s an outlaw biker who got shot. Did I expect him to actually be capable of having a normal relationship with a woman or even want someone like me?
What the hell was I thinking?
Phillip is my patient and nothing else. I need to start remembering that.
Chapter Six
Fiasco
“Wake the fuck up! It’s homecoming day, motherfucker!” Devlin exclaims as he and the other four members of the Dirty Aces MC barge into the bedroom at Joanna’s house one morning.
I’m not sure why I’m surprised. Last night Joanna finally made the call, telling Nash that I’ve been fever free for four days, had finished up the antibiotics I needed, and that my wounds were healing great.
