Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
He eased back with a confused expression.
Was I already screwing it up? It might be a record.
“Listen,” I said. Holy shit, I was uncomfortable. Had two hours passed? I needed my happy pills. “For the first time in my life, it feels like I’ve met someone who can make or break me—and it’s a fucking pain. I don’t like being nervous and worried. But since I can’t get you outta my head, yeah, we gotta give this a real shot. I want that too. As long as you’re patient while I work past my complete inability to be a decent partner. I might as well put a reminder on my phone right now so I don’t forget your birthday, and you better give me a list of your favorite meals and whatnot so I can find restaurants.”
At least the confusion seemed to be clearing. That was good, right?
“Um.” He scratched the side of his head and grinned faintly. “Before we get into the fact that you seem to believe I know what I’m doing, can I ask what your kind of date entails?”
“A good burger,” I said right away. Because it was a thing for me. I hated dressing up to go to a fancy-ass restaurant and listening to specials where half the words were in another language, followed by stilted conversation and mediocre sex. “I want a good burger at Big Buns. A few beers. Then a movie in my bed. Possibly popcorn or chips. Chips and salsa—I like that a lot. I’m a sucker for a good steakhouse too—and Mexican and Brazilian food. Actually, most foods from South America. And really good chicken.”
He flashed a quick grin, and for the first time today, I caught a glimpse of the shyer Leighton I’d gotten so ridiculously attached to. I was glad he was still in there in this new version of him.
“I mean…all that sounds perfect to me,” he said. “Especially if the steakhouse has burnt ends and pork belly.”
Mother of God, he spoke my language.
“All the pork,” I promised.
The happiness in his eyes brought me an immense amount of relief, and I hoped this meant I had a fighting chance.
“The real question is what I’ll do when you get sick of me,” I said.
He chuckled through his nose and lifted his eyebrows. “We’ll cross that bridge when we never get there.”
Funny. Before I could answer, the door opened again, and it wasn’t lunch. Which sucked. All this talk about food was making me hungry.
Instead, it was Nurse Tina.
Actually, this was better. I was glad Leighton was here. He was already staring at her, maybe a little dumbfounded.
“Hey, beautiful,” I said. “Did Doc by any chance give you my next dose of happy pills?”
She walked in and looked at my clipboard. “In your dreams, boy. Be nice, or I’ll take your temperature from the other end.”
I clenched—and that fucking hurt in my thigh.
Leighton spluttered a laugh.
“Do you kiss your grandchildren with that mouth?” I countered.
“Oh, just be quiet, Bo. I need the energy to deal with Coach after this.” She stuck the thermometer in my ear, and it beeped a few seconds later. “Is this what you’re whining about? It barely counts as a low fever.”
“You have the best bedside manner,” I said.
She huffed and headed for the door again. “I’ll be back to take your blood after you’ve eaten. Food’s on its way up.”
I shifted my gaze to Leighton.
He pinched his lips together for a beat. “Okay, she can give you a sponge bath whenever you want.”
I laughed.
And that hurt.
Leighton stepped up the game that very night when he ordered food for us and brought his laptop to my hospital room.
Even when I raised the bed, my arm was his new pillow, and I didn’t mind one bit.
The laptop was perched on his lap, and he legit fed me steakhouse food. Burnt ends, mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, brisket, and grilled chicken made the room smell fucking divine.
“You’re funny when you’re high,” he snickered.
“I’m not high,” I chuckled.
I was just on happy pills.
My second and last day. Hillcroft had the strictest regulations for stronger pain meds. If you needed more than two days of it, you belonged in the hospital, not here.
I was all right with that. Come tomorrow, I’d hop on board the ibuprofen train because, as Quinlan liked to say, “We do not create addicts at this agency.”
It was a sensitive topic for him. Hell, we’d all seen it. We all had friends who’d fallen into an addiction because something always hurt when you worked in and out of combat zones.
“I can’t believe you’ve never seen The Blues Brothers before,” I said.
“It’s so old,” he groaned through a laugh. “It’s even older than you.”
I dipped down and nipped at his earlobe sharply.
Fucking asshole.
Why did he feel the need to add the “even”?