Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
She glared.
“I was trying to show you that I was in control of all my faculties,” she growled defensively.
“I can put a couple stitches in this, but so can the hospital. Up to you,” I told her.
“She doesn’t want you to hurt her!” the kid cried loudly.
“Shhh,” Imogen held up her hand. “If it’s free, you’re more than welcome to poke me all you want.”
Oh, I wanted to poke her all right…just not with anything that even remotely resembled a needle.
But that wouldn’t work.
I’d sworn off women. Especially ones that smelled like commitment.
“I can do it.” I stood and held out my hand. “Follow me to the infirmary.”
The kid stiffened. “I’m going to stay here and talk to Dad…okay?”
“Absolutely not,” Imogen declared, holding out her hand. “You’re not staying with him. Ever.”
It was so final that even I knew not to try to change her mind. It was the words of finality delivered in the motherly ‘don’t even think about it, mister’ tone that women used when addressing their children—the one that told them that there would be hell to pay if they chose to disobey.
The kid growled.
“I am staying, whether you want me to or not!” the kid snapped.
My jaw about hit the floor when he turned on his heel and started heading back for the man that I knew for fucking certain had done something to Imogen.
“You will get back here, or I’ll never bring you back again,” Imogen snapped.
The man, who wasn’t familiar to me since he’d never been to the infirmary before, hissed. “You can’t do that,” he said at the same time the kid screamed. “You can’t do that!”
“I can, and I will,” she confirmed. “You are my charge until Clarabelle is back from deployment. You will act like a civil human being, or I’ll ground you and take your Xbox away.”
The kid’s eyes narrowed.
Before he could say something stupid, though, I interrupted.
“You need to stop throwing a fit and get your act together, young man,” I pointed out, startling him. “This young lady is bleeding and could be suffering blood loss. I know damn well and good that you’re old enough to understand that she is hurt. So stop being a twit and get a move on so I can fix her up.”
The kid’s face went red with embarrassment while the man’s face went red with anger.
“Don’t go,” the man said to his kid, holding his hand out.
When I noticed the kid hesitate, I said a few simple words.
“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you,” I stated plainly.
The kid, who appeared to be smart, showed he was smarter when he ignored his father and came straight for his aunt.
“Let’s go,” he ordered. “If we hurry, then we can come back.”
“Wrong,” I said. “He won’t be brought back out twice.”
The woman had the nerve to elbow me as we walked down the hallway.
Richards, who’d witnessed the entire debacle, pressed a button and opened up the bars that would allow us entrance to the infirmary.
“Thanks,” I nodded to him as we passed.
Richards’ eyes went to the woman’s chest.
I couldn’t blame him.
I’d done the same thing the moment I’d gotten to her side.
What I couldn’t help was the irrational surge of jealousy that poured through me at seeing him checking her out.
Twenty minutes later, I had Imogen’s face numb, and her asshole nephew sitting in a chair leaving us the hell alone long enough for me to sew up her face.
“Are you allergic to anything?” I asked.
“Latex,” she answered, eyeing the gloves.
I sighed and threw them down onto the counter, washed my hands, and then reached for the non-latex gloves…which sucked ass, by the way.
They didn’t stretch worth a shit, and I was a man with big hands.
Non-stretching gloves meant I had to work them onto my hands carefully so I didn’t rip them.
They also made my hands feel disgusting for hours afterward.
“Glad you asked before you touched me with those,” she murmured.
“That’s something you need to mention before you’re ever seen. Everything has latex in it,” I told her.
She shuddered.
“Oh, I know,” she winced. “I figured that out the hard way.”
I was intrigued.
“What happened?” I asked conversationally, pressing into her leg as I leaned over her to start stitching the cut.
She blushed to her roots, and I had a feeling I knew without her having to say exactly what was wrong.
“Condoms?” I guessed.
She nodded.
“Condoms.”
Chapter 2
When life depresses me, I look down and think ‘at least I have great boobs!’
-Imogen’s secret thoughts
Imogen
“Why are you doing this?” my mother asked me.
I turned to face her, tired of having to explain myself.
“I’m trying to do the right thing. If he wants to see him, then I’ll take him to see him,” I replied with very little patience.
“You’ll regret it,” my mom said. “Mark my words.”
***
Five hours, and three stitches later, I was regretting it.