Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“We applied ice almost immediately.”
My cheeks heat along with the nurse’s. “That’s good. A perfect solution for any predicament.” The redness on my face overtakes hers tenfold when she adds, “Most people finish before addressing the issue.”
“Oh… we… I… we’re not…”
Cash stops my ramble by curling his hand over mine again, but this time, he squeezes it tight. “Can we just clear one thing up before you work out if a scalpel is going to slice my dick in two…” I assume he is going to clarify the fact we didn’t break his penis during a steamy romp or ask if he can still train this week, but I am left with more questions when he finalizes his reply, “Will my cock function as normal with or without surgery?”
“Most likely.” She helps lift his legs onto the bed. “You’re a young, fit male with regular erectile functions—”
“Not that regular.” When two sets of wide eyes snap my way, I gabber out, “Kamil said it had been a while.”
Cash continues glaring, leaving the nurse to solve my riddle on her own. “Either way, I doubt surgery will be required.” Once she has a blanket covering the lower half of Cash’s legs and a bag of ice cooling the top half, she says, “But how about we schedule an ultrasound to make sure?”
Chapter 16
McKayla
“A popped vein is still a broken penis,” I mumble to Kamil when Cash hobbles to his bed. “But the swelling is more from blood filling his appendage than major internal damage.”
“And the pain?” Kamil asks with a screwed-up face and white cheeks.
“Ah… that’s internal as well.” I tap on my forehead to say it is Cash’s head making up the pain. “The doctor said he can have Tylenol if needed.”
My eyes dart to Cash when he mutters, “I can hear you, you know?”
Kamil laughs when my hand falls from my face before leaving me to play nurse to our grumpy patient. “Call out if you need anything.”
“I will. Thanks.” Once he leaves, I devote all my attention to Cash. “Should I put a sock on the door or are you happy to leave my three a.m. visit up to your frat brothers to decipher?”
He flops onto his bed before throwing an arm over his eyes. “You weren’t meant to tell anyone.”
“I didn’t…” My excuse falls short when he shoots me a riled look from beneath a crack in his arm. “I couldn’t carry you up the stairs, and Kamil already knew, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask for his help.”
Cash’s bedroom is in the attic of a fraternity house that was built over one hundred years ago. That was more stairs than he could climb without help.
When my reply is met with silence, I leave his door partly cracked open before moseying to his half of the room. “Do you need anything? A drink? Tylenol? Extra ice?” He faintly shakes his head for each question I ask, but the brisk movements of his head shake are undeniable when I ask, “Should I go?”
“No. Stay. I just…”
Confident he needs a minute to gather his bases after what I am sure would be a scary ordeal for any man, I dump my backpack onto the floor next to his bed, then peruse his room with more vigor than I did the last time I was here.
“You have quite the trophy collection. Are all of them basketball?” I know his answer. The skateboard on the top of the biggest trophy exposes not all his sports memorabilia is for one sector.
“No.” His voice isn’t as low this time around, almost back to normal. “A handful are skateboard tournaments, a few are football, and there is an occasional fishing trophy as well.”
“Fishing? You like to fish?”
The shock in my tone secures his attention, but my smile keeps it. “Yeah, and I’m good at it too.”
Even though I’m loving his refound cockiness, I roll my eyes as if I am not a fan. “It’s not like it takes skill to fish.”
“Puh-lease.” He’s up and out of the bed, his swollen appendage still notable but nowhere near the top of his priorities. “Fishing is a sport, and as such, requires the same level of skillset as every other sport.”
“You kill a worm with a hook, toss it in the water to make sure it is dead, then reel it in. There’s no skillset to that.”
Cash laughs at my poor depiction of a sport he clearly loves. “Anyone would swear you’re vegan for the way you defend the worm.”
His chuckles louden when I murmur, “I would have been given up for adoption within an hour of announcing that. My parents are ex-cattle farmers.”
After joining me by the trophy cabinet, he asks, “Ex?”
Hair slips from my bun when I dip my chin. “They now mainly do wheat and corn.”