Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 20948 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20948 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 105(@200wpm)___ 84(@250wpm)___ 70(@300wpm)
“No nurse.” The words come out gruff.
“Tough fuckin’ luck. You’ve got three options: stay in the hospital, go to a rehab facility, or hire a nurse,” Diego throws down.
I look at Kade. He lifts his eyebrows and says, “There is one more option: you stay with Audrena and me.” Not happening. Those two are still in their honeymoon phase, and the last thing I want to do is walk in on them going at it. Again. Been there, done that, and I’m not ready for a repeat performance.
“A nurse at home it is,” I grit out the words.
“Good. Glad you see it our way. Kyra is in between jobs as a traveling nurse and is home for the time being. Your insurance covers home health. It’s a win-win for both of you.” The last time I saw Diego’s daughter, she was a teenager in high school. No way is she old enough to be a nurse, much less one with experience.
“Diego.” I close my eyes while breathing through the bullshit he just flung my way.
“It’s this or a hospital of some sort. What’s the worst that could happen?” Drena says, placing the pain pump in the palm of my hand.
“Is this a bad time?” I’m saved from answering by an interruption at the door. My eyes must be deceiving me. No fucking way the beauty who just walked through the door is real.
“Nope. Kyra, this is Rhodes. Rhodes, this is Kyra, your nurse.” My eyes land on Diego’s daughter. Fucking hell, someone put a gun to my head and pull the trigger. My mind instantly goes straight to the gutter. Her strawberry-blonde hair is lightly curled. She's got freckles I can see along her cheekbones even with her standing nearly ten feet away. Damn eyesight. Sometimes it’s too sharp for it’s own good. Blue eyes and full fucking lips. My mouth goes dry, though whether it’s from the curves she’s rocking or having a tube down my throat during surgery, I can’t tell.
“Hi,” she says shyly, staying in place by the door.
“Hey.” Fuck me. My leg might be gone, but my cock sure isn’t. I hit the button in the palm of my hand, letting the morphine put me to sleep before I do something like pop a boner in front of my friends, specifically her father.
1. Kyra
Present Day
“One more set, and then we’re done for the day.” Every morning since Rhodes has been able to get up and move around, we’ve been doing physical therapy in his home gym. The hardest part about this whole situation is keeping things professional. A task that’s getting harder as each day passes. It doesn’t matter if we’re in this room, the living room, the kitchen, or even on his covered patio. Rhodes Kennedy is not ashamed of any part of his body. He’s continuously shirtless, which means I’m getting the live porn show of his arms, chest, and abs. Don’t even get me started on his thighs. The man doesn’t miss a day at all.
Believe me, keeping my mouth shut and the drool from dripping down my chin is a full-time job. I’ve talked to my best friend relentlessly about lusting over my dad’s friend and patient. She tells me to pull up my big girl panties and keep my head in the game. A task which is only getting harder and harder. Literally.
“Still gotta work on my upper body. You using the treadmill today?” Rhodes asks in between each rep. You’d never know he went through surgery only weeks ago with how in tune he is with his body. The amputation of his leg hasn’t stopped him from continuing with his day-to-day tasks. There are days when I wonder why I’m still here in a nursing capacity. Sure, the first few days were rough. Sleeping didn’t come easy for him, and he was up and down a lot. Grumbling about using the crutches, ready for this shit to be over. All I could do was make sure he had his prescribed pain meds. Not that he willingly took them after his second day home. More times than not, he’d take Tylenol instead. I cooked and cleaned up after the two of us. Really, it’s been no different than caring for a sick family member. That’s how good he was at handling the amputation of his leg. And news flash, these military men I’m surrounded by in one form or the other are insistent on toughing it out.
“As long as you don’t mind?” I state it more like a question than an answer.
This has been our routine ever since the physical therapist showed up the first week after his surgery. The PT showed me the ropes for the first few days, then I took over. While the daily exercises aren’t difficult and Rhodes could probably do them in his sleep by now, I still watch over him and look for any signs of over-exertion. When he’s done, I’ll hit the treadmill for thirty or so minutes. He goes about lifting weights, working diligently on his upper body and doing leg lifts with only one side of his body, and I try not to fall flat on my ass while watching him. I like to joke that I’m allergic to lifting weights. It’s not my idea of fun. Neither is walking at a pace so fast I’m practically jogging, but exercise is the key to living a healthy life or some such bullshit the doctors and nurses spew at you. Yeah, yeah, I’m the latter, sue me. After standing all day in a hospital and being dead on your feet, the last thing anyone wants to do is willingly step into a gym.