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|Beat of the Heart(Runaway Train #2) by Katie Ashley|
Frank’s face turned the color of an overripe tomato at her admonishment. “Maybe,” he replied weakly.
Crossing her arms over her ample cleavage, Mia shook her head back and forth so fast I figured she would get whiplash. “How many times have we been over your diet since you were discharged from CCU?”
Cowering a little, Frank replied, “Several.”
“I’m so disappointed in you,” Mia admonished. Her wrathful gaze turned on Rhys and me. “Since this food didn’t materialize out of thin air, I suppose you two are to blame?”
“We just wanted to bring him his favorite food,” Rhys replied.
Mia’s eyes narrowed. “He just had by-pass surgery! He can’t eat stuff like this.”
I shrugged. “We didn’t know that.”
“Did you leave your brain in your guitar case?”
“I play the drums,” I corrected.
“Whatever,” Mia snapped. She grabbed Frank’s box of chili dogs and fries and slammed them into the trash. “I suppose you would think it was a good idea to take a bottle of champagne to someone just discharged from rehab, huh?” She started to swipe the drink off as well, but it bounced off the trash can lid and landed straight into my lap. Busting on impact, the ice-cold orange soda coated my crotch, stinging like tiny daggers over my skin. “Fuck!” I shouted, leaping to my feet.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” Mia apologized.
What happened next could only be expressed as something out of a warped fantasy. With a wad of napkins in hand, Mia dropped to her knees before me—my dick eye-level with her gorgeous face. She began furiously toweling off the front of my jeans. It took all of two seconds for the visual, along with her ministrations, to have me at half-mast.
“Umm,” I began.
“Sorry, but this will stain if we don’t get it off.”
When I dared glancing over at Rhys, his hand covered his mouth, smothering the laughter that caused his whole body to shake. Frank wore an expression of amused horror. Okay, so Florence Nightingale couldn’t take a hint. I guess I was going to have to make it as plain as I could. Leaning over, I whispered into Mia’s ear. “Cariño, as much as it kills me to ask you to stop this rubdown, if you don’t, you’re going to make another mess to clean up. Inside my pants.”
She jerked her head up and stared into my eyes. I watched as the realization of my words, along with what she had been doing, washed over her. My breath hitched as I waited for the usual signs of extreme mortification to follow—reddened cheeks, stammering speech, avoiding making eye contact. All the things that would make it easy for me to move in for the kill.
But I got none of those. Oh no, not from this chick.
Instead, Mia rose up and smacked the soggy napkins against my chest. As I fumbled to grasp them, she replied, “I’m so terribly sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” She then proceeded to give me a sickeningly, sweet smile—one that reminded me of Abby right before she gave one of us a verbal smack-down. When she edged closer to me, I knew I was in for it and then some. She cocked one brown brow. “How terribly embarrassing and inconvenient it must be for you to have such a sensitivity problem down there. I mean, chicks expect a night of passion with Mr. Latin Lover, and they get mere seconds.” She made a tsking sound in the back of her throat. “Pity.”
My mouth gaped open, and instead of a witty, maybe even scathing, come-back, I could only open and close it, like a dying fish out of water. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been rendered completely speechless by a female outside of my mother and abuela.
Mia eyed me one final time before turning to Frank. “Mr. Patterson, I’ll be back to check on you on the hour,” she replied before quickly side-stepping me and stomping out of the room.
When the door closed behind her, Rhys and Frank howled with laugher. “Holy shit, dude! I can’t believe what she just said to you!” Rhys exclaimed, wiping the tears from his eyes.
I stared momentarily at the closed door before a smile spread across my cheeks. “Now, that gentlemen, is the future Mrs. Resendiz, right there.”
As soon as I slammed the door shut behind me, my thinly veiled composure evaporated and mortification replaced it. At the sound of muffled laughter from Mr. Patterson’s room, I hustled down the hallway, wanting to put as much distance as I could between myself and what had just happened. But as hard as I tried, AJ’s words, coupled with the image of me giving him a rubdown, kept playing over and over in my head. “Jesus,” I grumbled. Rubbing my eyes, I wished more than anything I could bleach those images out of my mind forever.
I skidded into the nurse’s station, mowing into Dee. “Oomph,” he muttered, as multi-colored paperwork scattered through the air like confetti. “Damn girl, where’s the fire?”
“In AJ’s pants,” I muttered.
I shook my head. “Nothing. I’m sorry. Lemme pick these up for you.”
“Why is your face so red?”
“I said, it’s nothing. Just drop it, okay?” I bent over and started sorting the papers.
Dee harrumphed before crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t tell me Mr. Gordon in 409 asked you for another sponge bath? Cause you know I’ll go down there and tell him I’ll take care of whatever he needs. I’m sure that’ll shut his perverted, old ass up!”