Текст книги "Whipped"

Автор книги: Elizabeth Lee

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

It did and it was really sweet that he was concerned about me. “It does, but I don’t want you to think for one minute that I’m not completely aware of the situation I’m putting myself in. I loved Jamie, yes, but he’s been gone for three years. I need to move on with my life. Iris has to know that.”

“She should in theory.” He paused. “But I saw the way she looked at me. The way she looked at us. She was far from okay with it.”

“She’s just going to have to be,” I told him, leaning over the counter. When he didn’t meet me, I grabbed a handful of the soft, worn t-shirt he was wearing and pulled him toward me. “I don’t want to think about the past anymore,” I said, touching my nose to his. “I want to be here…with you.”

After dinner, which was delicious, we sat down on the sofa and continued the conversation we’d started at the kitchen table. She tucked her legs up underneath her and faced me as she fired off a round of questions about freestyle motocross.

“What do you mean you let go of the bike?” she asked. “Why would you do that?”

“That’s part of thrill,” I explained. “You have to let go of the bike in the air, perform a twist or flip or something awesome, and then grab back onto it before you land.” I could practically hear the roar of the stadium crowd as I explained the tricks to Georgia. Man, I wanted to get back on my bike. “The adrenaline rush is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.”

“I would imagine,” she said. The concern in her voice was evident. “What’s the simplest trick? The easiest, safest one? The one where you keep a firm hold on the bike at all times?” Her nervous question was kind of cute.

“Well none of them are particularly safe,” I told her with a laugh. “There’s a risk just jumping the bike, let alone tossing it and your body in different directions mid-flight.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not like we’re out there with no protection.” I tried to ease her mind. “I spend hours training and we wear neck support and helmets. It’s not like it used to be. There are many more precautions now.”

She nodded and I could see her wheels turning as she thought about everything I was saying. “What trick is your favorite?” she finally asked. Her interest in my field of work had me feeling a bit like I was being interrogated. She had a serious expression that was only occasionally peppered with a smile. Even my usual charm and smart-ass responses weren’t enough to get her to relax.

“Backflip, maybe?” I answered. I hadn’t ever really thought about that. “During a competition, it’s whatever trick will score me the highest points,” I explained. “Each run you have to try and out do your opponents…and yourself.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” she said, shaking her head. “Makes me nervous just thinking about it.”

“You’ll have to come watch when I get back to it.”

“I don’t know about that.” Her answer wasn’t what I was expecting. “I nearly had an anxiety attack when Reid and Beau were racing out back.” She shook her head. I remembered that little backyard race too. I have to admit, that one made me nervous. Watching my buddy and his arch nemesis battle it out on the track was nerve wracking. “I’m not sure if watching motocross is my speed.”

“I kind of need it to be your speed,” I reasoned, realizing immediately that I was imagining a future with her that we hadn’t quite agreed on. She didn’t protest, so I went with it. If the casual relationship we were in now ever led to more, I needed her on board with my career choice. Besides that, motocross is awesome. “I mean, I’d like for you to come at least once. I’ll ease you into it, I promise.”

“You’re sure you want to ride again?”

Was she serious right now?

“I am riding again, Georgia,” I said, letting my usual smile fade. There were only a few things I wasn’t light and airy about. Riding was one of them. “I have to ride again. It’s my job. Hell, it’s my life.”

“But what about your knee? What if you—”

“Doesn’t matter.” I stopped her from asking what I’d been thinking about since my surgery. What if I get hurt again? It wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when. My knee wasn’t my first or my last injury. I knew that, and I think deep down she knew it too. “Getting hurt comes with the territory. Occupational hazard.” I held up my arm and pointed out a scar running down the side of my wrist. “Broken wrist. One plate, six screws. I was fourteen.” Her eyes examined the puckered skin as she ran her fingertips over it. “I’ve broken ribs, separated my shoulder, and,” I pulled the collar of my shirt down, “broken my collarbone twice.” She stared at me almost disbelieving. I grabbed her hand and placed it on the permanent bump on my clavicle where the bone hadn’t quite healed straight. She was going to be a nurse, surely she could tell that it wasn’t supposed to feel that way. “I can’t count how many concussions I’ve had. Or bruises. Or sprains.”

“Why would you keep going back to something that keeps hurting you?” She rose up on her knees and scooted toward me. Her bottom lip glistened from biting at it as I explained all of my injuries.

“Because I don’t know how to do anything else,” I stated simply, taking her hand from my shoulder and placing a kiss on the palm of her hand. “And because I love it.” Her eyes fell shut as she tried to understand what I was telling her. I wanted her to understand. My entire life I’d been mud and rubber and gas, trying to be poetic and sweet was never really my thing. “Why do you want to be a nurse?”

“I like helping people,” she said, opening her eyes, which were clouded with confusion. “I like to make them feel better. What does that have to do with you risking your life for no reason?”

“So do I,” I replied. “One epic jump on my bike and I can make thousands of people feel better. They’re excited and thrilled and probably a little bit scared, but when you land a big jump and they scream and clap, it makes it all worth it. They’ve been entertained. They’ve been inspired to try something that scares them.”

“I’m trying to understand,” she said. “I really am.”

“One event. You have to come to one event and see for yourself.” I knew that if she could just feel the charge of a packed stadium she would understand. She would see what it was like.

“Hmm. Maybe I could squeeze in one event,” she promised. I felt my smile return and took the opportunity of her being so near and pressed my lips to hers. I felt closer to her, and not just physically. No one had ever asked me why I do what I do. I think most people let my work speak for itself, or they assumed I was in it for the fame. For the money. For the women. It was more than that and I think Georgia knew that. She wanted to understand me. To know me, which is more than I could say for most people.

Reid and Hoyt might have been the only other two people on the planet that really got me. They loved the sport as much as I did, and knew what it was like to be called to the track. Riding was like a religion to us. Most people didn’t get it, but we did.

Even my parents, God bless them, who gave me everything I could ever ask for as a kid. They bought me my first bike when I was eight, paid thousands of dollars to let me race season after season, they even got me in with a great trainer when I was thirteen, but they never really got why I wanted to be a motocross rider. I think they thought it was a hobby at first, and then the sponsors and money started to come in, and it became a business. It was more than that for me though. It was a purpose. Strange as it may sound, I was made to make a dirt bike soar. I was made to manipulate metal and my body in ways that people only dreamed about being able to do.

Georgia would see that. I would make sure of it.

I deepened my kiss, sweeping my tongue between her pouty lips and finding hers. I was met with a soft moan and her arms wrapping around my neck. I turned my body to hers and pulled her against me. The soft curves of her tits pressed against my chest and I felt her suck in a breath, sending my pulse racing.

I tried to slow myself down, but the heat of her body against mine and the taste of her on the tip of my tongue was overpowering. When she bit down on my bottom lip, I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I guided my body down on hers as she let herself fall back on the couch. Greedily, I let my hands roam over her body and her quiet moans continued to fuel my desire. My fingertips found their way underneath the sweater she was wearing, gently trailing up her smooth, flat stomach, along the curves of her waist until I found her breasts. Those sweet, perfect tits that I had fantasized about. My lips moved to her jawline as I tugged down the cup of her bra and rolled her nipple between my finger and thumb. I hesitated wanting to see her reaction.

“Don’t stop,” she said between labored breaths as I nipped and licked my way down her neck. I had no plans of stopping. I had plans to elicit every possible response from her flesh. I wanted to put my mouth on her body. All of it. From top to bottom and every place in between. I wanted her to continue to unwind beneath me.

My cock was as stiff as it had been in maybe its entire life. I had a beautiful woman writhing beneath me and inviting me to have my way with her. A beautiful woman that I’d wanted since the moment I laid eyes on her months ago. I tried to shift my weight and relieve some of the pressure I knew we were both feeling, but instead of the smooth move I was imagining in my head, I was met with pain.

“Son of bitch!” I cried out, startling her as much as bashing my injured knee against the edge of the coffee table had startled me.

“Omigod,” she said, helping me sit up. “Are you okay?”

“Mmhmm…” was all I could manage out as I fixed my position on the couch and maneuvered my leg into a position that alleviated a little bit of the sting. I bit back every swear word I knew. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I finally said through gritted teeth.

She was already on her feet and in the kitchen before I could expound on exactly how it felt. She returned with one of the ice packs I’d kept on standby since surgery and placed it gently on my knee.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to muster up a smile.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Her cheeks were still flush from the position we were in only a few moments ago.

Real smooth move, dipshit. Had her right where you wanted her and had to go and be a big damn klutz.

“I think so. Just bumped it in the wrong place.” I was mad at myself and slightly embarrassed. Things had been going so well and then… boom. She gave me a moment to compose myself before letting a soft snicker slip through her lips. “This is funny?” I asked, letting her laughter pull a smile from me. The pain had started to fade and I knew that I hadn’t done any real damage to my knee. My ego on the other hand…

“I mean, it’s a little funny,” she replied, leaning in to kiss my cheek softly. “You just injured yourself dry humping me on a couch like we were teenagers. You kind of have to laugh about it.”

She was kind of right. It might have been my most rookie move ever. So I did what she suggested and laughed. Seemed Georgia and I did a lot of that together.

I hoped that Brett didn’t think I was avoiding him after our little adventure on the sofa. The last thing I wanted him to think was that I wasn’t enjoying our time together. The truth was, it had been a long time since I’d enjoyed myself so much. I thought about him more than I wanted to admit. His smile. The way he made me laugh. The way his lips felt on mine. The way his hands felt on my body. The way he made me feel like a woman again. After losing Jamie, I’d shut that part of my body and mind off. With Brett, I felt like it was slowly being thawed after years of being frozen and numb.

Up until he thumped his knee on the coffee table, I was considering taking things further with him. Everything about what was happening between us felt right. Or at least felt good. Really good. Like I didn’t think about anything other than the sensations he was provoking from my body good. The lust that was building inside of me for him was overwhelming. I chalked it up to my hormones being stockpiled away for the last three years. Feeling the weight of his body on mine almost had me bursting at the seams.

When we’d been forced to stop to ice his knee, I tried to bring myself back to reality. I knew that sex between us was probably going to happen sooner or later. At least I hoped it would, but I also didn’t want to seem too overeager. Despite what my body was trying to tell my brain and as much as I like being outside of my head and just going with what felt good, I couldn’t.

I’d gone from losing Jamie and feeling like I’d never feel—or want to feel—the touch of another man, to craving that closeness. But, like everything I did, I couldn’t stop analyzing the risk/reward side of my time with Brett. Especially after our conversation about his job. I knew that motocross was dangerous. Nora had told me. Brett had told me. It wasn’t until I started researching it more after talking to Brett about it that I started to realize what I would be signing up for if I continued my relationship with him. The idea of going through another loss like I’d experienced with Jamie made me want to shield my heart.

“But he could die, Nora.” I told my sister on the phone. Of course she called to make sure that I remembered I had to meet the moving truck in a few days. “How do you stand that with Reid? It’s a dangerous job.”

“He could get hit by a bus tomorrow, G,” she reasoned. “Or find out that he has some disease or, I don’t know, an asteroid could destroy the entire world.”

“Seriously? I’m voicing legit concern and you’re giving me the Armageddon line of reasoning?”

“We live in a world of unknowns,” she said. “You can’t spend your entire life thinking about the worst case scenarios.”

“How do you do it? How can you stand to watch Reid put his life at risk every time he starts up his bike?”

“Because I love him and he loves his job.”

“That simple, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

It was easy for my sister. She hadn’t lost the love of her life. I felt selfish even thinking it, but she didn’t really know what it was like for me. Sure, she saw how I was affected, but she didn’t feel it. She didn’t live through it.

“I don’t know,” I said before telling her good bye. “I guess I’ll just have to wait and see how I feel further down the line. I might be getting way ahead of myself anyway. I don’t even know what we are exactly.”

I kept telling myself that what we had was new and not supposed to be something that was causing me to think so much. Simple, he’d said and I agreed. The more time we spent together the less simple things were becoming. We barely knew each other, but it didn’t feel that way when we were together. Either way, it was hard to say if his job would even be an issue in the long run. He was leaps and bounds ahead of his PT schedule and telling me that he felt stronger every day. It wouldn’t be long before he was headed back home and riding his bike like nothing had even happened. I might be left back in Halstead without ever hearing another peep from him.

If love was what it was going to take to get me to support his work, then we still had miles to go. Mile and miles.

* * *

“Good morning, Mrs. Wilson,” I said to the middle-aged woman who was watching television from her hospital bed. It was my rotation in Cardiology. I usually loved this floor, but today was proving to be a challenge. Mrs. Wilson, for example, who was post-operation and apparently came off anesthesia with the side effect of being a grouch. She’d suffered a heart attack that needed repaired in surgery. I know she didn’t plan on having a heart attack and the recovery was not exactly pleasant, but her life had just been saved. Being gracious about her second chance on life seemed like a stretch for her. Staring death in the face hadn’t stopped her from trying to sneak a cigarette in the bathroom or stopped her trying to order food that was not on her doctor recommended list either.

Not one of the nurses had a nice thing to say about her. I could tell from the scowl on her face she was going to be less than pleasant for me, too.

“My lunch was cold.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I said, checking the readout from her monitors. Cold or not, I noticed that her entire tray was cleaned. “I can call down and have warm broth sent up if you’d like.”

“Doesn’t matter. It all tastes terrible,” she huffed.

“Couldn’t have been all that bad,” I said trying to remain positive despite how much she irritated me. “You ate most of it. Just think, only one more day and you can eat at home,” I told her. “I hope your husband is stocking up on heart healthy meals.”

That was not very nice, Georgia.

I don’t know if it was my conversation with my sister or the fact that I had only had a few hours of sleep the past few days, but I was not my usual chipper self. Brett’s words about having more fun kept running through my head. He had a point. I loved my job and school, but after spending time with him, I was starting to understand that I needed to balance my life out a little better.

Luckily, Mrs. Wilson hadn’t heard me. She was too busy rambling on about how cold the room was and how it had been hours since she’d been checked on.

“I cannot wait to go home.” I knew a few nurses that would be happy to see her wheeled out the door and off the floor. “At least at home, I can eat what I want.”

“How is your pain? Any discomfort?” I asked, ignoring her comment. I just wanted to get in and out of that room as fast as possible without seeming like I had no bedside manner. I checked her vitals and made sure that everything was as it was supposed to be.

“It’s manageable,” she said shortly.

“Okay then. Everything looks good, so I’ll leave you be,” I said with a smile. “Just hit the call button if you need anything.” She offered up a stiff nod and I placed her chart back in the holder at the foot of her bed. I walked out of her room and down to the nurses’ station. Mrs. Wilson was one of only three patients today and I’d made my rounds. I sat down and pulled out my cell phone.

Me: Any chance you’re available on Tuesday to help me over at Reid’s parents’ house? Moving trucks are coming.

I’d forgotten to ask him. Somewhere between dinner and making out it had slipped my mind.

Brett: Let me check my schedule. I’m pretty busy these days. ;-)

I snorted back a laugh, garnering a look from one of the other nursing students who was nose deep in the book from our Genetics & Molecular Therapeutics class. Clearly, she didn’t want my laughter interrupting her. I got it. That class was not a cakewalk. Just another thing I was not looking forward to. When I got off my shift at the hospital, I was looking at no less than four hours of studying for an exam. My day was not looking up.

“Sorry,” I said, turning in my chair to face away from her.

Me: That’d be fantastic if you could pencil me in.

Brett: I can do more than pencil you in.

Me: Did you mean for that to sound sexual?

Brett: Isn’t everything I say and do sexual?

Me: Good point.

Brett: Of course I’ll help you. Especially if that’s the only way to get to see you. You’re too busy.

Me: Tell me about it.

Brett would love to hear all about Mrs. Wilson and her bad attitude. He would make me see the humor in her grouchiness. At least he was a fairly easy patient.

I could still recall how the nursing staff had gushed about him from the moment he arrived.

“Brett Sallinger is here,” one of them had said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You know he’s a professional motocross rider, right? I wouldn’t mind being personally assigned to him.”

“Whatever he needs,” another one laughed. “He’s beyond hot.”

“One of the nurses that assisted with his surgery said he’s worth the effort. She snuck a peek under his gown while he was out,” Miss Hair Toss finished with a waggle of her eyebrows and held up her hands to signify the length of what the surgical nurse saw under his gown. I wasn’t surprised at the separation between her hands. Made sense, considering exactly how arrogant he was at times. At least he could back it up.

I’d tried to remain cool as I eavesdropped, but even back then before I really knew Brett, I was irritated. Their lack of professionalism was one thing, but talking about him like they actually had a chance was quite another. Maybe my subconscious knew there was something between us before the rest of me.

“I hear he only dates models,” I’d blurted out in an attempt to stop their conversation. It had worked. Both of them rolled their eyes and walked away from where I was standing. Guess I had been wrong about the model assumption. I was far from a supermodel and he was interested in me. The thought alone was enough to have me grinning back at my phone.

Brett: What are you doing tonight?

Me: Studying.

Brett: Boo.

Me: What are you doing tonight?

Brett: Not sure. Probably just sitting around being awesome.

Me: I might need a study break around 9.

Brett: Is this a booty call? I’m not that kind of guy, Georgia Bennett.

Me: Not a booty call. A booty text.

Brett: I’ll let you know if I have an opening. I need to check with my assistant.

I tried to think of something funny to respond, but before I had a chance my phone vibrated in my hand again. His wit was definitely faster than mine. When I looked down at the screen I realized it wasn’t Brett’s name on the screen.

Iris: Don’t forget about lunch on Sunday.

How could I forget? This was the second message that Iris had sent after I’d seen her at the grocery store. The last Sunday of every month she had a big dinner for her family after church. A big dinner that I’d been attending with Jamie since I was thirteen, and attended without Jamie since he’d died. At first it was nice to be surrounded by other people who loved him as much as I did, but the past few months, I’d dreaded it. It was always the same. Everyone was all happy and cheerful while we ate, but as soon as the dessert was served, Iris would pull out old photographs or something that she’d found of Jamie’s and thought I’d like to see or have. The mood shifted with everyone and it was like being sucked back into the day of his funeral.

I’d amassed a collection of his old sweatshirts and other odds and ends that she’d found when cleaning out a closet or the attic. How do you tell a mother who lost her child that you don’t want to spend the last Sunday of every month rehashing the memories of her son? I took each item she gave me and placed it in a box in my closet. It might have been therapeutic for her, but each reminder that I didn’t have him in my life only reopened the wound that I was trying so hard to close.

Me: Wouldn’t miss it.

I typed out my response and slipped my phone back into my pocket just as the call button lit up on for Room 459. Mrs. Wilson.

Perfect.