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“You do seem happy. You seem content,” he says. “It’s something I never saw in you back then. That’s nice to see, Harlow.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to feel this way, to be honest.”
And as his smile widens, that feeling of gossamer wings brushing my insides returns with even more force than when I was nineteen except this time, it’s accompanied by a sultry warmth between my thighs. And as I feel myself growing uncomfortably wet, that schoolgirl crush I used to get whenever I saw Hunter evaporates and is replaced by a sense of womanly longing. It’s no longer a sweet and innocent crush I feel for him, but something visceral. Something raw.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
Images of straddling him in that bed and riding him hard until we’re both panting and shaking wildly from orgasms so powerful they leave us dizzy and breathless flash through my mind. It’s such a powerful image. I can practically feel his long, thick rod buried deep inside of me. I can practically hear our moans and feel my orgasm splitting me down the middle. I suddenly feel like a depraved sex addict. So… no. I wouldn’t exactly say I’m okay.
“I’m fine,” I lie through an awkward smile. “Anyway, I should probably get back to my rounds. I’m sure Marcy is wondering where the heck I am.”
“Sure. Yeah, of course. I unfortunately can’t deny other patients of your wonderfully warm and healing presence,” he says with that smile.
The pornographic montage flashing through my head is making my head spin so hard, I can’t think—let alone form—a coherent thought, so I simply offer him a smile and a pat on the shoulder as I hurry from the room. I need to get my head on straight before I get back to work. I’m sure Marcy is going to have a field day with this.
Before I do anything else, though, I need to change out of these dripping-wet panties.
5
HUNTER
I’ve been sitting in this goddamn bed all day, seeing that look on Harlow’s face when I asked her about Micah over and over and over again in my mind. And it’s not the hard anger etched into her otherwise soft, round face that’s bothering me. After the sort of acrimonious breakup she and Micah had, that’s to be expected. What’s bothering me and what I can’t get out of my head is seeing the unmistakable shine of fear and pain in her eyes when I brought up my son’s name.
Seeing that fear in her eyes tells me that Micah did something to her. Something awful. Something she can’t or won’t talk about. Something that still hurts her, even several years later. I know my kid. I know that he has zero motivation and has no real plan for his life. I know that all he wants to do is smoke, surf, and party with his friends. I try to tell myself he’s twenty-three, and that’s just how kids his age are. I keep hoping, however, that he’s going to wake up and realize he’s going nowhere and then do something to change that.
Aside from all that, I know Micah can be an asshole. He can be sarcastic. Vindictive. He has a horrible temper and is prone to saying some of the most fucked up things. God knows when he and I have gone at it, some really obnoxious, hateful shit has come flying out of his mouth. It’s like his default setting. Especially when he’s not getting his way about one thing or another. Micah can be rude and even cruel. He can be a bully. I know all this about my son and more.
I’ve learned to accept these things about Micah while continuing to hope that he changes. That he grows and becomes a better man. Until then, I’ll continue to weather that storm. I’ve got thick enough skin to deal with all the slings and arrows Micah throws my way. But the thought of him turning that acidic tongue and hateful temperament on a sweet, innocent girl like Harlow fills me with an irrational and uncontrollable rage that I don’t know what to do with.
“How long are you planning on milking this shit, LT?”
The voice pulls me out of my head, and I look up to see Darnell and a few of my men coming through the door. They’re all warm smiles and greetings. Most of the guys from the firehouse have stopped by in shifts over the last few days as they’ve had time to check up on me and make sure I’m doing all right. Most of them have smuggled in food, bourbon, or some other illicit contraband that would give my doctors fits.
“It’s good to see you assholes,” I say.
“You too, LT.”
That’s Daniels, the newest member of my truck company. He’s a good kid. Solid firefighter with great instincts and bigger balls than I think even I have. The kid isn’t afraid of anything. Ordonez, Mack, and of course, Darnell, stand at the foot of my bed, talking and laughing, regaling me with stories of calls they’ve been on while I’ve been laid up. It’s a reminder to me just how much I hate being stuck in this bed instead of out there on calls with my guys.
Laughing and joking with the guys is making me even more anxious to get the fuck out of here and get back to work. It’s only been a few days, but I’m really missing being at the firehouse. I miss the guys and the camaraderie. More than anything, I’m already missing that rush of adrenaline I get whenever the bells go off. It’s a high that’s better than any drug. There’s nothing even close to it.
“So, how much longer are they keeping you, LT?” Ordonez asks.
“Hopefully not much longer. I’m ready to go.”
“Better manage your expectations,” Darnell says. “You’re still going to need to be cleared for duty by the department doctors.”
“Like I can’t badger and berate them into clearing me. They’ll clear me just to get me out of their goddamn faces. I guarantee it.”
Laughter erupts all around me, but when the door opens again, the room falls instantly silent. The small crowd parts as Harlow makes her way over to the bed. Her cheeks are bright red, and she’s got her head down, doing her best to keep from making eye contact with the crew gathered in my room. All eyes are on her, though. She offers me a small, shy smile then looks down at the chart in her hand again, jotting down a couple of notes.
The air in the room is thick with a strained tension, the absolute silence making it awkward. I see the hungry, lustful looks on the faces of my guys as she does her thing, and it stabs me with a sharp lance of jealousy. I don’t like the way they look at her. Their gazes linger on her like they’re a pack of ravening dogs and she’s a juicy piece of meat they want to devour.
I clench my jaw. Harlow is so small and delicate that standing next to the guys makes me think of Little Red Riding Hood surrounded by a pack of big, bad wolves. It’s an image that only seems to be pissing me off even more than I already am.
“How is your pain level today?” she asks, her voice soft.
“It’s fine. Better every day,” I reply.
