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“Saved by the bell,” Gibson mutters before rolling off of me. “Answer your phone. It could be the hospital.”
The hospital? Shit. I forgot about my uncle.
“I can go pick Uncle Mercury up,” I say after I hang up the phone.
“Let me get dressed and I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t need to drive me.”
“Mercy.” He palms my neck to draw me near and kisses my forehead. “I’m driving you. End of story.”
“Bossy.”
He growls. “You enjoy it when I’m bossy.”
“Whatever,” I grumble since he’s right. Gibson bossy in the bedroom is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.
“Get dressed. I’ll make coffee.”
He jumps out of bed. Stark naked. I watch as he roams around the bedroom. His body is a thing of beauty – all those lean muscles covered in ink.
“What do your tattoos mean?”
I’ve licked those tattoos, followed the outlines with my fingers, but I want to know what they mean. Gibson was too busy moaning to answer my questions about his ink last night.
He puts on his jeans before answering. “I’m not Dylan. There’s no deep meaning to my tattoos. Most of them I got after a night out with Jett.”
He slaps my ass. “Now, get moving. We need to pick up your uncle before he pisses off the entire hospital and gets banned.”
I snort. “You’re delirious if you think he hasn’t already pissed off the entire staff of the hospital.”
Fifteen minutes later we’re driving away from the house.
“I still don’t understand why we’re driving this thing instead of the Charger,” I complain as Gibson drives.
“This is roomier. And easier for Mercury to climb into.”
This being the Hummer Gibson borrowed from Fender. On top of an electric engine, it’s a big block I worry will tip over if we take a corner too fast.
But Gibson’s right. My uncle will have more room in here than the backseat of the Charger. Still. Being responsible is boring.
“I’ll park and meet you in his room,” Gibson says as he pulls up to the entrance of the hospital.
I lean over the console and kiss him. “Thanks.”
I jump out of the car and am nearly at Uncle Mercury’s room when I realize I kissed him in thanks without a second thought. I’m not usually a woman who gives out affection without thinking. What is Gibson doing to me?
“Finally!” Uncle Mercury shouts when I arrive at his room and my worries about Gibson and the possibility he’s a wizard fly out of my mind. “It’s about time you came back to spring me from jail.”
“Did you forget you kicked me out of your room yesterday?”
“I don’t need no one hovering over me.”
“I think you meant to say: Thank you, Mercy, for bringing me to the hospital and waiting while the doctors examined you.”
“Here we are,” a nurse says as she enters the room with a wheelchair.
Mercury scowls at the wheelchair. “I don’t need a wheelchair.”
