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I scoff. “It’s honestly not that perceptive.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes really,” I mimic his voice. “You’re wound up tighter than a rubber band, the only question is when you’ll snap.”
One side of his mouth turns down a bit, and I’m not sure he likes me picking him apart like this. Not that I mean any offense, but he does seem terribly on edge. Besides, he asked.
“There’s nothing you like to do? For fun or to relax?” The look that flickers across his face does something to my insides, and my face heats.
“What?” He asks me.
“Hmm?” I don't know why I’m blushing. And worse, I don’t know how to stop.
He lets go of questioning the blush, which I think is him giving me a boon, but then he digs in and makes it so much worse.
Leaning forward, the tone of his voice lowers. “You want to know what I like to do?” I swallow hard, trying my best not to fidget or, god forbid, blush anymore. “What relaxes me?”
Trying to gain my composure, I look down at my hands, over towards the door, anywhere but him. I’m not even sure what’s happening, but I can tell he’s doing it on purpose and that makes me want to not react, or at least not react the way he expects me to.
“Yes, I do.” I look up from under my lashes, lifting my chin to gaze directly into his dark eyes.
I can tell that I’ve affected him somehow, because he’s staring at me so hard, he flinches when his phone rings. Painting on my own smirk, I gesture towards his phone. Are you going to answer that?
He stands up and my eyes go right to his crotch. If I weren’t such a scrawny, beaten, disgustingly dirty invalid, I might actually think that I see the faint outline of a semi. I’m sure it’s my imagination. Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop imagining it though.
After a few minutes of listening to the commanding tone of his voice as he talks on the phone, I gesture to the bathroom. “I’m going to use the restroom,” I mouth.
Still talking, he comes over to help me out of bed. As directed, I give myself a second after standing to make sure I don’t feel dizzy, but shoo his hands away when he tries to help.
“I’ve got this,” I whisper as I take one step, and then another, continuing to the bathroom like nothing ever happened. My steps are much easier than my last attempt. At least my brain remembers how to walk. When I make it across the room, I look over my shoulder to give Bennet a satisfied smirk, but he’s not looking at my face at all.
No, he’s looking straight at my bare naked ass. Because I’m still wearing this damned hospital gown and didn’t consider the fact that Nurse Irene literally covered my behind the last time I got up.
Trying to play it off, I lift an eyebrow at the fact that I just caught him staring at my ass, but I’m sure he doesn’t miss the fact that I’ve turned so red in the face I’m almost purple. Pulling the IV pole in with me, I close the door and spend some time with my back against the door and my face in my hands.
I’m so embarrassed. Mortified, actually. But I’m also extremely turned on, and I’m pretty sure there’s something wrong with me. Maybe it’s the drugs. Or the brain surgery. Or the fact that I’ve been stuck in a room with five incredibly hot strangers and now I’m actually alone with one of them. And he might be flirting with me, or is at the very least teasing me.
Get it together, headcase.None of these guys see you as anything other than a scrawny, pathetic charity case.
I avoid the mirror as much as possible. I don’t want to see my swollen face, the thick bandages around my head, or the discolored bruises that cover any visible skin not covered by bandages or the frumpy hospital gown. I supposed it could be worse, but there’s certainly nothing attractive about the way I look.
When I make it out of the bathroom, I’ve mostly pulled myself together. I try to walk out like nothing happened, having re-tied the gown properly, but Bennet is there with an extra hospital gown. I’m a little confused, but when he beckons me forward with a crook of his finger, I find myself walking right to him. I must be hearing things because I swear I think I hear him whisper “good girl” under his breath.
Damn, it’s hot in here.
Maybe I should have called the nurse after all.
Bennet carefully and gently helps me put the second gown on backwards, his fingers barely skimming across the back of my neck. He either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore the slight shiver that runs over my skin, carefully arranging the IV tubes.
He ties the gown loosely and says, “There, now even if the ties come undone, you’ll be covered.” Patting me gently on the bottom, he moves the blankets for me to get back in the bed.
What just happened?
I’m still looking at him a little warily, only slightly miffed that he got the upper hand again, but he pulls up a chair right next to me this time. Then he hands me his prized possession, his phone.
“Wait, what?”
“It’s a game,” he says, gesturing down to the phone, “It’s a puzzle game where you do different types of challenges that relate to math or physics. This level is matching up the tubes to get from one point to another, but it’s pretty hard.” I reach for the phone. “If you want to do some, I can start it over, the puzzles start out easy and then get harder as you go. I’ve been working on this one for days-”
