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My cheeks warm at the thought. I know from dancing that he has an impressive…ah hem…anatomy. But seeing it now would be wrong. Mostly because I wouldn't be able to stop myself from taking a peek at what I've only briefly felt before. "Yeah, give me a second." I’m already reaching for a towel from the shelf behind me. I drape it over his lap before tugging at the wetsuit with all my strength. It peels off, and I toss it aside, exhaling heavily. Not from exertion, but from the idea of his naked body so close to me.
I sit back down, consciously avoiding his gaze, my eyes fixed on the ambulance ceiling. The thought of looking his way, risking a glance at the towel barely covering him, is too much. That doesn't stop him from looking at me. His gaze feels heated, and I know if I turn, I'll see that warmth in his eyes that means he's probably thinking the same thing I am.
"Tilly? You okay?" he asks, concern lacing his voice.
"Fine," I reply too quickly. He chuckles, letting the subject drop. As the ambulance pulls away from the beach, I don't look at him. I can't. At least not without being a complete pervert. Instead, I think through the things I need to do when I get back home. Tommy lets the quiet air settle while the EMTs make quick work of fastening a temporary bandage. Only a half hour, I think to myself, just keep it in your pants until then. But I don't know if I'm reminding myself or him. Either way, by the time we pull onto the highway, I know I'm completely fucked.
***
When we arrive forty minutes later, Tommy is quickly taken inside on a stretcher, leaving me behind. I watch, feeling a twinge of unease at our separation.
A nurse approaches me. "Miss?" she calls out. "We'll need this filled out. He said you could do it," she explains, handing me a form. I nod, though I'm puzzled why I'm the one to fill it out.
As Tommy disappears into the back, I sit down with the form. To my surprise, I know all the answers—his uncle's diabetes, his allergy to pine nuts, the appendectomy at sixteen. But I pause at the question about his sexual activity. Is Tommy seeing someone? Are they intimate?
Jealousy pierces me, but then another thought invades—imagining Tommy in ecstasy above me. The feel of his lips on me, kissing, caressing as I writhe beneath him. I feel a flush spread across my face and down my body, until finally, I have to use the clipboard to fan myself.
"Tilly Jacobs?" A nurse calls by the double doors. I stand, though the last name isn't the one that I was born with, but even so, I made it legally mine a decade ago. Responding to it has become instinctive.
"They're going to stitch him up and he asked for you. Right this way," the curvy nurse says, leading me behind a curtain. There's Tommy, lying on a hospital bed, a thin blanket draped over his lap. My eyes dart downwards before I can stop them, noticing an impressive bulge outlined in the fabric. I swallow hard and take a seat next to him. "Miss me?" Tommy asks, his smile disarmingly charming.
He's playing with me again and God help me, I love it. "Ew, no. I was busy filling out your memoir," I say, holding up the clipboard and waving it around. The nurse quickly snatches it from me, noting, "The social security number's missing." Tommy grabs the pen she offers and jots down the number right as the doctor walks in, looking utterly exhausted with greasy hair and bags under his eyes. Clearly, he's at the tail end of a long shift.
"Thomas Hillcrest, the surfing sensation. What’d you do this time, Tommy?" the doctor says with a shake of his head. Tommy briefly explains his battle with his surfboard fin as the doctor pokes and prods at it. Once the story is over, he sits back and scrutinizes Tommy. "And how are you feeling?"
Tommy's gaze locks on mine. "Better now," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes warmth pool in my stomach, daring me to believe he means more by it than just casual flirtation.
“Uh, that’s great. But I meant more like any nausea or double vision.”
“Oh, erm, no. It’s all good,” he says, his cheeks growing rosy. It's all I can do not to laugh at his embarrassment.
"Good! 'Cause this next part's gonna hurt," the doctor warns, picking up a large needle. "You might wanna distract him, miss."
Tommy extends his hand towards me, palm up, and this time, I don't hesitate to take it. When I do, I have to steady myself with a deep breath. Where our palms touch, electricity snaps and crackles between our skin. He lays his head back, taking a deep breath like I did, with a broad smile playing on his lips. "Do your worst, Doc. I'm ready."
But I'm not. I close my eyes, squeezing his hand tightly, unable to bear the thought of watching the needle pierce his skin or the stitches being threaded through his forehead.
After what feels like an eternity, I hear the clink of instruments on the tray. "All set. You can look now, miss," the doctor announces.
I open my eyes to see Tommy grinning at me. "So brave," he teases, his forehead now sporting seven neat stitches amid traces of dried blood.
The doctor stands, removing his gloves. "He's got a mild concussion. Shouldn't be left alone or drive.” Turning to me, he points a finger accusingly. “And absolutely no funny business. I know how you surfers like your whip-its and whiskey.”
I bite back a laugh just as Tommy mouths, ‘whip-its?’ Yeah, I have no idea either but clearly, Tommy is supposed to avoid them. The doctor nods as we both promise to avoid anything below board. The doctor walks out letting us know that the nurse will be by shortly with discharge papers.
Left alone, our hands still intertwined, I want to say something, anything to break the spell this whole day has put on us. But I don't do anything except remain silent and enjoy the tingles from where we're connected. Tommy's thumb gently strokes mine in a comforting motion before he takes a deep breath. "Thanks for coming, Tilly."
In that moment, with our hands linked and his gratitude hanging in the air, I feel an overwhelming mix of desire, affection, and something deeper I'm hesitant to name.
"No problem," I say, a lightness in my voice that I don't fully feel. Tommy starts laughing, and curiosity gets the better of me. "What's so funny?" I ask.
"Just the thought of us here, holding hands in a hospital. If someone had suggested this would happen even yesterday, I would've said they were crazy.” I laugh too, but it's brief, and I let go of his hand. He looks down, his lips turning toward the ground. "I didn’t say I didn’t like it," he adds.
My heart skips a beat at his words, but I resist the urge to reach for his hand again. "You like me being here?"
"Til, I’ve missed you like crazy," he confesses. Those words, so straightforward and sincere, send my heart racing. Our eyes lock and again, I see something written on his face that makes my chest squeeze. I'm still processing his admission when my phone rings, pulling me back to reality. It's Sam.
I tilt my screen so he can see, and he motions for me to answer. "Tilly, oh my God," Sam's voice comes through, panicked. She yells for Greg before continuing, "I got your message this morning and then your phone was dead so we rushed back. I show up at your place and find it all messed up! What the hell happened to your couch? Or your room?" Oof. I forgot about that message. I must have sounded more upset than I realized if she ended her babymoon early. Guilt courses through me as I pinch the bridge of my nose. That call was a mistake. Especially since my phone died sometime in the middle of the night. Thank God Tommy had a charger in his rental.
