AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But Tommy is trying to push past them, eager to stand. That’s it. With shaking hands, I close the last few feet between us.
"Thomas Hillcrest, you lie still right now and let these men fix you!" My voice is shaky. I might be able to see that he’s fine, but for a second there, I let myself fear the worst.
Both the EMTs and Tommy turn to look at me, a silent moment passing before Tommy's sexy smirk is focused on me. "Relax, Til. I’m indestructible. You know that," he jokes.
I point a trembling finger at him, my anxiety giving way to a relieved smile. "You're an idiot. Sharks are gonna be up your ass if you don’t let them bandage this." That comment draws laughter from everyone and despite myself, I’m chuckling with them.
But like the good listener he is, Tommy stops his protesting and they get to work. As they pour distilled water on the slash, it continues to ooze blood. "This will need stitches," one of the EMTs declares, his partner nodding in agreement before speaking into his walkie. A stretcher is quickly brought over, but when the EMTs attempt to lift Tommy onto it, he holds out a hand to stop them.
"I'll walk or I won't go," he says. The EMTs, clearly not thrilled, step aside to let him stand but hand one of the towels to him. Tommy presses it to his face with a hiss.
“You’ll go or I’ll hide every single one of your surfboards all over the country,” I say. The threat is half-hearted and everyone around knows it but of course, Tommy’s brow furrows dramatically. “You wouldn’t,” he says like I just threatened to kill his favorite dog.
My chin lifts. “I would. Paint them too. Pink flowers, and scribble ‘surf like a girl’ all over it, too.”
He tilts his head back and laughs. “Well that sounds kinda awesome now. Surfing like a girl is sexy as hell.” He wiggles his bloody eyebrows. “Can I get that if I do go?”
My only response is to roll my eyes. Ugh, fuck him and his irresistible charm. He knows exactly what he’s doing by calling me out. Simultaneously, he’s calmed me down and managed to compliment me.
“Just get up,” I say, holding out my hand. He grabs it and gets to his feet. Once up, I let go but hover nearby, anxious to support him if he gets woozy. The ambulance isn't far, just twenty feet away in the dirt parking lot, but each step he takes sends a fresh wave of worry through me. The cut is deep, and the amount of blood pooling on the towel is not a good sign.
As he stepped up on the ambulance's bumper, the announcer calls out his name, informing the crowd he is off to get checked. At that, Tommy's blood-streaked face breaks into a wide grin, the kind that warns he's about to do something reckless. A preface to an idiotic decision. My stomach knots as I shake my head. With a shaking finger, I point at him, but his smile only widens.
"Tommy, don’t…" My warning is too late. With a defiant grip, he hoists himself onto the roof of the ambulance, raising his fist in triumph a few times to the cheering crowd. Despite my frustration at his antics, I can't help but smile along with them. So stupid, so cute. It's a dangerous combination for any person in his radius of charisma.
"Okay, Kelly Slater, can we fix your face now?" I call up to him.
He glances down at me, his face softening with affection, making my heart skip. Gracefully, he slides off the roof on his stomach and onto the stretcher inside the ambulance. "All right, boys, quit slacking off," he jokes as the EMTs give him a fresh towel.
One of the EMTs turns to me. "Miss, you comin'?"
Tommy props himself up on his elbows. "Yeah, Til, are you riding with me in this pimp mobile?"
I hesitate. It seems like something a girlfriend would do, or at least a friend that hasn’t been avoiding him for the past year. Gesturing with my thumb behind me, I say, "Someone's gotta take your car there."
Tommy waves the suggestion off. "Nah, we'll Uber back. Come on."
"Now or never, miss," urges the EMT.
“Fine, but no more being an attention whore,” I say. The EMTs all suppress a laugh but Tommy’s beaming. “Change everything about myself, got it,” he says with a wink.
I climb into the ambulance, the second EMT making room for me as the doors close behind us.
As the ambulance pulls away, Tommy holds out his hand. Looking at it, I feel a little foolish for all my earlier worry. Clearly, he is okay, but then he wiggles his fingers playfully. "I'm so hurt," he says, a tone of mock pain and sarcasm in his voice.
I laugh and slap his hand away. "You're loving this, aren't you?"
He nods, though a trace of disappointment flickered across his face. I wanted to reach out, to intertwine our fingers, especially seeing him hurt—it would've been a natural reaction. But to do so would mean more to me than perhaps to him, and I can’t bear that.
Grateful for the interruption, I watch as one of the EMTs pulls out a pair of fabric scissors and approaches Tommy. "Woah, what're you doing?" I blurt out, panic edging my voice. Seeing Tommy naked is NOT a good idea. No matter how hurt he’s pretending to be.
"We need to remove his wetsuit. He’ll get a CAT scan for a possible concussion. He'll have to change into a gown," the EMT explains.
"No way. This is a $600 custom suit. Tilly, help me out here," Tommy’s already sitting up, trying to grab the string attached to the zipper. I slap his hand away, unzipping it in a flash. His skin is shockingly cold, dotted with goosebumps. As I peel the neoprene from his broad shoulders, my thumb grazes his chilled skin, sending unexpected shivers catapulting through me. Despite the jolt of electricity, I focus on the task at hand. We manage to remove the wetsuit from his upper body, and I sit back, watching him attempt to stand for the rest.
The EMT insists he stays seated. Rolling his eyes, Tommy looks at me. "Til? I hate to ask, but could you...?"
I know he doesn’t wear anything under his wetsuit. His ridiculous Spiderman swim trunks are in the rental car back at the beach.
