Page 148 of Damaged Protector

“The what?” I asked, confused and concerned by how he was acting.

“The spicy seasoning must still be on your lips and in your mouth. Now it’s all over my very sensitive cock.”

The realization hit me, and I gasped. “Oh shit!” Reaching for my phone, I turned on the flashlight and aimed it at his crotch to assess the situation.

“What’s wrong with my dick, Mal?” he whimpered, keeping his eyes on the road because traffic was whizzing around us.

I clapped my hand over my mouth in horror. “Oh my fucking god! Get to a hospital. Now.”

Two hours later, a doctor handed Hawk a tube of some kind of ointment and a sheet of instructions, promising that there would be no permanent damage to his penis.

“The steroid shot works fast, and the swelling is already way better than when you arrived,” he said kindly. The man had been completely professional throughout this ordeal, though I’m sure he was laughing on the inside. “Use an ice pack when you get home though, and call me if you have any more problems. You should be able to return to your regular…” he cleared his throat, and a slight smirk crossed his lips, “activities in a couple days.”

He left us alone in exam room three in the emergency department. “I’m so sorry,” I said as soon as he was gone. “Are you mad at me?”

Hawk reached for my hand. “No, Bee, I’m not mad. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was just an unfortunate circumstance.”

“Swelling your penis to almost twice its normal size would definitely fall under the heading of unfortunate.” I pressed my lips together. Now that the crisis had been averted, the ridiculousness of the situation was kicking in.

“Swear to god, if you laugh, you won’t be able to sit down for a week,” he growled, standing gingerly from the exam table.

Why is it that when someone tells you not to laugh, you’re overcome with the urge to do exactly that?

Turning my back, I covered my mouth with my hand but a snort still escaped. When I had composed myself, I pivoted around to find Hawk glaring at me.

“I heard that,” he said in an accusatory tone, though I could see the hint of a smile playing along his lips. “Let’s go before you cause any more trouble.”

I put his medicine and papers in my purse before linking my fingers with his and leading him slowly into the wide corridor.

Where we ran directly into Dr. Blaire Broxton.

Fuck a damn duck.

Her red hair was covered by a surgical cap, and she was wearing scrubs, obviously having just come out of surgery. Her green eyes widened in surprise at the sight of us.

“Hey, guys. What’s wrong?”

“Oh, um, nothing,” Hawk hedged.

“You looked like you were limping,” she said, tilting her head.

“I just… sprained my ankle,” he lied.

“Dammit, why didn’t you ask for me?” she reprimanded, turning to a computer in the cubby beside room three. “Let me look at your x-rays. They did take films, right?”

Her fingers clicked across the keys, and Hawk and I exchanged a panicked look. “Blaire, I’m fine. I’m just ready to get home and ice it. My ankle, I mean,” he added hastily, and I had that crazy urge to giggle again.

“I’m the orthopedic specialist,” she said, scrolling through what I assumed was Hawk’s chart. “I’d like to take a look and make sure you don’t need a follow up with me. Let’s see… today’s date…”

I could hear Hawk mumbling, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” under his breath, and I tried to think of something I could do to distract her but came up with nothing.

Blaire’s eyes scanned the screen, and we both saw the instant she realized that the visit was most assuredly not orthopedic in nature. Her spine stiffened, and she immediately logged off the computer before turning toward us with hot-pink spots blooming on her cheeks.

“Well, shit. Sorry about that.”

Hawk closed his eyes and heaved out a long breath. “Sorry I lied to you. I couldn’t think of anything else.”

She shook her head. “No, totally my fault. I shouldn’t have looked without your express permission. I just assumed you were hurt and probably underplaying it like you guys always do.”

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