Page 12 of My Knight

“Why does your knee say ‘It’s Brit Bitch’?” he asked suddenly.

“Oh Jesus,” I muttered and covered my face with my hands. I peeked down at him between my fingers.

He tipped his head back and looked up at me, amused.

“It’s Brit-KNEE, bitch,” I corrected, my voice muffled through my fingers. “Brit. Knee. As in Britney Spears.”

Pirate raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing that’s from a song?”

“Yeah,” I said weakly. I had no idea if Pirate even knew who Britney Spears was. He seemed more like an AC/DC kind of guy. I had much more eclectic tastes. My playlist ranged from Britney Spears to Papa Roach and everything in between.

“It’s from a song… never mind.”

He laughed softly. “Okay. Not sure I get it, but as long as you like it.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Maybe a stick of butter with wings is more your style.”

He blinked, confused. “You have a stick of butter with wings tattooed on your body?”

Maybe I should’ve stopped while I was ahead.

“Yes,” I said like he was the one being weird. “It’s a Butter-Fly.”

He actually laughed, full and unguarded. I liked that sound more than I wanted to admit.

Pirate pulled my pants up the rest of the way, and his fingers brushed against the skin at my hips. The light touch sent a flicker of warmth through me, and I fought the urge to blush. Then he fastened the button, zipped the fly, and looked up at me.

“You’ll have to give me a tattoo tour.”

My stomach flipped. His voice was low and gravelly, and that little smirk of his was dangerous.

“Sure,” I whispered.

His gaze held mine. It was intense and unreadable. My breath caught in my throat.

“You need help with your shirt?” he asked.

“Um, I think I should be able to handle that,” I whispered and finally looked away.

He nodded. “I’ll pack up your toothbrush and stuff in the bathroom while you do that.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. As sweet and gentle as Pirate was being, there were some things I really wanted to do without an audience—like wrestle a hospital gown off my aching body and try not to pass out in the process.

Once he disappeared into the bathroom, I slowly peeled off the gown and tossed it to the foot of the bed. Thank God they hadn’t taken my bra off. That would’ve been a whole new level of awkward. I was going to have to figure out how to take it off later, but I could deal with that in the future.

Grunting softly, I grabbed the Nirvana shirt and started pulling the gown off. Every movement was an effort. The gown thankfully slipped off with some ease. Now it was time for the shirt.

My shoulders screamed. My ribs protested. I groaned and winced my way through it, but eventually, I got the shirt on and slumped forward, exhausted.

“Got it?” Pirate called from the bathroom.

“Got it,” I panted.

A moment later, he stepped out of the bathroom and took one look at me.

“Looks like you need a good ten-hour nap,” he chuckled.

“Make it twelve,” I muttered and leaned back on my hands.

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