Page 8 of Not Made to Last

Dick.“Oh, I’m sorry.” My sarcasm is palpable. “Did I ruin your night of breaking and entering, burglary and debauchery?”

“Debauchery?” He laughs once. “And breaking and entering and burglary are the same thing.”

Of course he’s trying to outsmart me. “No, they’re not.”

“Yes, they are!” He pulls out his phone, taps it a few times, then reads aloud. “Burglary offenses are often referred to as breaking and entering or unlawful entry.”

I roll my eyes. “You were practically asking for this to happen.”

“You realize you hit me with your giant truck, right?” he almost yells.

I match his tone. “You realize I was going, like, two miles an hour. Right?”

He shakes his head, shouting, “You’re unbelievable!”

“Right back at ya!”

“What’s going on over here?” a man calls out, approaching us quickly. He’s in navy scrubs and a white coat, his credentials visible by the hospital-issued ID clipped to his breast pocket. Gripping the stethoscope around his neck, he stops only feet in front of us, his gaze shifting from me to Rhys, and back again. “You’re Mr. Garrett?” The doctor, a man close to retirement, asks.

Rhys slowly gets to his feet. “Rhys is fine, sir,” he states.

Doc heaves out a sigh, saying, “Well, I was told I had to come out and see you immediately.” Ah, so the Garrett name does work like magic, just as I thought it would. “Besides feeling the need to have a shouting match in the middle of the waiting room, what seems?—”

“We weren’t—” I attempt to interrupt, but Rhys cuts me off.

“I got hit by a car.”

I grimace.

“Did they stop?” the doctor asks.

Rhys istooquick to respond. “Nah, they bailed before I could get any info.”

The doctor looks Rhys up and down for any obvious signs of injury. “Where are you hurt?”

Rhys looks around the waiting room before a slow smirk creeps across his features. It’s so slight that I may be the only one to notice. Then, without warning or a second’s hesitation, he grasps the band of his sweatsandboxer shorts and pushes them down one side, past his hip, only stopping once he reaches the middle of his thigh. Clouds of red, green, and purple form over his skin, and I outwardly wince in response. And then I notice the other parts of him exposed: that smattering of hair again, the deep V that leads to the base of his?—

Girls behind me break out in giggles, and I force my eyes away.

Jesus. I said that out loud.Ah, shit.

“You like that, huh?” Rhys murmurs, and when I flick my gaze to his, his eyebrows are raised, his teeth showing with his cocky smile.

Flames of embarrassment lick across my flesh, up my neck, to the tips of my ears. And, of course, it’s not enough that I’m practically at eye level with forbidden dick, but now the doctor is inspecting his injuries and asking questions.

Lots of them.

For minutes that feel like hours, I sit ramrod straight, my heart racing, my blood simmering just beneath the surface. I stare at the ceiling as if Michaelangelo himself painted it. I don’t think I take a breath. Not one.

Completely normal reaction, I try to remind myself, again, only it’s getting harder and harder to believe.

Speaking of hard…

“You can pull your pants up now,” the doctor says.

Thank God.

Swear, the girls in the corner audibly groan in disappointment.

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