Page 114 of Forbidden Romeo

“No,” I say firmly, moving to unwrap his hands. “I’m Roisin, remember?”

I ignore the odd look the coach gives me and finish my task. “Can you stretch out your fingers for me?”

Jack obeys.

“Good; now, can you squeeze my fingers?”

I hold my hands up for him, and he gently weaves his fingers through mine and squeezes.

“That’s not what I meant,” I say, feeling the blush blossoming on my cheeks.

The two attendants reappear, and I snatch my hands away quickly. They must still see, since they drop everything they managed to gather at my feet and scurry away again.

I grab the flashlight from the pile and hold it up to Jack’s face. “Okay, look at me? Watch my finger.”

Surprisingly, he does so without a fuss. I don’t like his pupil dilation, but at least he’s able to follow my finger.

“You’re very pretty, you know that?” Jack says suddenly, and I realize he’s given up on my finger and is instead just staring shamelessly at my face.

I roll my eyes and glance up at the coach. “He has a concussion and maybe a cracked jaw. His breathing is concerning, too; I’m just hoping it’s just a broken rib.”

“And the graze?” He nods toward Jack’s chest.

“It needs disinfecting, but it should heal over time. If I can find some gauze in here, I’ll bandage it, but best to take it off when he gets home. Aspirin for the pain, then maybe some soothing gel after it’s had a chance to dry up. Then it’s just bedrest for a few days.”

The coach looks at me weirdly again, “But you’re going to do all that, right?”

Right. I’m his fiancé. “Yes, sorry, I was just… thinking out loud.”

“That’s my Roisin,” Jack says with a laugh. “The thinker.”

“Jesus,” I say, rummaging through the supplies until I find the rubbing alcohol. “I need to clean you up. You promise me you’re not going to move?”

“Scouts honor,” Jack replies with a mock salute.

The coach backs away from him slowly, but Jack thankfully stays still long enough for me to douse a towel in rubbing alcohol and press it into his graze.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he yelps, and the coach has to place a hand on his shoulder to keep him steady.

“I thought you were a tough guy?” I goad as I press into him again.

Pride effectively wounded, Jack shoos away the coach to hide his hiss of pain.

I look up at the other man. “Thank you. I can probably take it from here.”

“You sure?”

I nod, “If you see Padraic out there, tell him I’ll kill him.”

The coach chuckles humorlessly. “I like you, so I won’t.” He turns to Jack. “You do what she says, you hear?”

Jack makes a non-committal noise, and I say nothing until I hear the door close behind him.

“You’re a prize idiot, Jack Duffy,” I mutter, attacking him again with the towel.

He hisses out a breath. “Guess I deserve that.”

“You should have stayed down.”

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