Page 24 of Flint

Chapter 10 – Julianne

I

’m happy to say that I did nothing crazy in the last few hours. Sure, when Prospect came in, and Flint told him to go pick something up, I gave him my list of demands. One, a Diet Coke. Two, two cheeseburgers, a taco, and an apple pie. I’m not even embarrassed at the fact that I ate everything. Even stole some of the guys’ fries. Okay, just Flint’s. I kind of like poking at him, eager to see if he’ll poke back. Lately, he’s just letting me get away with it. Even moved the fry box closer to me and opened another ketchup just for me.

Nice for sure. But what’s his endgame? I mean, he was all for threatening me with death if I turn on his club, yet he still lets me have the last fry.

The boys chat for a few minutes, all private like. Okay, not so private since they’re in my house, and they keep looking over at me, making it pretty obvious it’s about me. I don’t let it get to me. Instead, I pull a blanket over me as I sit in the middle of the couch and prop my foot up. Once again, nice asshole comes to the rescue as he puts a bag of ice on my foot after taking it out of the boot thing. The swelling has gone down a bit, but the ice still feels nice.

After he’s done with his conversation with Gator, he sits beside me and snags the remote with very little protest on my part, which is just bizarre. Not like I know what’s good to watch anyway. And I think it’s about time I passed out.

Next thing I know, there’s an arm draped over me, and I’m snuggled nose deep into a leather vest. Smells amazing. Leather, pine, and a bit of cinnamon.

And as luck would have it, no drool. So, like I said, I’m perfectly awesome. Of course, I have no idea if I farted in my sleep, but I’m going to go with no, since the air still smells nice. Besides, wouldn’t the guy have pushed me off him if I did? I have to think that if he not only let me use him as a pillow but got comfy as well, that says something about our blooming friendship.

“Have a good catnap?”

I stop mid-lean up to blink through what he just said. “Hilarious. You’re a regular comic.”

“Yup, tell your friends. Every other Tuesday at the local bar.”

I shake my head at the bad joke as I sit fully up. “Laugh it up, fuzz ball.”

“Ha, maybe you should join me for open mic night.”

“Only if that means I get another Diet Coke. ’Cause that was yummy.”

“What is it with you and that drink?”

I shrug as I think it over. “Don’t know. Maybe it’s like the candy thing Bailey said. Denied it as a kid or something.”

“Well, come on. We’ll pick one up on the way.”

“Where we going?” I put the boot on, even though the swelling has mostly gone down. No reason to chance anything. I don’t have the best luck in the injury department, it seems.

“Hospital. General wants to run a few tests that he couldn’t do at the club.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, how fun. You get to see your brother, and I get to see my torturer. What fun we’ll have,” I snark.

His chuckle is a deep baritone that has my bones quaking in a 100 percent good way. Okay, so maybe friendship isn’t quite how I want our relationship to go. I’m willing to settle for the physical kind.

I snort at my own joke. Nothing about the man has a woman settling, at least not in the looks department. He isn’t bulky, but man, does he have muscles in all the right places that are yummy. His biceps alone are bitable. I leaned on his chest, and it wasn’t soft, ladies. Talking kink in the neck from lying on rock-hard steel. He isn’t wearing revealing clothes at all, but he fills out every inch of what he has on. Especially the jeans. And yeah, I’ve looked—a few times. I might have brain damage, but I ain’t stupid. A girl recognizes a fine ass when she sees one.

Doesn’t take long to get to the hospital, much to my dismay. Pretty sure I’m not the only person who’s anti-doctors. And now that I know a bit of my history, I get why I don’t like General. Well, that and the fact that he tortured me for a good hour before he gave me anything to numb some of the pain.

Probably might explain my attitude now—totally childish. Every time he talks, I suck on the straw to my drink. Heck yeah, we stopped for my delicious drink. Even got the extra-large one, not that it didn’t stop me from drinking almost all of it before we arrived. Now it’s completely empty, and I’m just doing it for that annoying sound that helps me drown out what he’s saying. I mean, I guess I should be listening. It’s about me and all that. But this is more fun, as the steam keeps coming out of his ears. He‘s all professional right now, stopping each time I do it, then starting up again, only to stop. I smile as I keep sucking, even winking at Flint. He’s holding up the wall behind General, shaking his head at my antics but smiling nonetheless.

“Hey!” I shout in protest as my drink is grabbed and tossed into the trash can like any pro athlete should be able to do. “Nice shot, but I wasn’t finished with that.” Okay, total lie. I was getting annoyed by the sound, too, but I’m not about to break before the big bad biker doctor.

“Yeah you were. Now, did you hear anything I just said?”

“Nope.” I smile as I pop the P, proud as fuck with myself for torturing him like this. Totally not the same, but eh, I’ll take what I can get.

He breathes deep, and I’ve got to admit, his bedside manner is a million times better now that there’s the possibility of witnesses around. “We’ll do X-rays first to make sure your ankle and shoulder are healing fine and nothing else is going on that I couldn’t find when I did my assessment this morning. Honestly, you’re lucky you didn’t come out worse than you did. We made that hill particularly dangerous to prevent an attack from that angle. Someone above was watching over you last night, that’s for sure. As for the amnesia, I’m going to talk to a few colleagues who specialize in that area, see what they want to do. Maybe run an MRI or a few other tests. So get comfy. You’re going to be here for a while.”

And then the torture begins. Again. Only this time, it’s death by boredom. I just get to lie here. I would walk someplace, if they didn’t insist on the wheelchair. They talked about me, but not to me. I’m a prop to be used and pushed and prodded into the positions they want. It’s fucking exhausting, and it does nothing. In the end, it’s a huge waste of time. So yeah, torture for nothing.

The shoulder is confirmed to be back in place but will probably be sore for another week or two, and I get to do some “fun” shoulder therapy too. I get a feeling I won’t be using that word while doing whatever the physical therapist throws at me.

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