Thirteen (Love by Numbers Book 4) (14 page)

I watch as Lilah’s eyes flair and her hand shoots out to stop the (wo)man mountain, walking away. “What did you just say?”

Glenda shakes her hand off and takes a step away, muttering “Townie idiots,” as she does.

I watch Lilah reach for her again, and I know I have to do something to stop this from escalating, but I’m still struggling to catch my breath, so I do what all men are good at when injured, I groan. Not just any normal groan, this is an epic ‘Im-about-to-die’ groan.

It does the trick and Lilah is soon leaning over me once more.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. Do you think I can help you up?”

She reaches down and offers me her hand, and I suck in a deep breath and let go of my nadgers long enough to grab it.

Using strength that I didn’t know I had, I slowly get to my knees, and then up onto my unsteady feet, but the urge to barf is still strong. I bet I’m that attractive green colour that I’ve seen other blokes go when they’ve taken a hit to their family allowance. I think my mother has that same shade in her downstairs toilet.

“Can you walk?” Lilah’s concern is written all over her face, from her furrowed brow, to her glassy eyes.

“Yeah, I think so. Let’s just… go slow, okay?”

My first step is met with rapturous applause and I look up to see all the families who witnessed my bout with Grunt, clapping and smiling at me. Some of the blokes are the same ‘downstairs toilet’ green colour that I probably am, but loads are smiling and giving me the thumbs up.

“That’ll be on YouTube within minutes. You’ll be an internet sensation.”

I can’t help the laugh that splutters from my lips, despite the pain that ricochets around my insides from the effort, “Cheers, Bunny Girl. You always know the right things to say.”

She fights a smile but replies, “What? I’ve never dated anyone famous before. It makes me all kinds of hot just thinking about it.”

My step falters, “Not funny when my Davidson has just burrowed it’s way through my body and is currently hiding behind my tonsils.”

She snorts, “Your Davidson?”

I glance up at the kids, now just a few feet away. “All men give their bits a nickname, even if they claim not to. Mine’s Davidson.”

“But your name is Harry?”

“But my middle name is David, and my Grandma always calls me Harry David, no matter what. So my pecker got shortened to Davidson.”

She mulls this over for a moment as if she’s trying to solve the riddle of the universe. I begin to strip slowly out of my overalls, making sure to avoid the area that is undoubtedly going to bruise like a bitch.

“Huh. In that case, I’m going to call my girl parts, ‘Chastity Belt’.”

I stop with one leg out and one leg in.

“Why would you call it that?”

She slowly begins to unfasten the poppers that cover her magnificent rack, and although she’s not doing it in a titillating fashion, it’s still hot. If I could get it up right now, that image would be enough.

“Because my middle name is Chastity.”

“Hmm, Lilah-Titty, that sounds a better name for your pus…”

“Did somebody call for first aid?” A male voice cuts me off, and we both swivel our heads in the direction of the newcomer.

I hobble over to sit on the bench, tossing the overalls in a basket by the gate.

“Just give me a bucket of ice, mate, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Ice? But I’m a first aider, not a caterer.”

I glance up at the tall, skinny bloke, who looks as unpractised in first aid as I do and give him a wry smile. “Nothing in that small box of yours is going to encourage my nuts to crawl their way out of my back passage, but some ice might stop them going black when they finally do.”

He winces and goes to grab his own jewels in sympathy. “I’ll go and get you that ice,” he nods and then scurries away, probably grateful that he didn’t have to take a look.

“Take me home, Delilah.” I push myself up to standing. “I want to sit in a cold bath for a few hours, until I can swallow without fear of being sick.”

“Want me to kiss your booboo and make it better?”

God bless my cock, it
tries,
it really does try to twitch at her words, but only manages to weakly wave a white flag and admit defeat.

“Rain check?”

She smiles sweetly at me, unaware that despite the worst injury of my life, I don’t regret it because I was here with her.

“Rain check,” she agrees with a nod. “Your turn to pick. I dare you to do better than the city farm.”

“Not fucking difficult, Bunny Girl. A warzone would be more fun and less dangerous.”

W
hen I last saw Harry, he had a jumbo bag of frozen peas wedged between his thighs. The useless first aid guy had stolen them from the kitchen, and Harry didn’t wait to get home before he’d wedged those suckers over his bruised bits.

What a
disaster.

Our first date, okay, third if you count the first two, and it couldn’t have gone more horribly. It was a complete and utter catastrophe, and I couldn’t apologise enough. Just over an hour after picking him up, I was dropping him back home, a broken man.

Bloody goats; they may look cute on the outside, but those are some seriously devious animals.

I got home, much earlier than expected and Nicola laughed her arse off when I told her the details. She said that it was a sign.

“You’re meant to be with this guy.” She said once she’d caught her breath from belly laughing for thirty minutes solid.

“It’s a sign that he should stay the hell away from me if that’s what you mean.”

“No, it’s more like a comedy of errors and you pair are the lead characters. The leading lady always gets her guy, so all these fuck ups are a good thing. You’ll see.”

I’d scoffed at her and called her crazy, never expecting to hear from him again.

Yet, here I am, the day after my operation, feeling sorry for myself and hating being stuck in the damn hospital again when my phone buzzes on the tray that hovers over the end of my bed.

I drag the whole thing towards me, half expecting it to be Nic, or my parents, letting me know what time they are visiting today, but it’s not. It’s him.

My heart skips a beat, and an actual smile stretches my mouth wide. A smile that feels quite foreign on my face, as I’ve been a right moody bitch from the second I arrived here.

How’s the R&R? Terrorised any of the other guests with your antics?

Yeah, I never did tell him that I was having an operation, not relaxing in the sun somewhere. The whole ‘Goat-gate’ thing happened, and there wasn’t an opportunity. Well, that’s the excuse I stuck to when Nic asked me if I’d come clean. It’s also the excuse I’ve used to convince myself.

You call it terrorising, I call it fun. Besides, it’s quiet here. No fun to be had. How are your… delicate parts?

You can type the word, it doesn’t bite. My BALLS are sore, and my COCK is bruised. Concise enough answer for you? Don’t keep beating yourself up about it, you were just naïve enough to think that goats are not the minions of Satan

He really does hate goats. I can’t say that I blame him, but I still believe they are cute and we just got unlucky.

Poor Harry. You should have taken me up on my nursemaid skills.

You offered a man, who had just had his junk smashed, by the way, to kiss his booboos better. Now, call me a wuss, but there isn’t a man alive that would have said yes at that precise moment in time.

Shame. I might never offer again.

Flirty texting is new, but fun. It beats waiting for Dr Anton to come and burst my bubble.

He’d rather get kissed when he’s fighting fit. He’s not looking his best right now. It wouldn’t be fair to show him off if he’s not in his prime, might upset the poor fella

Maybe I’ll wait until he’s dressed to impress.

Just had a chat with Davidson, he’s well up for that. He’s wondering if Lilah-Titty will be coming too?

Okay…

She’s named Chastity Belt for a reason.

Then I add quickly before he can reply,

Can we stop talking about our bits in the third person? It’s really not tickling any part of my fancy.

Got it. Always refer to your pussy as your… pussy. I can do that. So, when can I take you out next? It’s my turn to choose and I’m eager to blow your mind

“Good afternoon, Delilah. How are you feeling today? Has the pain in your stump decreased? Are you still feeling overly sore from the operation?”

Dr Anton enters my private room and strolls towards my bed with a chart in his hand. I shut down my messages and place my phone back on the tray in front of me.

“Well, Dr A, which question do you want me to answer first?” I sound like a petulant child, and I hate that I revert to this anytime I’m forced to have a prolonged stay.

Dr Anton doesn’t react; he just keeps checking the chart waiting for the correct response. He’s not one for playing games.

I rub my eyes with the heels of both hands and decide to grow up and play nice. “I’m bored. Yes, the pain seems to have decreased, but I’m still on the pain meds and yes, I still feel sore.”

He smiles at my response and makes me feel like an even bigger arse.

“Sorry for acting like a teenager. I’ll try and behave better I promise.”

He finally puts the chart down and begins to check the dressing on my stump.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say a teenager, I’d say more like the ten-year-old Delilah I remember.”

“Ten-year-old Lilah who decided to cut her hair like a punk princess and didn’t have access to hair dye so painted a stripe of fuchsia pink nail varnish in her fringe instead?” Nicola strolls into the room without greeting and walks right up next to Dr A so she can observe his exam.

Without blinking or looking away from my stump, Dr A replies, “That’s the one. Shame she also covered a couple of expensive pieces of equipment with that same nail varnish. Try explaining that to the board of directors.”

I huff at their joint trip down memory lane, but it’s half-hearted and more to cover up my smile at the recollection of that stunt and the trouble it got me in.

Once Dr A is happy with everything he’s seen, he leaves the room saying that he’ll send a nurse in to change my dressing. Nicola offers, of course, but he brushes her off stating something about hospital policy.

“Mum and Dad are on their way, but I wanted to get here before them because Wayne has been hanging around our building a lot since the run in you had with him the other day. I didn’t want to say in front of them because you know what Dad will do.”

I sit up straighter, jostling my sore leg and causing me to wince.

“Threaten to break his legs again? Yeah, good call on not letting them know. I don’t need to be bailing Dad out of jail because of my biggest mistake.”

“I do think you need to get a restraining order.”

My eyes snap to hers. She isn’t joking, her face is completely serious.

“He’s not a threat, Nic. I just need to get him to sign those papers. He’s probably just pissed off that he saw me with another man.”