“Then yeah.”
I stared at him.“Was I embarrassing?”
“That depends.”
“Oh God.”
“You told Britta she had beautiful elbows.”
I closed my eyes.“I did not.”
“You did.”
“Why would I say that?”
“No idea.”
“Were they?”
“Were they what?”
“Beautiful elbows?”
He was quiet for a second.Then he said, “I wasn’t looking at Britta’s elbows.”
My eyes opened again.He looked right at me.
My stomach did a slow, stupid little flip that had nothing to do with alcohol.I should’ve looked away.I should’ve made a joke.I should’ve pulled the blanket over my head and hidden until my pulse remembered how to act.
Instead, I just stared back.Then my head throbbed again, reminding me I was in no condition to flirt with a biker before coffee.I groaned and pressed the heel of my hand to my eye.“I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’ve seen dying.This isn’t it.”
“That was dark.”
“But true.You good?”
I shook my head carefully.“No, but I’m sure a pot of coffee will fix it.”
“I’ll get one going.”
“Bless you.”
He stood, and the bed shifted back into place.
“What are the plans for the day?”I asked.
Wheels moved toward the door, then looked back at me.“Twister wants to talk to you about some of the papers.”
I nodded, then immediately regretted it.“Ow.”
“Other than that, not much.Watching our backs.Waiting to hear from the guys.Making sure nobody does anything stupid.”
“So, basically your full-time job.”
