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“Aw, now you’re just trying to make me blush.”
I roll my eyes at his joke. “What branch did you serve in?”
“Marines, shit woman,” he growls when I stab the needle through his brow.
“I am perfectly capable of three stitches, big bad biker, and former servicemember.”
“You don’t exactly got a light touch, sweetheart.”
I laugh. “Yeah? Then why am I on the last stitch?”
“No shit?” His brows rise in surprise.
“Stop swearing in the house of the Lord,” I tell him with a smile because even though the man curses like a sailor, he’s not disrespectful about it. He’s just…himself.
“My bad, Letty. Sorry, Jesus.”
His words make me laugh outright, and I take a step back to examine my handiwork.
“I think you’re good, but you should probably have someone check out those ribs.”
“What ribs?”
I give him a poke, and he growls in pain. “Those ribs.”
“Wicked woman,” he says on a sigh. “Thank you for fixing me up.”
“No problem. Is there somewhere I can drop you off?” At his frown, I move to touch his midsection again because I couldn’t help myself. “Because clearly, you’ll have difficulty riding your motorcycle like this.”
“I’m fine,” he says and shakes his head.
“At least call someone to pick you up, Shades. What if the pain is too much and you fall over?”
“I’ll be fine.” He pushes off the pew and lets out a long breath. “I gotta go.”
He stomps his way back up the aisle and through the doors, and I’m left wondering if I imagined the last twenty minutes. Until I look down at the bloody cotton squares and gauzes, the torn packages, and the murky pink water.
Nope, not a dream.
Just a dangerously beautiful man too stubborn for his own good. Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.
A good reminder for myself as well, just in case I start weaving fairytales and fantasies starring the green-eyed biker.
