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“I’m the new grape chewing gum?”
“Bubble gum.”
Emmy laughed then and turned away from him, picking up a first-aid kit so she could get a small optical flashlight. “You’re saying I’m your new bubble gum, then?”
“I still chew the gum. I’d say you’re more of…an additional item.”
She leaned against his legs and held h
is eyelids open while she shined the flashlight into each eye in turn, watching for the dilation of his pupils. Seeing the response she wanted, she remained in place against his legs but shut the flashlight off.
“That’s it, then?” Emmy tapped the flashlight on his knee, and he kicked in response. “I’m your new rabbit foot.”
Tucker put his hands on her waist and parted his legs so she fit between his thighs. “Are you okay with that?”
What did Emmy want him to say? It was love and he needed her, that she completed him somehow? Thinking he would say something like that would be insane a week into their relationship. If any man told her he loved her seven days into their secret affair, she would think he was nuts.
But for Emmy it was love. She’d started falling in love with Tucker the first moment he kissed her, and even though she’d fought against it, she hadn’t been able to. She had believed his consistent interest in her meant something, but maybe she really didn’t understand how men worked.
Maybe all she was was a good-luck charm.
Was she okay with that? Was sex enough?
Well…the sex was fucking phenomenal.
“All right, kid. As your good-luck charm, I’m going to have to insist you get an MRI and a clean bill of health before I can have sex with you again. Fair deal?”
“Brain scan for blowjobs.”
“You’re a real charming bastard some days, aren’t you?”
“Even with a head injury, I’m betting I could still get you out of your top.”
“MRI first. If you have a concussion, seeing my boobs would probably kill you.”
He put a hand on each of her breasts and gave them a testing squeeze. “You’re right. This alone is making me dizzy.”
“Because all the blood necessary to keep you from keeling over has now been redirected to your dick.”
“Can we schedule the MRI now? I’ve been told you have to keep me up all night, and it seems like you now have a reason to be in my hotel room after hours.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Tucker didn’t want to make a habit of hanging out with Emmy in hospitals, but so far it had only helped bring them closer. He was also hoping not to have to be one of the people in the hospital, but a line drive to the head had made that impossible to avoid.
Once the doctor had cleared him and given him a clean bill of health, he and Emmy took a cab back to the hotel, sitting in silence. She’d been a little off since he’d told her she was good luck for him.
Other girls he’d known would have been flattered by the sentiment, even considered it romantic, but he had a feeling Emmy wasn’t that kind of woman.
Could he really be held responsible for what he’d said when he was potentially concussed? He barely remembered what had happened leading up to the statement. He knew he’d been upset and reacting out of fear, and it had resulted in an abrupt change of topic to their relationship.
The truth was she was good luck, and he tried not to put too much stock in superstition, but it was undeniable things had been going well for the team since he and Emmy had gotten together, and he couldn’t overlook winning streaks. Luck was luck, and he was getting lucky on every front.
She unlocked his hotel door for him, holding it open so he could pass by her. Handing him his keycard, she turned to go.
“I thought you were going to spend the night,” he said.
“You heard the doctor. You’re fine.”
