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Before I can confront anyone, I’m led to a nearby nurse’s station where Ava turns a screen our way.
On the screen is an X-ray that shows what one would expect: an image of a classically beautiful pelvis with a ghostly outline of the squirrel toy below a nicely shaped coccyx bone.
No wonder my parents always said I’m beautiful on the inside.
I catch the Impaler peering at the image with a deep frown, and I’m not sure how I should feel. On the one hand, he’s seeing inside me—which is another level of embarrassing. On the other hand, there’s definitely concern on his face, and even if it’s due to fear of liability, it’s still a sign that he kind of cares.
Still, I do wish he’d bought me a few dinners before I showed him my sacrum like this.
What are you saying? He can’t get you dinners. Boss squared, remember?
“In light of this, your plan should work,” Ava says to the Impaler.
I glare at her. “What plan?”
“The app.” He waves the phone. “I can guide the—”
My glare moves to him. “You’re not doing anything. If anyone’s using that app, it’s me.”
Face unreadable, he hands me the phone. Our fingers brush again, and I feel a jolt of sensation that goes straight down to my core, reminding me of the orgasms I experienced just a short while ago.
Ava clears her throat. “Let’s take you to your room.”
I grumble as they lead me there, but nobody listens to me. When we arrive, Ava tells me to go in first so I can put on a robe.
I lock eyes with the Impaler. “You’re staying out here—and that’s final.”
He inclines his head. “As you wish.”
With an eye roll, I go inside and change.
Ava comes in a few seconds later and gestures for me to lie down on the bed.
When I’m horizontal, she hands me a bedpan. “Good call asking him to wait outside,” she says, grinning hugely.
Muttering unintelligible curses, I put the bedpan under my rear end.
With a wink, Ava nods at the nearby defibrillator. “You think you’re going to make it?”
Ignoring her, I click the out button on the app and hold my breath.
The squirrel comes to life once more and slowly, almost anticlimactically, begins to back out of its hiding spot.
It doesn’t hurt at all, and if it weren’t for the indignity of it all, I might even find the associated sensations a little interesting.
There’s a moment of discomfort as the squirrel clears my opening, followed by a loud clang as the darn thing lands in the bedpan.
Giggling, Ava puts on a pair of latex gloves, snatches the bedpan, and dumps its contents into a biohazard bag.
“Seriously?” I ask.
She ceremoniously extends the bag to me. “When we remove bullets, we let people keep those too.”
I jump off the bed and take a few steps.
“Feeling spry?” she asks.
I grab the bag, toss it into a garbage disposal labeled “Biohazard,” and begin to change in sullen silence.
