“We’ll go back to your place after I finish the paperwork. You need to eat. You might as well do it at the station.”
“Your bossy attitude sucks. I don’t like this one bit.”
For some reason Matt heard that as I don’t like you. His stomach spasmed sharply. He rubbed it. Had to be hunger pains.
“You don’t have to like it. You just have to do what you’re told.”
With a growl, Jena picked up the huge bag she carted everywhere, called to Gordon that she was done for the day and stomped behind Matt to his car.
Women. They should come with a manual.
8
“Wake up, sleeping beauty.”
Grunt felt something prod his shoulder and struggled to open his eyes. It felt like he’d been beaten over the head with a baseball bat. He groaned loudly and the noise hurt his ears.
“Are you sure he’s okay?” That sounded like Joe. Where the hell was he? Why were his eyelids so heavy?
“Aye, he’s fine. Some people are like this when they have a head injury. They conk out and wake up when they feel a lot better. It’s not exactly normal, but it’s within parameters. I’m not worried.” The Scottish voice sounded more amused than worried.
“Okay, big guy, you need to get up and put some pants on.”
What the hell? Grunt forced his eyes open. Bright light bit at them. Joe’s grinning mug appeared in front of him.
“You’re in the doc’s office. You’ve got a concussion. Nothing serious. You’d need a brain for it to be serious.”
Grunt grunted, making Joe laugh. Pain in his ass. Grunt struggled to sit. It felt like his head was going to fall off.
“Pain,” said the Scottish guy. “I’ll give you a shot for that.”
Grunt wanted to lie back down and wake up after his day had improved. Instead he let Joe pull him to sitting. He looked down to find he was on a hospital bed, in a fully equipped examination room. He still wore his workout shirt. His shoes were gone and there was a sheet over his lap. He peeked under it.
“Where are my shorts?” His voice sounded like gravel under heavy boots.
Joe’s grin got wider. He folded his arms over a T-shirt that said “Mob Minder”. The guy’s sense of humour was going to get them killed.
“I don’t know how much you remember, buddy,” Joe said. “You went out for a run. Two chicks almost ran into you on a road at the edge of town. You hit your head jumping out of the way of their car. They bandaged you up.” Joe started to laugh. He held up a hand, signalling he was getting it under control. Grunt frowned, but it hurt his head, so he stopped. “They got you into their car and brought you here. Doc fixed you up and watched you overnight.”
“Why didn’t he call you?” His tongue felt furry. Did he eat dirt when he avoided the car?
“Here you go,” said a cheery voice.
Grunt turned towards it and found the red-headed doctor holding a large syringe.
“Hell no,” he croaked.
“Don’t be a big baby,” the guy said.
Before Grunt could stop him, the doc whipped down the back of the sheet and jabbed him in the ass. Grunt yelped and rubbed the spot. It hurt more than it should have. He strained to look over his shoulder to see why. It felt like there were bumps on his skin, cuts maybe. The doc followed his actions.
“Ah, about that. You have a scraped backside from the girls dragging you to their car.”
What the? He looked at Joe, who was trying hard not to laugh and failing miserably.
“Spill,” Grunt ordered.
Joe pinched the bridge of his nose as a grin escaped. “Your shorts slid off when they dragged you. They couldn’t get them up, so they took them off. Along with your shoes.”