Quit Bein' Ugly (The Southern Gentleman 3)

CHAPTER 6

As long as I have a vagina, you’ll never go hungry.

-Text from Carmichael to Croft

CROFT

Five minutes earlier

The nurse came in and shooed everyone out, including Karen and Carmichael.

Carmichael left way too easily, Karen, on the other hand, looked as if she was trudging through mud up to her knees on the way out.

The nurse fussed with my pillow, checked my blood pressure, took a look at my wound, and then said, “The doctor thinks that you can go home tonight. However, you will need to follow up with your primary care physician in seven to ten days to get these stitches checked. Also, you will need to watch the wound closely for signs of bleeding or an infection.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose with my free hand. The one that didn’t currently have a bullet hole in the arm connected to it.

“What’s the damage?” I finally asked. “What does he think on it? Can I resume regular daily activities?”

She removed the dressing and I looked down at it.

The shot went through the upper meat of my arm. It wasn’t hitting bone, but it definitely hadn’t just skimmed me, either.

“I think that with a week or so of rest you should be fine.” She pressed the skin around the bullet hole. “You were very lucky. If you follow this down just slightly, you get to the artery, and you wouldn’t be here right now.”

I looked at where she was pointing and was surprised to see that only about an inch or so separated my bullet hole from her finger.

I shivered.

“I didn’t really feel all that lucky until you just said that,” I admitted. “I’ll try not to be such a Debbie Downer now.”

She winked. “You’re allowed to be a Debbie Downer when you’re shot. At least, that’s what I hear.”

I snickered but quickly sobered when even that small movement made things hurt that should never hurt.

My eyes drooped as pain almost overtook me, but when I closed my eyes, I heard Carmichael’s voice, low and soft, in the hallway as she spoke with her brother.

I was so focused on her voice that the pain that I felt previously slowly lessened to more manageable levels, as if her voice was hypnotizing it away.

Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have her with me tonight.

And tomorrow.

Possibly all the days after that.

I was so engrossed in my thoughts of Carmichael and her in my house playing nurse, in a short white skirt and a tight little white top that showed off her perfect set of tits, that I didn’t realize that the nurse was going to touch my shoulder until pain once again shot through me.

“Ow,” I groaned.

“Sorry,” she said as she cleaned up some of my arm with an alcohol swab. “Go back to your happy place.”

“How do you know I was in a happy place?” I asked curiously.

My dick wasn’t hard, was it?

“You were smiling and you weren’t paying a lick of attention to me. I know when a man gets all dreamy-eyed over a girl,” she admitted.

Dreamy-eyed wasn’t even the least of what I felt for Carmichael Stone.

I think it was more like obsession.

If I could just get her to forgive me, that is.

I was thinking things through, wondering if there was a way to get her to listen to me grovel, when the greatest idea ever hit me.

“Do you think,” I said softly, “that you can get rid of that really thin blonde that was in here just a few minutes ago? Ask for Carmichael, the woman that looks like a doll, to come back? Also, when you come back in with my discharge papers, could you possibly maybe mention to me that I need someone to watch over me tonight?”

Her eyes swam with humor.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do that. Lying is against the rules,” she admitted.

I wrinkled my nose, knowing that she was probably right. I shouldn’t trick Carmichael. But just the idea of her going home to her house after what had happened to me today was downright terrifying.

“It’s not just what you think,” I admitted. “That woman had her house broken into last night by the same man that shot me today. I don’t want her alone, and she’s stubborn as they come.”

Her eyes took on an understanding that made me think that she just might do it.

“I can do that,” she said. “But only for one night. You’ll have to figure out the rest on your own after tomorrow.”

I held up my fist and said, “Fist bump.”

She snorted and bumped my fist with her own.

“You’ll need someone to drive you home anyway after the cocktail that I just gave you,” she admitted.

I hadn’t been aware that she’d given me one.

It must’ve been when I’d been dreaming of Carmichael that she’d done it. That, or I was just that fucked-up.