Rev It Up (27 page)

“Not to me,” she swatted at his hands. “These things don’t happen to
me
.” Then she turned away and bolted into the bathroom, muttering something under her breath he didn’t quite catch.

He sighed when he heard the lid to the toilet slam up followed by the sound of her relieving herself. He wanted to tell her urinating after sex as a way to fight off pregnancy was just an old wives’ tale, but she worked in the medical field, so he figured she knew a lot more than he did about such things. Besides, if the last look on her face was anything to go by, she wasn’t in any mood to hear his helpful observations.

The sound of the toilet flushing was immediately followed by the hiss of the shower turning on.

Now he figured it was safe to venture forth.

Strolling into the bathroom, he found her bent over the tub, adjusting the temperature. The sight of her bare ass, all beautiful and heart-shaped, had his cock twitching.

Of course, the thing always had been stupidly optimistic.

He was fairly confident there’d be no more playtime tonight. And when she spun to glare at him, hands on hips, accusatory fire shooting from her eyes, he went from fairly confident to 100 percent certain.

“How old were those condoms?” she demanded, her full breasts jiggling slightly when she stuck out her chin.

“Um,” he scratched his head. “Two or three years, I think.”

“T-two or three
years!
” she sputtered. “And you thought it was okay to
use
them?”

“I wasn’t thinking at all at the time,” he admitted, taking a step toward her, but she only waved him off. “I guess I just assumed they were like Twinkies. Had a shelf life of, like, a thousand years or something.”

It was at that moment that her eyes zeroed in on the offending prophylactic still decorating his happily erect cock—Come on, she was standing there naked. There was nothing he could do about it. It was evolution. Woman plus naked equals erection—and now
she
was the one reaching for
him
.

“Why are you still wearing that useless thing? Just to tick me off? Get rid of it!”

“Okay, I—Hey! Ouch! I’ll do it!” He turned away from her very
un-
gentle hands and peeled away what was left of the condom.

When he turned back, she snatched it out of his hand and glared at it. He was surprised the thing didn’t burst into flames. Then she tossed it toward the trash like most guys toss a hand grenade before jumping into the shower and slamming the door closed behind her.

“Look,” he stood outside the semi-transparent glass. “What are the chances you’re pregnant? Where are you in your cycle?”

The door slid open with a snap. “I’m a week past my period, and I—”

“Okay. Okay, that’s good, right? You shouldn’t be ovulating, yet.”

“What the
hell
would you know about it!” she said, her face contorted with fear and something that looked very much like rage.

Was he missing something here? She
was
overreacting a bit, wasn’t she?

“Look, if you
are
pregnant, we’ll deal with it.”

She blinked and opened her mouth, then seemed to think better of whatever it was she about to say, because she slid the door shut in his face, mumbling something he couldn’t hear above the hiss of the shower.

He reached up to open the door when a snippet of music had him rethinking his move. “Uh, Shell? I think your phone is ringing.”

“It’s in my clutch,” she said in a tight voice.

“Clutch?”

“My purse, you big Neanderthal.”

Okay.
Obviously he
was
missing something here. Because in the space of about five minutes, he’d gone from
Jake, again
and
Jake, don’t stop
to
Jake, you big Neanderthal.
“Does that mean you want me to answer it?”

Once again the door snapped open, and she glared at him. “What do you think it means?”

He sighed and shook his head, completely flummoxed as to why this was all
his
fault, before he turned and strolled, er,
limped
back to the bedroom.

Ouch.

He cupped his abused dick in one hand while digging through her little purse with the other. When he located her iPhone, he saw Boss’s name on the screen and decided to answer it himself. “Yo,” he said, “what’s up?”

“Snake?” Boss’s voice was tight, and Jake’s instincts kicked into overdrive. He bent to grab his jeans.

“Yeah. What’s the problem?”

The next words out of Boss’s mouth had him cursing and scrambling into his jeans as he yelled for Shell to get her sweet ass out of the shower, double-time.

“That was Becky,” Frank said, pocketing his cell phone as he turned away from the gurgling water cooler plunked in the corner of the tidy waiting room at Northwestern Memorial Hospital. “She says she’s sorry she’s not here now, but Steady and Zoelner caught one of Johnny’s goons climbing to the roof of the bagel shop, and Ozzie had to maintain his post until after Rock arrived to question the guy. But Ozzie has finally schlepped his sorry ass—her words, not mine—back to the shop in order to act as her escort, and they should be arriving within the next half hour. In the meantime, she wants me to tell you she’s thinking of you and saying a prayer for Franklin.”

Michelle was glad the waiting room was empty save for her, Frank, and Jake, or else the occupants would’ve gotten an earful. Of course, they wouldn’t have understood the half of it.

“I know how much danger you guys are in,” she said, trying to hold back the tears burning behind her eyes. She didn’t want to add a hysterically sobbing woman to the list of things her brother was dealing with right now. “None of you should be here. You should be back at the shop taking care of business. Back at the shop where it’s safe.”

And they would be if she hadn’t taken it into her head to go on that stupid date. Which had led to Jake’s hotel room. Which had led to them making love. Which had led to her not being home when her son—

“A hospital is one of the safest places around, Shell,” her brother told her. “And the only
business
I want to be taking care of right now is my
family’s
business.”

Okay, and that did it.

“I’m never going to forgive myself,” she sobbed, shoving her fingers back through her hair before she remembered she hadn’t washed out the shampoo she’d applied right before Jake dragged her from the shower. Her head was beginning to dry into a crunchy, pasty mess.

Of course, that was the least of her worries.

Because her son, her life, her whole reason for living, was having emergency surgery.

Emergency surgery!

And she hadn’t been there to say good-bye before he was rushed in. She hadn’t been there to hold his little hand, or kiss his sweet face, or tell him everything would be okay because mommy was here. She hadn’t been there to comfort and console him when he was terrified and in pain.

And
why
hadn’t she been?

Oh, right, because she’d been screwing Jake Sommers blind, that’s why.

She’d been blissfully and willfully forgetting about everything except her need to finally assuage her own desire. In fact, she’d probably been in the middle of orgasm number two or three while Frank was rushing her boy to the hospital.

Selfish, selfish,
selfish!

What had she been thinking?

Or maybe, the better question would be, what had she been thinking with?

Certainly not her head.

“I shouldn’t have gone out on that date. I should’ve been there when he—” she hiccupped, a wash of fresh tears running into her hands when she pressed them over her eyes. It turned the pasty shampoo on her fingers into a sudsy mess which she wiped off on the hem of her skirt.

“Shell,” Frank whispered, coming to sit beside her on the stiff, blue sofa, squeezing her knee. “It’s not your fault. You haven’t been on a date in years. You were due. No one could’ve guessed Franklin would suddenly be struck with appendicitis.”

Appendicitis. The word sent horror streaking through her heart.

“Yeah, Shell,” Jake said from her other side, mirroring her brother’s movement and patting her opposite knee. “You couldn’t have foreseen this. These things happen and—”

She turned on him then. Grabbing his hand and nearly crushing his fingers. “These things happen?” she screeched. “Is that your answer for everything tonight!”

“I don’t…” he shook his head. “I mean—”

“Forget it,” she howled, once more burying her face in her hands.

And yes, she knew she was being unfair, taking out her rage and guilt and frustration on him when the blame rested solely on her shoulders. But she couldn’t help herself. If it weren’t for him, she’d have never gone out on that date in the first place. She’d have been home with her son. Where she belonged…

“Hey, Shell, it’s not Snake’s fault any more than it is yours.” Frank ran a hand over her head and grimaced, glancing at her more closely. “What have you got in your hair?”

She turned to ask what the heck that had to do with anything when a red-haired nurse in baby blue scrubs came to the door. “Michelle Carter?”

“That’s me,” she jumped up, her stomach sitting in her throat, disgorging all its acid until she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever be able to swallow correctly again.

“My name is Susan. I’m a nurse on Franklin’s surgical team and—”

“Well, then what are you doing out
here
?” she demanded, completely mortified, envisioning Franklin’s surgeon going,
scalpel…scalpel…scalpel?
And then looking around and finding Nurse Susan missing.

“Oh, I’m just observing,” Susan said, walking toward her. The nurse’s hot pink Crocs squeaked against the tile floor.

“Oh, good. So, how’s it going?” she asked anxiously. “Is it over so soon?”

“No,” Nurse Susan shook her head, pasting on that look all medical professionals perfected over time. The one that gave absolutely nothing away. “There’s been a slight complication.” At the expression of abject horror that passed over Michelle’s features, Susan of the pink Crocs quickly pressed on. “It’s nothing major. He just has a few adhesions. Those are connections to abdominal organs by thin fibrous tissue. It’s not totally uncommon, but it does complicate the surgery a bit. And in the off chance we’re going to need to transfuse, we were wondering if there was anyone in your family with Franklin’s blood type who’d like to donate. He’s AB negative. And as I’m sure you were told at his birth, that blood type is extremely rare. He could be transfused with A neg, B neg, or O, but an AB donor would be better. Again,” she said, “let me stress that the chances of us needing to do a transfusion are
incredibly
small.”

The more the nurse spoke, the dizzier Michelle became. But she grabbed on to the back of a chair, steadied herself, and concentrated on the question. “My blood type is A,” she said, raising a hand to one pounding temple. The air in her lungs burned like she was breathing kerosene. “What are you, Frank?” She turned toward her brother.

“I’m A, too.” He shook his head, his heavy brow furrowed with worry, which made her start to panic. Frank was a rock; he wasn’t supposed to get scared.

Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out.

Although that was a lot easier said than done. Her lungs were working overtime, but she couldn’t get enough oxygen.

“It’s not a problem,” the nurse assured them. “I just thought I’d check and—”

“I’m AB negative,” Jake piped up.

“Well,” the nurse craned her head around Michelle’s shoulder to see who’d spoken. “That’s fantastic! Are you the father?”

A fierce, shocking pain slammed through Michelle’s chest, and she plopped down on the chair she’d been using as a support. Bright lights flashed before her eyes.

“No,” Jake shook his head, pushing up from the waiting room sofa. “I’m just a friend.”

“Well, isn’t it lucky you were here then?” the nurse chirped, obviously pleased. “Are you willing to donate?”

“Of course,” Jake said, frowning when he passed her. “Hey, Shell, are you okay?”

She waved him on as Nurse Susan said, “Please come this way then Mr…”

“I’m Jake,” he said, casting Michelle one last worried glance before following the nurse toward the door. “Jake Sommers.”

“Well, Mr. Jake Sommers,” Nurse Susan crooned, obviously having already fallen victim to his dimples, “let’s go relieve you of some of that high octane liquid gold you’ve got running through your veins.”