Page 56 of Blindsided
Mac’s face contorts. “Aye, sure. I’ll be sure to address you like a lady when MY BLOODY SHAFT STOPS HEMORRAGING BLOOD!”
I roll my eyes. “Now you’re just being dramatic.”
And then…the weeping begins.
It’s hours later, and Mac is curled up in my bed in the foetal position, holding a bag of peas on his groin. He only cried for an hour after I drove him back to my flat. At first, I thought he was so mad he’d want to go back to his place. But he said he expected me to wait on him hand and foot for this egregious offence, so here I stand, at his bedside…just waiting for him to request a sponge bath at any moment.
Mac moans as he hands me his thawed peas.
I exhale. “Are we still in a fight? Or would you let me finally have a look at it?” I state with exasperation. “If it still hurts this much, I think we should take you to A&E or at least have Indie or Belle come over to look at it. They are doctors after all.”
“Enough people have seen my cock and balls today, thank you very much,” he harrumphs, draping his inked muscular arm over his face in true Mac dramatic fashion. “And we’re still in a fight.”
“What can I do to make this up to you?”
He shrugs and lowers his arm. “Just lay here and talk with me until I fall asleep.”
My face lightens instantly, and I can’t help but smile at the big, goofy idiot. I lower my head and kiss his forehead before taking the peas into the kitchen. I shut off all the lights and slip into bed beside him.
We’re lying on our sides facing each other when I say, “What do you want to talk about?”
He sighs heavily. “Remind me what your boobies look like. It’s been hours, and I’ve forgotten already.”
I hit him with an unamused stare. “If I show you my boobs, will you stop moping?”
He shrugs sadly.
I sit up and lift my nightgown, giving my breasts a hearty shake before lowering it and snuggling back under the covers.
He smiles like a kid on Christmas morning. “That was very thoughtful of you, Cookie.”
“I live to serve,” I repeat his words back to him.
His eyes drift down to my kitty cat night shirt. “How many kitty night shirts do you own? It’s alarming that I’ve never seen a repeat performance after this many sleepovers.”
I glance up at the ceiling as I attempt to count. “Maybe a dozen? Not sure. But this one has a mini cat-sized one to match.”
“You and Hercules have matching pyjamas?” Mac asks, his face lighting up with amusement. “My God, I have to see this. Where is the awful creature?”
I exhale heavily. “It doesn’t fit him. Plus-sized fashion clothing for cats isn’t really a thing.”
“It should be.”
“I know,” I state, my brows pinching together with that statement. “I’ve made him a couple of things myself, but whenever I dress Hercules in them, he just goes limp. It’s really funny. I actually started an Instagram profile for him, and it’s full of videos of him getting dressed up and keeling over.”
“Shut it.” Mac laughs and stares back at me. “How many followers do you have?”
“Sixty-four thousand!” I giggle. “It went kind of viral after my first post. I’ve never told anyone I run it, and no one I know ever sees Hercules to identify him.”
“That hilarious,” Mac states with a pleased smirk. “You should make more plus-sized cat clothes.”
“I’d love to,” I reply with a smile. “I have a whole notebook full of sketches for the cutest little outfits. I even have dog options drawn up too because, well, people love their chubby dogs. But I never have the time to sew for fun anymore.”
“You should make it a job then,” Mac says simply.
“What do you mean?”
“If you have the eye to design, then you should be doing more than just altering Sloan’s and Leslie’s creations.”
