He doesn’t look convinced. “My fans love my face just the way it is.”
“Ofcourse,they do. And in a couple of weeks, you won’t even have a bruise.” I manage not to glance at his leg. If he isn’t freaked out about broken bones, I’m definitely not drawing his attention to it.
He drops the towel and tentatively touches his face with a finger. “For real? I mean, you know about this kind of shit, Mac.”
I keep on smiling, even though my face aches. There’s no doubt the top consultants in the field are treating him, and they’d have reassured him right from the start that his facial injuries are superficial. But sure, if he wants to take the word of a not-quite-third-year med student over the best in the business, why not?
Twenty minutes later, I’ve managed to extract a promise from him that he won’t announce his imminent retirement on all platforms, and he’s prepared to give it a week or so to see how his face heals before making any long-term decisions. As I stand up to leave, he’s posting a photo on Instagram of his plastered leg.
If that’s not a sign he’s on the road to recovery, I don’t know what is. The tension constricting my chest eases, and I exhale a silent breath of relief.
Baz follows us out of the room. “Cheers, Mac. He’s not been this positive since he came ’round from the anesthetic.”
I can’t stop myself. “He does know he’ll be in a wheelchair for a couple of months, doesn’t he?”
Baz shrugs. “As long as his face is okay, he doesn’t care.”
“Keep us posted,” Will says.
“Sure. But I think it’s safe to say we won’t be pulling out of the fundraiser.”
Baz goes back into the room, and Will and I make our way along the corridor. We don’t speak, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. I sneak a sideways peek at him, which is probably not my best idea, as he’s so hot I hyperventilate.
Get a grip, Mac.
Once outside, I take a deep breath of the early September air and catch a grin on his face. “What’s so funny?”
“Girls think scars aresosexy.” He throws my words back at me. “Is that right?”
Yours are.
I didnotjust think that.
“Depends entirely on the guy and the scars.”
As we walk back to the car, he snorts with laughter. “I’ve never seen Jake as bad boy dangerous.”
No, but you are.
For fuck’s sake.Stop going there.
“You’d be surprised. His twelve-year-old fans think he’s a real hard arse.”
Will gives a disbelieving grunt. “Spare me.”
“At least he’s not still freaking out that he looks like Frankenstein’s monster.” Before I can stop myself, I bump his arm the way I used to. Except back then, it never sent electric shocks zapping through my body, or a needy throb between my thighs.
Talk about a bad move. I’ve no idea where to look, but since there’s no way he can possibly guess my hypothalamus ismassivelyflooding me with sex hormones, I brazen it out and continue smiling at him like a total twat.
I’ll tell him I’ll get the bus home.
…
Will
I’d forgotten how much I missed Mac’s easy teasing. We used to be good mates, and even when she turned eighteen and something shifted in the way I saw her, it didn’t change anything. Okay, so we might’ve flirted with each other, making it a game, but that’s all it ever was.
A game.
