“You’re hurting him.”
When she went to pull me away, Banks didn’t let me go.
“She’s not hurting me,” Banks said. “Please leave.”
The woman scoffed. “I can see the pain on your face.”
Banks’ smile went a tad bit ugly.
“You see the pain on my face because it’s seriously costing me a lot not to rip you a new one,” he said forcefully. “I do not like strange women touching me. I also don’t like it when you disregard my woman’s feelings.”
The female medic blinked.
“Mandee,” Check said, coming up with a couple of things in his hands. “Justen Jones is asking for that ice pack.”
Mandee narrowed her eyes.
Then she went to the things she’d dropped earlier in her haste to get to Banks, picked them up by bending over slowly, displaying her ass as she did, then went on about her business.
Check sighed.
“Sorry, Banks,” he grumbled as he put his own ice packs down. “She’s the boss and everything, but sometimes it seems like she’s one of those little girls who can’t seem to get her hormones in check. I’m blaming her recent divorce.”
Banks grunted something that sounded like ‘whatever.’ But without asking him to repeat it, which I wouldn’t since he was starting to look rather ill, I’d never know.
“You hurting?” Check asked, reading the same thing on his face that I was.
“Fuckin’ back hurts,” he said. “Not even my leg.”
Check laughed. “You’re not getting any younger, man. Not to mention you just fell off a bull.”
Banks sighed and repositioned himself on the table.
“I can throw some TENS on there, see if that’ll help loosen you up,” Check offered.
Banks agreed, and moments later Banks was on his belly with pads on his back and electrical impulses shooting into his back to help negate the pain.
He also had a couple of ice packs shoved underneath his thigh.
“I was really hoping to see you wearing tighty whities,” I found myself saying.
Banks turned his head on the table so that he could glare at me.
“What?” I smiled sweetly.
“Tighty whities are for the dumbass new recruits in the military, and old men. Neither of which I am,” he grumbled. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
I snickered as I moved so that I was sitting on the table next to his head.
He moved over to give me a little more room.
“I would’ve never expected a horse trailer to have this kind of a setup.” I found myself admiring the rather spacious area we’d been led to by Check.
Banks moved until his head was resting against my thigh, his hot breath felt like it was burning a hole through my jeans.
“Pretty cool,” he agreed. “But that’s something that a lot of money can get you. This horse trailer is sponsored by Wrangler and Band-Aid. Place is tricked out better than a goddamn clinic.”
I started absently running my fingers through Banks’ hair, and he started to groan, letting me know without words how much he was liking it.
“Harder,” he ordered. “Scratch with your nails.”
So, I did, scratching as hard as I dared.
His hair felt like silk between my fingers, and eventually, after a long, hard scratch, I went back to sifting my fingers through the silken locks.
“Your hair feels like a girl’s,” I found myself saying. “Feel mine.”
He grinned but didn’t open up his closed eyes.
I dropped my head so that my ponytail was trailing along his face.
He reached up and caught it with one hand, rubbing it between his fingers.
“It’s because I follow the directions on the conditioner bottle,” he mumbled, not letting my hair go.
I maneuvered my body so that I was curved around his, my ass hanging off of the table, but the rest of me hanging on fairly well. I played with his hair while he played with mine.
“There are actually directions on the conditioner bottle?” I wondered once I was settled.
He opened his eyes and his gaze stared directly into mine.
“Yep,” he snickered. “You gotta leave that shit in for like, three to four minutes. Then you gotta rinse. Did you know that some shampoos tell you to wash your hair twice?”
“No,” I admitted, grinning like a loon. “I did not. I can’t say the last time I read a bottle, though.”
“Do you remember way back when before cell phones, we had to read that shit while we… shit?” he asked, sounding amused.
I scrunched up my nose, thinking that this was definitely something normal people didn’t talk about.
But somehow, talking about shit really did seem natural when it came to Banks Valentine.
“I used to read the tampons box,” I admitted. “I learned all there was to know about toxic shock syndrome.”
He opened his eyes.
“What’s toxic shock syndrome?” he wondered.
“It happens when you leave a tampon in too long,” I told him, waiting for him to flinch. When he didn’t, I kept going. “It’s caused by a release of toxins due to an overgrowth of bacteria.”