Page 112 of Fire

Hendrix is always a good-mood type of guy. Never one to sulk or bring down the temperature in the room, but lately he’s just been extra.

Extra happy.

Extra funny.

Extra horny.

Just when I thought our sex life couldn’t get any hotter, he’s finding ways to prove me wrong. Like last night, when he snuck into my clinic before the show, flipped the lock, and then fucked me hard and fast against the door. Or this morning, when he decided to play a game of let’s see how many orgasms we can give Zara before she passes out.

We got to five before I tapped out, and that is why I’m currently lying on the bed while he happily whistles to himself and struts around naked.

“Are you planning on getting dressed anytime today?”

“Says the woman still sprawled out on the bed.”

“Hey.” I point a finger at him. “I’m getting up. Eventually.”

“If you want to lie naked all day long, I’m okay with that. In fact, maybe I’ll join you. We could just call this Naked Wednesday. We’ll order room service, watch a movie, have some more sex. Then, rinse and repeat.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

His grin is so wide, it’s infectious. “I mean, who wouldn’t?”

I sit up, and I don’t miss the way his gaze lingers on my breasts. “And this wouldn’t have anything to do with the appointment we have with my friend today?”

He raises his eyebrows and pretends to be surprised. “Oh, that’s today?”

I tilt my head, looking unimpressed. His acting skills are subpar at best. “You know it is. You were there when he called and everything. Blasted me with at least a dozen questionsafterward on the exact type of relationship we had in med school. Jealous much?”

“Lost time, Cupid,” he says, the playful tone of his voice fading. “Lost time.”

“We’re making up for it now,” I remind him with a tender gaze. “And that means I’m going to take care of you. Even when you don’t want me to.”

“I just feel like we’re making a fuss over nothing, you know? My hand doesn’t even hurt. And it only ever happens when I play, so I doubt it’s serious.”

That’s what I’m worried about. But I don’t say anything for at least a heartbeat or two. I just smile and nod and try to project a positive attitude. “It’s still good to get it looked at. You never can be too careful.”

It must work, because his next words are, “Okay, but then Naked Wednesday?”

I smile. “Whatever you want.”

Clearly, luck was on Hendrix’s side that day because just as we were about to head to the clinic to meet Eric, my phone rang, and it was his office calling to reschedule.

He had an emergency appointment that morning and couldn’t meet us during his lunch hour as planned. Because of the discretion required for Hendrix’s appointment, we had to wait until Saturday to find another time when the office would be empty enough to sneak him in.

I feel bad that Eric has to come in during the weekend, but I guess he’s used to it. He does run a concierge-style clinic thatcaters to high-end clients who pay in full for his services, and I bet they are needy as fuck.

I suppose Hendrix is now one of them.

While we waited for Saturday to arrive, we spent our days being tourists in Seattle. We visited Pike Place Market and the Space Needle. We got caught in the rain and sought refuge in bookstores and quaint little coffee shops. He drank coffee, of course, while I sipped on chai. We took a ferry to Bainbridge Island and walked hand in hand along the beach.

It was perfect.

And the whole time, I tried not to think about this day.

But now that it’s here, my stomach is in my throat, and I’m trying to remind myself that it’s totally normal for musicians to experience pain in their hands.

Even my mom had to visit an orthopedist after a while.