Part 21 (1/2)
”Laney,” I start, but I don't finish.
It happens so fast. The alarms sound from the nurses' station outside the room. The monitors flash. And Maverick begins to shake. He spasms on the bed, his chest rising off the mattress, his arms flailing, his eyelids fluttering.
Laney rushes over, and nurses dart into the room.
”Stat page Dr. Santos.”
A nurse hurries out. Others read monitors, adjust the IVs, take Maverick's blood pressure.
”What's happening? What are you doing?” I glance up at the screens, then back to the nurses.
”We're increasing the IV solution. Checking his vitals.”
”He's convulsing! Oh G.o.d, what's wrong with him?”
”I'm sorry, but you'll need to wait outside. The doctor will come speak with you as soon as she can.”
I don't think. Fear takes hold in a splash of crimson, and I fling myself on top of my husband.
I'm not going anywhere. Not with Maverick like this.
Chapter 32.
Chicago, Illinois 11 months ago I haven't been around many newlyweds, and I certainly haven't been a part of their private talk, so I don't know if what we do is normal. Do most new wives name their husband's p.e.n.i.s? I named Maverick's d.i.c.k d.i.c.kerson and made the observation that though Maverick is most definitely male, his p.e.n.i.s is female.
”d.i.c.k has a hole. He doesn't have his own p.e.n.i.s,” I explain. ”Maybe d.i.c.kana would be a better name.”
”A p.e.n.i.s is a p.e.n.i.s. By definition it's male. And no, you are not naming him d.i.c.kana.”
”I think d.i.c.kana is a pretty name for a girl p.e.n.i.s.”
Maverick blinks his dark eyes, and I circle my arms around him. ”Do you have a better name?” I ask.
”How about Iron Man?”
”So your p.e.n.i.s is an arrogant p.r.i.c.k?”
”But he's hard as iron, and you like that.”
”d.i.c.k d.i.c.kerson is as hard as iron too. I know; I've checked.”
”Why does he even need a name?”
”Because I have to call it something.” I reach between us and unb.u.t.ton his jeans. Smiling up at him, I bat my eyes as I slip my hand down his boxers to find my prize. Maverick's eyes fall shut when I fold my fingers around him.
”Call it whatever you want just as long as you keep doing what you're doing.”
I'm smug at my win, but I keep ma.s.saging him because I haven't actually won anything until we collapse on the bed and he's inside me.
He grabs me at the back of the neck and our lips crash together. We kiss, tearing at each other's clothes when the doorbell rings. Maverick groans against my mouth. Gives me one last peck and lets go of me.
He races me to our front door. He's only half-dressed, wearing a pair of boxers, a T-s.h.i.+rt, and dress socks. I'm fully clothed, but with three b.u.t.tons of my blouse undone. I fumble to secure them as I chase after him.
”It's my turn!” I cry out.
He reaches the door first, of course. He spins around, desire still lighting his gaze. ”You talk with everyone who comes over. I just want to get rid of them and get back to getting you naked.”
The doorbell rings again.
”You could have ignored the door,” I point out, thinking I'm all clever and showing my cleverness by the smug look I'm giving him.
He returns it, and his is better than mine. It's the way the corner of his mouth draws up and only one eyebrow perks.
”Finley? If it's her, she'll stay out there, ringing the d.a.m.n doorbell until someone opens the door. I can't give you all of my good moves when the doorbell is ringing nonstop. Better to get rid of her now.”
He's right. She's done it before. Two weeks ago, when we returned home actually.
Ding-dong.
He reaches for the doork.n.o.b, his eyes not leaving mine. He pauses, his way of asking my permission, but I know him and he'll do what he wants with or without my consent.
”Good luck getting her to leave,” I say, crossing my arms.
”It'll be easier without you standing here. So”-he lowers his voice into a s.e.xy husk-”why don't you strip down and wait for me in bed?”
He slides his fingers down the center of my blouse, flicking open the top two b.u.t.tons. Our gazes lock.
I lift up on my tip toes and kiss him. ”Hurry up.”
He smacks my b.u.t.t. ”Oh, I will.”
He opens the door as I prance down the hallway, debating whether to slip into my carmine teddy or the black lacy one he likes. I'm pretty sure I'm going with black, when an unfamiliar voice stops me.
”Good evening,” a man greets Maverick from outside.
”Officer,” I hear Mav say, and I come back to his side. Maverick hooks an arm around me to push me back a little. ”What can I do for you?”
The police officer nods at me before he answers my husband. ”We received a call about a suspect in the area.” He shows us a picture. ”Do you recognize this man?”
Maverick and I both shake our heads. We've only lived here for two months, and we don't know anyone other than the elderly lady with blue hair next door.