“So they think you may have Lyme Disease, Mr. Taylor?”
Daniel took in the breathy, Marilyn Monroe voice and felt his cock stir. Christ! She hadn’t even touched him and he was getting hard. What would happen when she stuck him? His face flushed as he envisioned a humiliating spontaneous emission. How the hell would he explain that?
“Mr. Taylor?”
Daniel realized he hadn’t answered. She was staring at him funny now. He had to speak.
“I…well, yes…they just, I mean, they think…actually it’s just a precaution.”
That was quite a mouthful, jackass.
“It’s probably not Lyme. These days they’re just super cautious. So many horror stories. But I'm not supposed to say that. So shh." She appraised him. “Mr. Taylor, are you nervous?”
She nestled her sweet ass on the arm of the ridiculous table they make you sit at to have your blood drawn. It looked, to Daniel, like an old fashioned school desk only with two arms instead of one.
His eyes found the round swell of one cheek inching precariously close to his bicep. If she touches me I’ll explode.
“No! Well…yes. I guess I am a little–nervous, that is.”
Daniel wished for all the world that he could simply shut the fuck up.
“Does having your blood drawn make you nervous? I mean, does it make you sick or light headed in any way?” She placed on perfect, alabaster hand on his forearm. Her face pure concern.
“No.” There he’d managed a one word sentence without stuttering. He’d never been more proud.
“Good. I have to ask because I’ve actually had some people faint on me. I need to know ahead of time so I can be prepared if you should become unconscious.”
With that she retrieved her little pink carrier from the counter by the door. It was loaded with vials, syringes, alcohol pads–the works.
Wheeling over to him on a rolling stool, she stared into his eyes.
“You sure you’re all right? You can tell me if it makes you sick. It’s not a manly thing. I had a two hundred and fifty pound linebacker in here last week who sobbed like a baby until I was finished. Once I was done he was fine.”
Daniel concentrated on her eyes. Blue–the color of faded denim. The same color as his favorite jeans. He took in her long, slender neck. The slight spattering of golden brown freckles across her collar bone. The swell of two spectacular breasts beneath her top.
I will not look when she sticks me. He felt confident in himself. He could abstain.
“I’m fine. Really.” He smiled at her as an odd calm settled over him. She was gorgeous. Focus on her…
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