“Fucking hell, look at what’s happened! What were you doing when we crashed into you? Do either of you have any common sense? Any at all? Jesus-”
“We were dancing! Sor-ry, Dad. Is that a crime? Anyway for your information, it was a simple two-step swing that we had already completed several times before!”
He huffed, and, knowing Tink, he would have dramatically looked away and crossed his arms.
I chuckled to myself at Tink defending the roller skate dancing. What was he like? Feeling a little better, I broke the strained silence, eyes still closed. “At least we hadn’t progressed to the death-defying ‘head banger’,” I muttered dryly.
Hands stilled and voices came at me simultaneously.
“Tash?”
“Wil!”
I opened my eyes one lid at a time, my vision coming back to me quicker now. But I was still unconscious and dreaming. I had to be as I saw... I saw, well, a vision.
“Tud–, Tudor? Tudor North?” Was it really him? Tudor North? Moody, Tudor bloody North!
Giving a slow, disbelieving head-shake and that devastating lopsided smirk, he replied. “We need to stop meeting like this, Tash. How are you feeling?”
“Ugh! Like crap. My head is hurting… a lot,” I moaned.
My stomach started to flutter at his intense green gaze.
“Yeah, you really whacked it when we fell.”
“We?” I asked in confusion.
“Yes, we. When you took me out… with your dancing… on skates… in winter… on black ice. Yep," he pretended to think deeply. "I think that about sums the situation up," he said, a bit snippily.
“Great, more Tudor attitude. Just what I need!” Shit, did I say that out loud?
There was a sharp intake of breath above me, and then muffled giggling sounds coming from the left.
When I looked up, I saw Tudor scowling at someone, or several people, I couldn’t be sure.
Had I pulled in an audience? I couldn’t move my head to see. Tudor held it in a vice-like grip whilst straddling me, pinning down my body.
Yep folks, I often repeat that visual in my head too, you know, on cold and lonely nights.
He looked back into my eyes. His were sparkling, alight with humour. “Well it seems you’re feeling a little better.” Not a question, a statement.
“Yeah I think a little. Please can you help me up?”
He seemed worried; he had a line between his eyebrows that showed his concern.
Bloody hell, why was that sexy too?
“Hold on to me and I’ll sit you up. Slowly, eh?” he instructed.
I nodded lightly, grabbed his massive upper arms, and held on tight to the ripped pythons as he pulled me into a sitting position.
Ugh, nausea.
“You feel sick?” he grunted.
“Just a smidgen,” I whispered, trying to keep composure and not vomit all over him, whilst cringing about the fact that I must resemble the putrid green Wicked Witch of the West.
“I’ll sit behind you to prop you up until we can move you without you feeling queasy,” he announced, signalling to Tink and… yep, I thought so, Tate to keep me upright whilst he straightened only to lower himself behind me. At least the four of us were the only witnesses to this debacle.
He shuffled close to my back and put his legs on either side. He took my shoulders and gently brought me back flush to his chest. It was all warm and cosy, and it was taking all my effort not to cop a quick squeeze of the amazingly thick thighs keeping me wedged in position.
I wonder if they are tattooed too?
Tink was looking at me with concern, and I could see him glare at Tudor from time-to-time. What is he thinking? He looked suspicious for a moment until he caught my gaze watching his and quickly changed his demeanour.
“You feeling better, my battered sausage?” Tink asked, cupping my cheek and returning to his chirpy, happy-go-lucky self.
I smiled and confirmed a yes with my eyes.
“Tash? You need to get this bump on your head checked out,” stated Tudor, running his hands one by one over the top of my head. It felt heavenly.
I could feel his voice vibrating through me. Being so closely pushed together also enlightened me to the fact that Mr. North was huge… everywhere (wink wink!). That thought was definitely distracting me from the pain.
Tink looked over my head, I presumed at Tudor, and said, “I’ll be back soon, pork chops, okay?” and turned to Tate, smiling. “Tate, you want to come with?”
Tate looked thrilled, and they took off. It was silent for a while, and I relaxed further into the best bed ever: Tudor’s chest.