Thirteen (Love by Numbers Book 4) by E.S. Carter Page A

bout with Grunt, clapping and smiling at me. Some of the blokes are the same ‘downstairs toilet’ green colour that I probably am, but loads are smiling and giving me the thumbs up.
    “That’ll be on YouTube within minutes. You’ll be an internet sensation.”
    I can’t help the laugh that splutters from my lips, despite the pain that ricochets around my insides from the effort, “Cheers, Bunny Girl. You always know the right things to say.”
    She fights a smile but replies, “What? I’ve never dated anyone famous before. It makes me all kinds of hot just thinking about it.”
    My step falters, “Not funny when my Davidson has just burrowed it’s way through my body and is currently hiding behind my tonsils.”
    She snorts, “Your Davidson?”
    I glance up at the kids, now just a few feet away. “All men give their bits a nickname, even if they claim not to. Mine’s Davidson.”
    “But your name is Harry?”
    “But my middle name is David, and my Grandma always calls me Harry David, no matter what. So my pecker got shortened to Davidson.”
    She mulls this over for a moment as if she’s trying to solve the riddle of the universe. I begin to strip slowly out of my overalls, making sure to avoid the area that is undoubtedly going to bruise like a bitch.
    “Huh. In that case, I’m going to call my girl parts, ‘Chastity Belt’.”
    I stop with one leg out and one leg in.
    “Why would you call it that?”
    She slowly begins to unfasten the poppers that cover her magnificent rack, and although she’s not doing it in a titillating fashion, it’s still hot. If I could get it up right now, that image would be enough.
    “Because my middle name is Chastity.”
    “Hmm, Lilah-Titty, that sounds a better name for your pus…”
    “Did somebody call for first aid?” A male voice cuts me off, and we both swivel our heads in the direction of the newcomer.
    I hobble over to sit on the bench, tossing the overalls in a basket by the gate.
    “Just give me a bucket of ice, mate, and I’ll be on my way.”
    “Ice? But I’m a first aider, not a caterer.”
    I glance up at the tall, skinny bloke, who looks as unpractised in first aid as I do and give him a wry smile. “Nothing in that small box of yours is going to encourage my nuts to crawl their way out of my back passage, but some ice might stop them going black when they finally do.”
    He winces and goes to grab his own jewels in sympathy. “I’ll go and get you that ice,” he nods and then scurries away, probably grateful that he didn’t have to take a look.
    “Take me home, Delilah.” I push myself up to standing. “I want to sit in a cold bath for a few hours, until I can swallow without fear of being sick.”
    “Want me to kiss your booboo and make it better?”
    God bless my cock, it tries, it really does try to twitch at her words, but only manages to weakly wave a white flag and admit defeat.
    “Rain check?”
    She smiles sweetly at me, unaware that despite the worst injury of my life, I don’t regret it because I was here with her.
    “Rain check,” she agrees with a nod. “Your turn to pick. I dare you to do better than the city farm.”
    “Not fucking difficult, Bunny Girl. A warzone would be more fun and less dangerous.”

 
    W hen I last saw Harry, he had a jumbo bag of frozen peas wedged between his thighs. The useless first aid guy had stolen them from the kitchen, and Harry didn’t wait to get home before he’d wedged those suckers over his bruised bits.
    What a disaster.
    Our first date, okay, third if you count the first two, and it couldn’t have gone more horribly. It was a complete and utter catastrophe, and I couldn’t apologise enough. Just over an hour after picking him up, I was dropping him back home, a broken man.
    Bloody goats; they may look cute on the outside, but those are some seriously devious animals.
    I got home, much earlier than expected and Nicola laughed her arse off when I told her the details. She said