Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love novel Chapter 191

Everything happened in the blink of an eye; neither Rosemary nor Hogan had time to react.

Maxwell locked eyes with her, his dark pupils reflecting her astonished face. Her raven-wing-like eyelashes brushed against his cheek, igniting the deepest desires within him. He tightened his grip, pulling her closer, their lips meeting in a fierce, consuming kiss that heated the cold air of the hospital room.

"Holy shit!" Hogan yanked Rosemary away from the bed by her arm and grabbed Maxwell by the collar, lifting him up from a lying position. "You —"

He was so furious he choked on his words, glaring at Maxwell with a ferocious look. Finally, he spat out, "Did you freaking slip the tongue or what?"

Dangling by his collar, Maxwell hung there without resistance, looking lazily back at Hogan. He seemed to be teetering between sobriety and drunkenness, completely unaware of the situation.

Hogan ground his teeth, his fists crackling. "I'm talking to you."

Maxwell's gaze finally sharpened a bit, and with a provocative smirk, he licked his lips. "What do you think?"

"Damn it," Hogan fumed, convinced that Maxwell was faking it. How else could it be so coincidental that Queena helps him and he faints, but Rosemary gets close and he not only wakes up but also makes a move? "Calling you a dog is an insult to dogs. I'm going to beat you to a pulp today!"

Hogan was so infuriated his hair was practically standing on end; no man could stomach this.

He swung his fist to smash it into Maxwell's face, but Rosemary's quick reflexes stopped him. "You're going to strangle him."

"I don't give a damn if he dies..." Though he said that, the interruption stopped his punch. Looking down at Maxwell from above, he saw the man's face turning red from the lack of oxygen, his shirt collar crumpled into a mess by Hogan's grip.

"He's just playing the pity card!"

Hogan's grip loosened slightly, and Maxwell frowned. His upper body, which had been suspended at a 45-degree angle, suddenly leaned forward, his head poking out of the bed...

The strong scent of alcohol overpowered the disinfectant in the room.

Hogan got spewed on.

Maxwell hadn't eaten dinner, so all he vomited was alcohol, still enough to disgust Hogan.

From the hem of his t-shirt to his pants, all were soaking wet against his body.

"Maxwell, tell me, did you do that on purpose?" Hogan was so upset he couldn't even breathe properly, having to hold his breath.

Seeing him standing there still having the mind to talk, Rosemary reached out to push him but then retracted her hand, opting for an inward palm wave instead.

She really didn't want to be disgusted by him, but couldn't bring herself to touch him. "I'll go get a hospital gown from the nurse. You better head to the shower, but be careful not to get your wound wet."

After saying that, she glanced at Maxwell, who had leaned back against the bedhead. He had been half-lidded but looked up when he felt her gaze, his lips slightly pursed, his eyes calm and dark, showing no signs of drunkenness.

It had to be said, accustomed to Maxwell's usual cold and venomous demeanor, he seemed rather docile just sitting there staring.

Rosemary clicked her tongue.

Apparently, the bar for human decency just keeps getting lower.

She turned to knock on the bathroom door, asking Hogan to hand her the mop. As for Maxwell, whatever, he couldn't stink her out.

After mopping twice and spraying some perfume, she finally managed to suppress the foul smell.

Just as Rosemary turned to leave, Maxwell grabbed her hand. "I haven't rinsed my mouth yet."

"Hogan is showering, wait for him to finish."

"I can't walk, my legs are weak."

Rosemary tried to pull her hand away but couldn't budge it, so she presented her grasped hand to him. "If you transfer half the strength from your hand to your legs, they'll firm up."

"Huh," Maxwell scoffed.

Silence lingered for over half a minute, then Maxwell mumbled something, but his voice was too low and blurred by drunkenness for her to catch clearly.

Hogan stormed out of the bathroom with steam rising from his body, glaring at Maxwell who made him feel like he still smelled despite scrubbing himself with soap three times.

Rosemary checked his back wound, noticing some parts got wet, so she pressed the bell for the nurse to come in and reapply the medicine. After all the hassle until past one in the morning, they finally settled down.

...

The next day, Rosemary was the first to wake up. She freshened up and headed downstairs for breakfast.

Not long after she left, Maxwell and Hogan both woke up, looking as haggard as each other with hangovers and lack of sleep, their brows furrowed in discomfort.

Hogan was still stewing over last night, and seeing Maxwell now, he couldn't help but feel animosity. "You lowlife scum, playing the drunk-kissing act."

Maxwell shot back sarcastically, "Just admit you're jealous, no one's going to look down on you for that."

He didn't really remember much from the night before, but judging by Hogan's look of a man who had his girl stolen, it wasn't hard to guess.

He was in high spirits; the hangover blues had faded a bunch.

Hogan was so riled up he shot up from the bed, whipped his head towards Maxwell's midsection, and sneered, "Jealous of you? Jealous 'cause your wife dumped you? Or 'cause you can't cut it in the sack?"

Last night, when he pulled Rosemary away, he accidentally caught a glimpse of Maxwell's crotch, and it was as flat as a pancake, no sign of life.

If you're not showing any physical reaction in a situation like that, it means you either can't get it up or you're just not that into her.

Maxwell's face turned stone-cold in an instant, ugly as sin...