“Sticks and dicks,” she offers.
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “That’s a terrible name for a strip club. I’m not sure I want to know what you’ll name a bakery.”
“Just you wait. I’ve been letting some ideas percolate.” She waves to the kitchen. “I know you’ve been waiting for me too. But I’ll check you out soon,” she says affectionately…to the stove.
It’s distractingly adorable that she’s talking to an appliance.
And I cannotget distracted, so I move past her, turning the corner into the bathroom. When I switch on the tap, nothing happens. It just spurts air. “See. I was right. No water.”
She pats the backpack. “I have hydrogen peroxide. And listen, tough guy, your back is covered in blood, and you’re not on the rink. Let me help.” Echoing my words from yesterday, she adds, “That work for you?”
I heave a sigh but relent. “Fine.”
I close the lid on the toilet and sit down, grumbling for good measure.
She squeezes my shoulder, and it feels better than a shoulder squeeze should. But I stay stoic as she says, “I know, I know. You’re so tough. Still, let’s clean you up. I get that you’re in love with your gray shirts but make like a Sticks and Dicks dancer and strip.”
Cracking up, I drag a hand down my face. “Mabel, you missed your calling. You really should open that strip club. Are you trying to tell me something? Is that what you really want us to do?” I reach for the hem of my shirt and peel it off, getting a good look at it. Shit. Itisstreaked in blood. That cat did a number on my back.
When I glance up, though, Mabel’s frozen. She hasn’t responded. She hasn’t fired back. Instead, her eyes are locked on me—my chest? No, it’s the abs she’s gawking at. Or could it be the biceps? Wait. Seems it’s the forearms now.
Well, how about that? Might as well help her out, give her a better look. Blowing a lazy breath, I sit a little taller, stretch my arms over my head, and give her a full view of whatever she wants.
Several seconds later, she seems to blink the fog out of her eyes, her voice a little gravelly as she says, “I’ll…um…so…”
This just got real interesting. Even though nothing can happen between us, my ego and I sure like knowing shewantssomething to. “Cat got your tongue?”
She lifts her chin, then scrunches her brow as if she’s trying to activate her brain cells. “Of course not. Just…turn around.”
I smother a smile as I shift so she’s got a full view of my back.
Her breath hitches again. I stop fighting my smile. What can I say? I have back muscles for days.
And a bit of a troublemaker streak. “Feel free to enjoy the view.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“You were the one who wanted me to be your star dancer. If you think about it, Sticks and Dicks isn’t a bad name if you have hockey players here,” I muse.
“Perfect. We’ll be a bakery that provides nighttime entertainment. Now, sit still.”
“I don’t think I was moving,” I say with a laugh.
“Then be quiet for a second.”
Glad she’s the one distracted now, I peer around as she roots in her bag for supplies, then opens a bottle of peroxide and dabs some on a cotton ball. She presses it to my back. It’s cool to the touch. Gently, she swipes it down. I fight off a wince. It’s just a sting from the peroxide. That’s all.
“That’s going to leave a scar,” she says.
“It’ll have good company,” I remark.
She pauses, then says, “Yeah, I see another one here.” She taps my other shoulder.
“Yup. And here.” I point to my abs, but she’s behind me.
As she leans over me to get a look, her hair tickles my shoulder. That feels too good.
“Where?” she asks.
