But thisisgoing to hurt. So, to distract him, I give his right butt cheek a good squeeze at the same time that I pull the fork, wrenching the staple from him.
There’s a little howl then he turns to see me holding the staple up proudly. A patch of red spreads across the denim on his butt.
“Shit, you’re bleeding.” I glance around for tissues or something, then dash to his bathroom, grabbing a roll of toilet paper. I hand the paper to him and avert my gaze as he unzips his fly and slides his jeans down, pressing the toilet paper to the wound.
The tiny,tinywound. Talk about melodramatic.
“I’ve got antiseptic cream in the bathroom, can you grab it?”
“Oh no, do you think we’ll need to operate?” I say, eyes wide.
“Shut up.”
I chuckle and pop back into the bathroom, grabbing some antiseptic cream and a Band-Aid. Myles is still pressing the toilet paper to his butt when I’m back, and he gives me a sheepish look.
“Will you… Can you…”
“No way.”
“Please? I can’t reach properly. And let me remind you, this isyourfault. I’m the innocent victim here.”
I cringe, feeling a dart of guilt. Ugh, he’s right.
“Fine,” I mutter, unscrewing the cream.
He’s practically triumphant as he lowers his boxers over one ass cheek and turns around. I kneel down behind where he stands, but just as I’m about to put the cream on, the cocky bastard drops his boxers over both cheeks so that his butt is level with my face. I chew my lip, trying not to notice how smooth it is as I rub antiseptic cream into the olive skin. And I definitely don’t think about the fact that if he were to turn around at this moment, I would be facing alotmore than just his butt.
“There.” I place the Band-Aid on, resisting the urge to reach both hands up and squeeze his firm ass.
“Should I turn around while you’re down there?”
“Don’t even think about it, or I’ll staple your dick to the wall.”
He flinches visibly, pulling his boxers up. I stand, rubbing the rest of the cream into my hands as he goes and changes into a fresh pair of jeans.
“I’m really sorry, by the way. I didn’t mean to shoot you.”
“Whatever.” He strolls toward me with that confident grin back on his face. “You just wanted to touch my butt. I totally felt you give it a good squeeze.”
“That was to distract you from the pain. For a guy with such a massive tattoo, you don’t have a very good pain tolerance.”
“Or maybe I just wanted you to play nurse.” He winks as he grabs the fork and takes it back to the kitchen.
A giggle slides from my lips and I turn back to the ottoman, trying to deny the charge I feel in the air between us. I don’t know how, but everything has shifted, has turned sexual. It feels like every line is laced with innuendo, every look filled with meaning. And now that I’ve massaged cream into his butt, I’m not sure how to come back from that.
I finish off the ottoman while Myles hovers, scared, in the kitchen. When I’m done, he crosses the room and runs a hand over the smooth surface.
“It looks great, thank you. I love it.” He lowers himself onto the sofa, then kicks his feet up on the ottoman, resting his head back with a contented sigh. “Home sweet home.”
I smile, putting the staple-gun away. “So why did you live in a van, then? You said you were on the road?”
“I went through a bit of a phase where I didn’t want to be settled, didn’t want to stay put for too long, and being in a van was pretty sweet. It meant I could live wherever I wanted, pack up and go anytime—and I wasn’t paying rent. But I got sick of living like that, decided it was time to grow up. So I came back to the city, got this place.” He gestures around us with a smile. “Then your brother hired me and the rest is history.”
“And you like it at Bounce?”
“Yeah, it’s not bad. Easy money.”
“Plus you get to hit on women as much as you like.”
