“Take your pants off so we can fix the cut,” I tell him. I’m not going to take advantage of him. I just want to help.
“I didn’t think I’d be seen in my underwear today, Ashley.”
“Okay, well, you’ll get over it. You’re bleeding, Noah, come on. We can be professionals about this. Pretend I’m a nurse.”
“Pretending you’re a nurse is not going to help my situation,” he says, trying not to smirk. “Fine, professional. We can do that.” Noah stands from his chair and releases his belt, then lets his pants fall to the floor.
I clap my hand over my mouth, so I don’t laugh out loud because he’s wearing white Scooby Doo boxer briefs. “My pants aren’t see-through,” he says. “You’re supposed to be professional, like a nurse. Nurses don’t laugh at patients’ underwear.
“We all have our things,” I tell him, trying to compose myself while kneeling in front of him. I pull the tin of bandages down with me.
“Ashley if someone walks in right now—“
“They’d think I was breaking your rule,” I tell him.
Noah’s hands cup around his junk. “Stop it.” Back to the junk. It’s massive. That is a lot of junk. A lot.
“I’m just going to clean the wound up. I grab two alcohol wipes, one for my hand and one for his leg.”
After I clean my hands, I press the second wipe to his leg, feeling his muscles tighten around the area. “Oh, it’s not that bad. You’re just a bleeder.”
I take a little gauze and medical tape to fix him up. I run my hands across the tape to make sure it’s secure, feeling the muscles around his thigh. “Ashley,” he says. “You’re making this really hard.”
I glance up. “Making what—” Oh.
“I’m sorry!” I say, jumping up, pounding against his hardness with the top of my head.
“Argh,” he shouts.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry!” Noah drops back down into his chair, holding his groin with care. “Can I do anything?”
“You’ve already done so much,” he cries out.
I grab his pants from the ground and hold them up. “Here, here are your pants,” I offer.
“Yeah, I—I don’t know if I can put these back on. The pants are covered in blood and torn.”
“Do you have anything to change into?”
“I don't have another pair of pants here,” he says, choking a bit. “Could I beg you to go to my villa and grab a clean pair?”
“Oh, you want me—yeah, I can run home and grab you a clean pair of pants.” He wants me to go into his villa and rummage through his drawers.
“The keys are in the back pocket of the pants you’re holding,” he says.
I reach into the pocket that’s still warm from his butt cheeks and retrieve a key. “I’ll be right back,” I tell him.
“I’m not going anywhere. Trust me.”
“I’m so sorry, Noah.”
Well, today has turned out differently than I expected. I’ve injured a man, gave him a boner, and punched said boner with my head.
Once word gets out, none of those men will be talking to me again.
Chapter 17
The aftermathof stabbing my boss with a table-scraper wasn’t pretty. It turns out, Noah has a mild to moderate case of OCD, and his villa looks like no one lives inside of it. If he didn’t own and run a restaurant, I might consider the thought that he’s a drifter and doesn’t stick around in one place for too long. The rest of the afternoon was far less eventful than the earlier half, which is okay because God only knows what else would have happened if my string of luck continued to follow me around.
