“Get your needle ready,” he says, swapping the rag for the towel. “Give it a quick wash and then hold it under the lighter for a minute.”
This is ridiculous.Still, I do as he instructs me.
“Pink or green thread? Do you have a preference?” I ask.
“Pink.”
I look at him over my shoulder.
“Reminds me of you.”
I think I’m delirious from the stress and proximity of his half-naked body. “Pink it is.” I have no idea how much thread to use, so I take a long piece and ready the needle with it, then I grab the scissors and turn back to him. “This isn’t rated for body repairs, you know.”
“It’ll work.”
“You seem overly confident, if I’m being honest.”
He sits on the toilet seat and rests his arm on the towel spread across the vanity. It looks like his skin has popped open in a perfect line. I force a swallow, hoping the bile in my throat goes down and not up.
He takes a piece of tape and attaches it to one side of his arm. He grimaces as he tugs on it, closing the hole as best as he can. “Fuck.”
“If there are any bacteria in there, we’re going to trap them. And the scar … it’s not going to look good, Brooks, not to mention that the odds of this holding are minimal. There’s a lot to think about here.”
His chuckle fills the room. “Do you ever just do shit and think about it later?”
“Me? No.”
“I do. It keeps things interesting.” He blows out a breath. “Ready?”
“Oh, my stars.” I groan. “I mean, it’s your arm, I guess.” I start to touch him with the needle and then yank my hand back. “What about pain medicine? Or a shot of something? I’m sure Gray has tequila around here somewhere.”
Brooks licks his lips. “I can handle it. I’m a big boy.”
A shiver rips through me, sending a flurry of goose bumps across me like wildfire. It’s the perfect moment for a flirty comeback. Naturally, I’m speechless.
He stifles a laugh. “If you’re worried about bacteria, the longer it’s open, the better chance it has of getting infected.”
“Where do I start?” I ask, looking at the mess on his forearm. “This end seems a little less … ripped?”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, too. Start back here and work your way to the tape. I’ll take it off when you get to it.”
I scoot to the right to get a better angle. My hip presses into his side, and his face is level with my chest. I force a swallow and try to block that out. But every breath he takes ripples across me, pulling my attention right back to the wrong part of him.
“This needle is not the right one for this,” I say, touching him with the tip. My shoulders sag as his skin dips, and I look down at him, pleading for him to just go to the doctor. But he smiles with so much calmness, so much certainty that this is what he wants, that I give up.
We’re doing this.
“I’d like to mention that I never said I was a good seamstress,” I say.
He laughs. “Now’s a helluva time to make that known.”
The needle presses into his arm. He sucks in, barely a breath, but remains perfectly still.
“How deep should I go?” I whisper.
“Isn’t that my line?”
I bite my bottom lip, loading that innuendo into the back of my brain for later.
