Page 24 of Asystole

“Count out loud,” Chase says. “It lets others know where you are in the cycle in case they need to take over for any reason.”

“It’s just us,” I point out.

“But the whole point is to practice exactly what you’d do in the real world, isn’t it?” he argues.

“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty,” I say dutifully, pumping my arms against his chest.

“Good. Now, use your right hand to pinch my nose shut, and use your left hand to tilt my head back. That will open my airway and make the breaths more effective.”

I do as I’m instructed and huff the breaths into the space above his face.

“Slow them down just a little. They should each take a full second.”

“Why did you have to be shirtless for this?” I ask, giving away the fact that I’m distracted as hell.

“Because I’m not responding to your shitty skills, and someone just brought you an AED that you have to hook up to me,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

“I regret asking for your help,” I deadpan.

“Oh, come on. You’re doing great. Now where do the pads go?” he asks. He’s being totally professional, but I swear he’s enjoying this far too much.

“On your chest,” I say stupidly.

“Show me,” he commands.

I point to his very large, very well-defined pec.

“And the other?” he asks.

Shit. Where does the other pad go?

“Your back?”

Chase makes a sound like a buzzer.

“Brrrr. Wrong.”

I roll my eyes.

“The pads have fucking pictures. If I had the pads, I’d know,” I argue, getting mad at myself for being so flustered around him.

Seriously, I couldn’t get hard when Jack had my dick in his mouth, but Chase lying shirtless on my floor has my dick interested for the first time in forever?

Fuck. My. Life.

Chase props himself up on his elbows and levels me with a glare.

“What if the unit’s old and the pictures have rubbed off? What if there’s a pacemaker? What if you can’t access the right pec because there’s too much water or blood?”

“Jesus, man, I don’t know.”

“That’s why we’re starting with the basics. Now show me where the fucking pads go.”

Damn. It’s kind of hot seeing him get a little riled up.

“Here, and here?” I ask, pointing to his right pec and his right side.

“Here,” he says, grabbing my hand and pinning it to his right pec. “And here,” he adds, slapping my other hand against the left side of his ribcage.