Page 5 of A Very Cheeky Christmas

“You Maxine?”

I roll my eyes. “I just showed you my driver’s license.”

He stares blankly at me.

“Yes, I’m Maxine.”

He nods, says something to the phone, then presses a button that opens the arm so I can drive forward.

Now I'm really late. Let’s not forget the one leg and one shoe soaked through with coffee. For the first time in my life, I’m stressed about bills and I hate my job.

I sigh.

No, I don’t. I don't hate my job. I don't even really hate these people, even though they're all so damn beautiful. It's ridiculous.

Some of them are actually pretty sweet. Like Laura, one of our lead actresses. She, in particular, is so pretty, and genuinely sweet. It shouldn’t be the kind of thing that makes me suspicious, but it does. I was raised in this town. In a family that values beauty over just about anything except money.

It’s made me leery of people’s motives.

But you know what, it's okay. She's allowed to be pretty and sweet and successful. Even if it makes no sense to me.

Like, I don’t even understand how it can happen in this city. When you're that attractive and that successful, it tends to go to one’s head and you end up being an asshole.

I finally park my car and grab my bag. Because I don't have my badge, I can't get into any of the locked doors. So I have to bang on the main set door. Thankfully, someone lets me in and uses the master key to let me into my medic trailer out in the lot behind.

First order of business is changing out of these damn pants. I toe off my shoes, thankful they’re those ugly rubber clogs—don’t judge, they’re comfortable and a lot of doctors wear them. Also, they’re super easy to clean of bodily fluids, or in this case, coffee. I rinse my shoes off in my sink and set them on a towel to dry.

I’m halfway to the cabinet where I keep extra sets of scrubs when someone opens my trailer door. I freeze in my spot, then realize too late that I’m standing there in nothing but my shirt and panties.

Just in time for Andrew to duck in. He’s got his jeans unfastened and what looks like a blood spotted rag held to his back.

“Shit, what happened?”

He pauses when he sees me, those hazel eyes of his eating up my exposed skin. “Oh, sweet thing, of all the times for me to be injured. Look how sexy your fucking legs are.”

“No time for that,” I say. “Can you sit or do you need to lay face down? Whatever position is most comfortable, get into it over there and I’ll come take a look.” I walk over to the cabinet and grab the first pair of scrubs I can find. They’re light blue with baby koalas all over them. I don’t even remember buying them, but here we are.

I wash my hands, put on gloves and grab my kit, then go over to where Andrew is now, lying face down, bare ass up.

Jesus, take the wheel.

That is, hands down, the best ass I have ever laid my eyes on.

“I had a little accident on set and my bottom got injured,” he says.

“Move your hand so I can see what I’m dealing with here.” He does and I peel away the towel. “You know this injury is right at the top of your ass you didn’t have to take your pants completely off.”

“What fun would that be? Besides I’m the reigning Mr. Perfect Cheeks, five years running.”

“Do I even want to know what that is?” I shake my head and lean closer to the wound. “Never mind. I’m going to clean this out. Looks like you got nailed with a hole punch.”

He laughs. “Kinda. Mishap in set design and I got nailed. Or rather screwed.” He giggles this time.

Actually giggles. And I can’t help but laugh with him. “Are you drunk?”

“Someone gave me a Xanax; I think to keep me calm.”

“Were you panicking?”