Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Rush shouted. “Holy shit—”
“Fuck,” I hissed as one of the tools leaning out of the back of the guy’s truck bed scraped hard against my bicep. The skin on my arm seared with pain, and then got warm and wet. I was definitely bleeding.
“Boys? Boys? Are you okay out there? Holy mother of God,” I heard as Howie Rentford got out of the driver’s seat hobbled over to us. He was in his late seventies but still kept up doing odd-job landscaping around town, no matter how old he got. “Is that Shawn Wood? Gracious, I’m so sorry—”
“We’re okay, Howie,” I said, hissing a breath in through clenched teeth as I looked down at what was now a very bloody gash on my arm.
I realized I was also still holding Rush in my other arm. Very tightly, in fact.
“You okay?” I muttered to him, meeting his eyes.
“I’m good,” he said as I released him slowly. “Fuck, Shawn, I’m more worried about you. Let’s get you inside.”
“Hop in the passenger seat, I’ll take you to the hospital,” Howie said, running a hand across his white-grey hair.
I couldn’t help but laugh even though the pain. “Howie, it’s fine. I’ll clean it up and be fine in ten minutes. Just take it easy when you’re backing out, okay?”
“Gosh, I feel rotten,” Howie said. “Well, you know where I live if you have any problems, okay?”
“Sure thing,” I said. “I’ll be fine. I promise. Get home safe.”
Rush put his hand on the small of my back, ushering me inside. “Go. Go. Lucky for you, I just replaced the first aid kit a few days ago.”
We headed inside, where the brewery was loud and bustling already at seven o’clock. Nathan found Charlie sitting at the bar, but Rush barely even glanced over, much more focused on leading me back through the small kitchen to the back to the big, red and white first aid kit.
“Come here,” Rush said, pulling out a tiny plastic folding chair and smacking the seat. “Sit.”
“I’m really fine, Rush, I think I just need to rinse it off.”
“Sit, sit, sit,” he said, propping open the kit and reaching for an alcohol-soaked pad. “It’s either this or I pour straight vodka on your cut, and I think I know which one you’ll like better.”
I snorted, finally sitting down and holding out my arm. “Fine. Shit, you should see some of the gashes I’ve gotten on job sites. You’d probably want to pour a whole bottle of vodka on me sometimes. Eesh, that stings.”
“The sting means it’s working,” Rush said.
“Aren’t you supposed to clean off the blood first, then go for the alcohol pad?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe.”
“Rush, I’m fine, really—”
“Just let me help you out, okay?” he said, looking up at me. In an instant, it felt like he was pinning me to the chair with just his glance.
For some reason, my cock interpreted the look as something to start getting hard for.
Damn it, damn it, damn it. The man was just trying to clean my arm up, and something in my horny mind couldn’t help but find a way to get turned on by it.
“Yes. Sure. Thank you,” I managed to say, shifting on the chair.
He carefully wiped at the cut, focused intently. “I already feel bad enough that you had to jump in front of a car for my distracted ass.”
“I’d do it any day.”
He met my eyes for a moment, then focused on my arm again. “Little cotton pad, some gauze and a wrap, and you’ll be good as new.”
“Thank you, Doctor Rushing,” I said, trying to make a joke. But I really was thankful. “I’m used to just splashing some water on these things on the job and letting ‘em dry out on their own.”
“You did save my life, after all,” Rush said.
I puffed out a laugh. “I saved you from a bad bruise, at the most.”
“I prefer my bruises to come from fun things rather than being hit by cars,” he said, putting the first aid kit back on its shelf. “Come up front and I’ll pour you a beer. You won’t feel that cut in no time.”
He brushed a lock of my hair to the side gently, with his thumb, pausing to look at me for a moment before starting off toward the front of the bar again.
Christ, why did it have to feel so good to have his hands on me, even just from little gestures like that?
Either way, I knew I was going to have to get used to it. If we were going to be renovating almost his entire house, we were going to have to spend even more time around him.
Lots and lots and lots of time, in close quarters with him, drooling over his ass in those damn designer jeans. Or the way his freckles gave just a little bit of boyishness to his masculine look. Or the way his eyes made me want to spill my soul to him, and also drop to my knees and suck him off.