Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
I can’t even remember now how many times I messed with her like that. Or how many times I actually hurt myself that she was there to take care of me. We were such a team back then, and it’s starting to feel that way again.
“Jameson, slow down!” Iris cries out from behind me. I can hear actual concern in her voice as I slide into the bathroom, so I actually do. Time to stop messing with her as much as I have been.
I turn around and catch her in my arms and smile. “Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it looks, okay?”
“But you’re bleeding!”
“That’s all right–”
“No, it’s not all right!” she protests.
“Remember when I cut my hand when I was fixing your tube on your tire?” I ask her. “That wasn’t that bad, was it?”
Iris thinks for a second, and I watch as her pursed lips slowly relax and twist into a scolding frown. She nods and reaches out to pinch me.
“How could I ever forget?”
I smile and open the vanity and pull out some gauze and some alcohol and hand it to her. Still frowning, she takes it from me and sets it down on the sink and does her best to get me to turn around.
I could resist, of course. Iris is quite strong for a girl, but she’s still less than half my size. But it’s time I stop messing with her, so I go ahead and give in and let her spin me. But when she gets a look at my bloody back, she lets out a gasp—followed by a shriek—so loud that it nearly shatters the glass in my windows.
“Jameson! Look at your back!”
I wince at the cold sting as she pours alcohol all over the wound and then presses the gauze against it.
“It’s all right,” I reply. “It looks worse than it is.”
“Are you sure this doesn’t need stitches?” she asks.
“Why? You feel like stitching me up?” I reply.
“Oh God…” Iris’s voice is shaky and soft, but I feel her lift the gauze and glance in the mirror to see her examining it closely. “This looks like it’s going to take more than a Band-Aid, Jameson.”
“So you do want to stitch me up?” I ask.
“I don’t want to!” she replies quickly. “But I don’t want you bleeding to death either!”
“All right then.” I sigh deeply. “Go into the third room down the hall, open the second drawer on the left dresser and get the sewing kit and bring it in here.”
Iris glares at me in the mirror, her lips pursed as she holds the gauze against my back.
“You can’t be serious.”
I shrug. “It’s either that or we go spend hours at the emergency room. You remember how nice the emergency room is in this town, don’t you?”
I see a flicker of remembrance in her eyes—most likely as she recalls the time I had to take her there when she was freaking out about the huge scrape she had on her ankle from bailing off her bike. Despite the blood, despite Iris wailing in the waiting room, they still kept us waiting for an hour and then patched her up like we were settlers out in the 1800s Old West. I could have done a better job at home with soap, water, and an ace bandage.
“Fine,” she says, gritting her teeth. “Third drawer down?”
“Second.”
I smile and watch as she stomps out of the room. She’s so fucking cute, and her ass looks phenomenal in those jeans. I listen to her footsteps as they pad down the hall and into the other room, then grin to myself as I hear her yank open the drawer, shuffle through its contents until she finds what she’s looking for, then slam it shut.
Then I hear her steps coming back down the hall and I turn back around so I can be smiling at her when she enters. But Iris is in no mood to be messed with upon her return. She just glares at me and spins her index finger in the air and makes a little whistling noise with her lips.
“Oh, no,” she says. “Turn around, mister. And sit down on the edge of the tub.”
“On the edge of the tub?” I smile. Christ, she’s just too cute.
“Well, do you want to get blood all over the floor as I do this?” she asks. “As a matter of fact, you should take your pants off too.”
“I should?” I smirk sexily, reaching for my top button. “Or are you just trying to get me naked?”
That almost gets her. Her all-business face falters, but she manages to recover and glares at me with hard eyes.
“Don’t even try that with me, okay? I’m trying to save your pants from getting blood stains all over them. They’re probably Gucci or Prada or something, and I don’t know how to clean them for you.”