“Mother freaker!” I hiss as I raise my foot and hop a little.
“Stay still, babe,” Connor orders. I lean against the counter and even grab a dishrag from the counter to get my gushing bloody toe under control. Connor turns from me and throws his clothes on the floor, keeping his jeans and stepping into them quickly. Funny how the pain of slicing open my toe seems to have disappeared as I stare at his ass. I feel like I’m like a horny teenage boy that just saw a girl’s nipple for the first time. What the hell is wrong with me? When he spins back around, his jeans are up, but unbuttoned, revealing that glorious V and the little bit of blonde hair that leads . . . down.
For the love of everything good and holy. Couldn’t he just be ugly? Why, why couldn’t he have been super ugly?
“Stay right there,” he says. “Put that towel over it, babe.”
Snapping to, I find my toe still bleeding all over the place and the dishtowel in my hand. I was too busy staring at him and forgot what I was doing. As I wrap my foot, Connor grabs the broom off the porch and starts sweeping the glass in a pile to the side. Then he drops the broom, letting it smack the ground and comes to me. He lifts me by my waist as if I weigh nothing and places me on the counter. “Let me look at it.” I move my hands and can’t help but hiss a little as he pulls the towel away. “Damn, Demi. This may need stitches,” he tsks.
“No, no stitches,” I insist. “There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom closet upstairs. Will you get it? We can just butterfly it.”
After he covers my toe, he heads upstairs and returns with the kit already rummaging through it. When he pulls out the peroxide, I shake my head. “Oh, hell no. That’s going to sting.”
“It won’t feel as bad as an infection,” he argues as he twists the cap off of the bottle. “Can you put your foot over the sink?”
Twisting around, I manage to get in the right position and prepare myself for the burn as I pull the now blood-stained dishtowel away. I’m expecting him to give me a countdown or something, but nope. He just pours it right on the cut, and I yelp a little.
“No warning, Connor?”
He chuckles a little as he leans down and blows softly on my toe. His lips have that perfect round shape, and I forget the sting when his gaze moves up and meets mine as he continues to soothe my cut. Why is my mouth so damn dry right now? “I didn’t want you to overthink it.”
“Thanks,” I say, dryly, earning a laugh from him. He walks over to the freezer and pulls out the small bottle of Jack Daniels I keep. I don’t drink it often, but every once in a while I enjoy it.
“Do you mind?”
“Help yourself,” I motion. “But give me a sip first.”
“Sure you haven’t had enough tonight?”
“I’m going to feel like ass tomorrow no matter what at his point. Might as well give it my all.” As I take a long swig and choke on it, he turns me and pulls a chair from the kitchen table, taking a seat and placing my foot in his lap.
“You’ll get blood on your jeans,” I point out as I try to pull my foot away, but his firm grip prevents it. Reaching up, he grabs the bottle from me as he holds my ankle with his other hand, taking a much longer swig than me.
“They’re just jeans, babe.”
He goes to work butterflying and bandaging my toe as I think about how he called me ‘babe.’ He takes his time, only breaking to take swigs from the Jack Daniels, and when he finishes he pats my leg.
“All better.” I eye my toe now wrapped in gauze and groan in embarrassment.
“Thank you so much. I feel like such an idiot.”
“It was my fault. I didn’t mean to scare you. There weren’t any towels in the bathroom, and I thought I could sneak back to my apartment in the dark without anyone seeing me. I figured you were already passed out. Sorry you had to witness the live nude show,” he laughs as he rubs his head with one hand.