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“Tell who?”
“Anyone,” she said. And, again, her lower lip was quivering.
“Cinna, they have to kn—“
“No,” she cut me off. “No,” she repeated more firmly.
“Cinna…”
“You can’t,” she said, voice cracking. “Promise me.”
I’d known Cinna for years. Nearing a decade. And she’d never asked me for, well, any fucking thing. She damn sure never asked me to promise her anything. Especially something as serious as lying to our boss.
“We’ll talk about it later,” I said, not wanting to argue about it when she was barely able to stand on her own two feet. “This is gonna suck,” I said, then started to press around her ribs. “How many times were you kicked?” I asked, my spit tasting like battery acid as the question conjured up images of that happening to her.
“Five? Six? I don’t know.”
Motherfuckers.
“Okay,” I said, voice calmer than I felt as I went for more ice packs and elastic bandages. “Just get your arms as out of the way as possible without passing out,” I said, wrapping around her until I ran out of bandage, then slipping an ice pack into each side before adding another layer of bandages.
They helped you not feel like you were going to black out if you turned a little too far or fast, but there was really not a fucking thing to do about bruised or busted ribs that could make them any less horrific.
I had to place an order for several reusable ice packs, so I could cool some while she wore others.
“Is this making it worse?” I asked, fingertip tapping the underwire of her bra. She damn near came out of her fucking skin. “Whoa, okay. Sorry. I… I shouldn’t have touched you without asking,” I said, wincing at her reaction.
The jumping at what was a chaste touch.
The rolled waistband…
“It’s okay,” she said, gaze lowered, embarrassed by her own reaction.
“I’ll ask from now on,” I assured her.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. Nothing about this is… fine,” I said, my jaw aching from the tension growing along it.
She ignored that.
“It is making it worse,” she admitted.
“What?”
“The wire. It’s… pressing.”
“This is where I would normally make a comment about how unnecessary it is to put these particular kids in carseats,” I said, watching as her lips twitched ever so slightly.
“I’ll take it off of you,” I offered.
I’d fantasized about removing Cinna’s bra more times than I felt comfortable admitting.
Somehow, though, as she turned her back to me, and my hands went to her clasps, there was nothing hot about it at all.
I unfastened the band, then slid the straps off her shoulders. She handled it from there, and I reached for her shoulders, turning her gently as I moved past her, letting her keep her modesty.
“I’ll grab you a top that zippers,” I told her, moving out of the bathroom, closing the door behind me, and taking a slow, deep breath.
