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“Oh, now it’s ‘woman,’ is it? What happened to ‘sweetheart?’”
“I think I overestimated just how sweet you are.”
“You’re a real jerk. You know that?” She turned to glare at me over her shoulder. That was better. I felt a little steadier when she wasn’t so soft and…jiggly. Through clenched teeth, she hissed, “If you don’t start pulling these splinters out of my ass, you better believe I’ll bleed all over your passenger seat while you drive me to the hospital.”
A growl rumbled at the back of my throat. She harrumphed, facing forward again, her arms folded under her chin.
I tugged the towel over a couple of inches to cover that pesky dimple on her lower back, then got to work. The first few splinters were easy. Some of the larger ones just needed a little nudge to fall out. I made quick work of them, placing the shards of wood on a paper towel I draped beside her on the table.
Then came the hard work. The first of the truly tiny splinters made her stiffen when I had to scrape the top of it to get a grip on it with the tweezers. The second made a whimper escape her lips.
My ribs winched tighter at the sound. I set the tweezers down on the table, walked over to my kitchen cabinet, and retrieved my small first-aid kit and a top-shelf bottle of gin. I poured us each a shot in the smallest glasses I could find and offered her one.
“What is that?” she asked.
“Gin.”
“No, thank you. I don’t drink gin.” She brushed it aside, still lying on my dining table.
“Well, it’s all I got, and you’re going to need it.” I clinked my glass against hers. “Bottoms up.”
She rolled her eyes as I shot back the smooth liquor. Perhaps it would take the edge off my anticipation of tomorrow’s meeting with Charlie Washington Reeves, Esq. What kind of loser included his middle name in his email signature? Probably some stuffy, wrinkly, old-timey jerk who needed to retire so this town could finally enter the twenty-first century. He’d already denied every proposal I’d submitted thus far because he was a miserable geezer who was falling apart—just like this damn apartment building. I clenched my jaw at the thought. Never mind him. What went around, came around. I was sure he’d get his one day.
I cleared my throat, took hold of the splinter-extractor, and got back to work. Just as the lady asked, I gently pulled at the shards of hardwood flooring pinned to her soft ass. She stayed still, but the next one made her hiss.
“Sure you don’t want that liquid lidocaine?”
She turned back with a look, her knuckles white as they gripped the edge of the wood table. “I’m fine. Just get it over with.”
I made a noise of assent and turned back to her butt. One of the splinters was near that crease at the juncture of her thigh and the curve of her ass. I gripped her cheek and pulled the skin tight so I could get some purchase with my tweezers, trying to ignore the sight of her smooth skin clasped in my hand. She was so soft. Especially for someone with such a sharp tongue. It made me think there might be other parts of her I’d enjoy discovering.
Why had I worn sweatpants? My body was having all kinds of reactions to this situation that weren’t exactly neighborly. Clearing my throat, I grasped at something to say to distract myself from the task at hand. “I know it’s customary in a town like this to get to know your neighbors, but for future reference a simple hello and a fruit basket would’ve done the trick.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She was silent while I finally worked the splinter free, then said, “I was wondering when someone would move into this apartment. It’s been vacant for the last three months.”
“Can’t imagine why.”
She shifted her position on the table, squeezing her thighs together as she readjusted herself. I stood, averting my gaze while she got comfortable. Every time I stepped away from the focus of tweezers and splinters, I remembered that a beautiful, naked woman was splayed over my kitchen table. I couldn’t afford any distractions right now. Especially not the female kind.
Done with the first side, I shifted the towel over to reveal the second half of her rear. Sure enough, another dimple winked at me from just above her curves.
Maybe thirty days in this town wouldn’t be so bad.
“This table’s vintage. 1940s oak. Where did you get it?” she asked, as if attempting polite conversation to distract from her compromising position.
I turned back to her and tweezed at the shards of wood jabbed into her flank. These had to hurt, and all she did was stiffen ever so slightly once in a while. She was tough. Even tougher than she pretended to be.
“I don’t know,” I said, answering her question about the table. “The apartment came furnished. Table’s a piece of junk if you ask me. This whole place is about to get a makeover.”
“Are you planning to hire a decorator?”
“Something like that,” I said, careful with my words. This poor girl lived in that sorry excuse for an apartment upstairs. This was not the best time to tell her that she’d have to move soon.
“You almost done?”
“Almost. Hold still.” I pulled out the final two splinters, then opened the first-aid kit to retrieve some antiseptic wipes. “This might sting a little,” I said, then cleaned down the last of the dried blood on her skin. The woman didn’t even flinch, but I heard a quiet intake of breath. Tough as nails.
With one final swipe, I said, “There. Good as new.”
