Page 25 of Wardrobe Malfunction

“I brought you something.” She reaches into her oversized bag and pulls out a parcel wrapped in brown paper along with an envelope.

She hands the envelope over.

I open it and pull out what appears to be a homemade card.

It is a homemade card. A little old-style film camera, a clapper board, and the Hollywood sign—all made out of different fabrics—are glued to the front, and written in glittery gold pen at the top…

“Get West Soon.” I lift my eyes and brows at her.

“It was a play on well and your name, West. I thought it sounded cute at the time, but…yeah, it’s pretty lame…” She trails off, looking at her feet.

It’s not lame. It is actually kind of cute.

I’m being a dick.

“You made this?” I ask.

Her cheeks turn pink, and she smiles. She has a great smile. It lights up her whole face.

“Yeah. I like to make things. Clothes mainly. But I like to make cards; it’s more personal than buying one, you know.”

I wouldn’t know. I haven’t bought a card in years. It’s not like I can pop out to the shops to get one. Not without a bodyguard at the very least. Alex always buys them for me.

“Is that for me as well?” I gesture to the package she’s still holding in her hands.

“Oh, yeah. It’s…well, it’s just something I made. I thought it might help, but you don’t have to use it. And I’m sorry about the paper. It was all I could get.” She hands it over.

I put the card and envelope down on the sofa and unwrap the package.

Staring down at the unidentifiable black object in my hand, I toss the wrapping paper onto the sofa behind me. “Um…what is it?”

“It’s a sling for groin injuries. I got the design off the Internet. See”—she steps closer and takes it from me—“this part goes around your hips.” She demonstrates against herself. “And, well…this is a little bit different than the usual straps used for groin injuries, but I made a, um…well, a part for your…” She points in the direction of my dick. “And a pouch for your…balls…to support the injured one. And I also put in an inner pouch that has a cooling gel pack in it, which, of course, you can change out.”

I’m staring at her, mouth open.

She made me a cock warmer.

I’m in shock. And kind of turned on right now.

I know. I’m a sick bastard.

“And I made it extra large, you know, just in case,” she says, handing it back to me.

Taking it, I blink a few times and stare down at it.

The waistband part is made of soft elastic, and the cock part is made of a soft, stretchy material, kind of like Lycra.

This woman, whom I’ve known for less than a day, who stabbed me in the ball sack, has made me a cock warmer.

I actually don’t know what to say. For once in my life, I’m speechless.

It’s got to be a joke. Surely.

I blink and press my lips together. “Is this a joke?” I finally ask.

When I see the hurt flicker through her eyes, I know it’s not, and I feel like a gigantic asshole.

“Um, no, it’s not,” she says slowly and carefully. “You know what? Forget it,” she says, making a grab for it.