Page 7 of Skin Deep

“That ain’t professional curiosity you’re lookin’ at me with.”

His eyes dipped again before coming back to mine and then falling again like he was at war with himself on how to proceed. A strawberry flush spread over his pale cheeks. “You want my fucking blood type too? Come on, man. I just want to go home.”

He didn’t look tired. He looked horny, but then maybe I was projecting, or whatever it was the prison shrinks liked to say.

“Your loss,” I said with a shrug and yanked my pants and underwear down in one go.

His gaze dropped, unashamedly taking me in, the color in his cheeks brightening when he saw I was sporting a semi. I was starting to wonder how red I could get him to turn.

Warrick stared at my cock like he was starving for it, poor guy.

I tossed him my clothes and he barely managed to catch them to put them in his bag. “What’s the matter, doc? Never seen a big Black dick before?” I could barely contain my snicker at his enraged growl.

“I’ve seen plenty. I’m a doctor.”

“Thought you were a surgeon?”

“Whatever.” His face was getting redder by the second.

I laughed out loud when he growled like a pissed off kitten. Damn if I wasn’t getting curious about those claws.

True to his word, the water was frigid as fuck. The icy water was enough to kill my hard-on, even if it felt nice. It was a sweltering eighty degrees outside, and humid as hell. I’d been baking in the hot sun all day, filling potholes on the outer belt. Road construction paid well, but the work was hit or miss. Feast or famine, they said. Lots of work eight months out of the year, and then nothing for four to five. My body ached and my hands were calloused to hell from the work, but I was lucky to have the job.

“Soap,” Warrick called and tossed me a bar of Irish Spring.

I caught it. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

I ran the soap over me, cleaning head to toe. Much as I wanted to make a show of it, he wasn’t watching, so there was no point. He’d busied himself fiddling with that briefcase of his. “So what will you do with the body?”

“Incinerate it,” he answered matter-of-factly. “The ashes will go into the river, same as all the rest.”

I hesitated, turning around to look at him. “You do this often?”

“Often enough.” He laid out a syringe full of something.

“That for me? Am I your last loose end?”

Warrick turned around, eying me again with that hungry glint in his eye. “If I wanted you dead, I could’ve killed you about eight times by now.”

“Yet here I am still breathing,” I pointed out.

He turned back to his briefcase. “Don’t take it personal. You’re not worth the effort it’d take to dispose of you.”

I chuckled and turned off the water. “Damn, youareice cold.”

“Thank you.” He turned around again, syringe in hand. “You want it in your left or right hip?”

“What is it?”

“Hepatitis B vaccine. Just in case. Standard after a bloodborne pathogen exposure. You should also get an HIV test as soon as possible, and one at two months, six months and nine months to be sure.”

“I’m touched,” I quipped. “That’s the most anyone’s cared about my health since I got moved to gen pop.”

He sighed. “Left or right?”

I gave my right ass cheek a loud slap. “Put her there.”

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