Page 36 of The Love Haters

From all the women clucking scoldingly at the dog, I gathered his name was either “George” or “Bailey.” Or both.

“Where does it hurt?” Hutch asked.

“It’s fine,” I insisted, my whole back quadrant stinging like fire. “It’s fine.”

But to no avail. Hutch was now walking me and my swimsuit over to a seating area so he could—and I’m just as horrified to say this as you must be to hear it—examine my wound.

“Oh, no. There’s no need for this,” I said as Hutch bent me forward, ass out, over a table.

“We’re going to need some tweezers,” I heard him say to someone.

“I’m really okay,” I protested again, just as Ginger showed up with a pool chair cushion for me to lean over.

“Let him help you, sweetie,” Benita said. “He knows what he’s doing.”

Now Hutch was pulling up a footstool to sit on so he could leanin close and take a good gander at what—fine, let’s call a haunch a haunch—could only be classified asa large section of my butt.

Next, Rue showed up with tweezers and a first-aid kit for Hutch—and a glass of champagne for me.

“For the pain,” she said, conspiratorially, as she patted me on the shoulder.

I kicked it back like an old-timey soldier downing whiskey before a post-battle amputation.

The crowd sighed and made wincing sounds as they got in close to look.

“How bad is it?” I finally asked.

“You look like a cactus,” Benita said.

“Should someone take a picture and text it to you?” Ginger asked.

“Oh, god, please—no oneever do that,” I begged.

“It’s just a few splinters,” Hutch said.

“How many?” I demanded.

“Forty?” he guessed. “Fifty?”

That was not the definition ofa few, but okay.

Then I heard his voice shift as he called to the class.

“Ladies, why don’t you get started without me? We’re gonna be here awhile.”

“You don’t have to do this!” I protested from my position over the cushion. “I can do it myself.”

“Unless you’re a contortionist,” Hutch said, “I really don’t think you can.”

“Rue can do it!” I insisted then. “Right, Rue?”

But Rue was already in the pool. “I’d love to, sweetheart,” she said, “but I’m squeamish.”

Defeated, I collapsed over the cushion.

“Don’t worry!” Nadine called. “He’s not a big talker, but he’s great at first aid!”

Down below, under the table, the beast who had done this to me was settling into a lion’s pose like nothing had happened.

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