Page 33 of When It's Us
Judging by the evenness of his tone, he probably didn’t mean for it to sound sexual, but I can’t help but attach the connotation to his words.
Are you offering?I bite back a completely out-of-character school-girl giggle.
“Uh, sure,” I say, scooting to the edge of the bed, not even pretending to be graceful about it. Getting up here had been easy—getting down, not so much. I shift to my knees and turn, lowering myself backward, eyes locked on the tiny step meant for climbing up and down. Carefully, I plant my feet on the floor.
When I straighten and Hutch comes into view, our eyes meet. He flips on a small light and tips his chin toward the empty spot on the bed beside him.
Fucking hell, I’m glad it’s dim—because I can’t stop staring at all that exposed skin; it should be illegal. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Sit,” he tells me and uncaps the cream. “Where does it itch?”
“I can do it,” I assure him. It comes out as exasperation when he doesn’t hand it over, but honestly, being this close to him is doing crazy shit to my lady bits and having his hands on me will literally push me over the edge.
I scoff when he looks up at me, then drop down beside him—acutely aware that I’m in nothing but a T-shirt and panties. Four mosquito bites dot my shin, with two more tucked behind my knee.
My eyes drift over his bare thighs, up the dark boxer briefs, and across his abs. It’s the first time I’ve seen the full spread, andgoddamn.
What gets me most? He’s completely unfazed, sitting here, nearly naked beside me. Of course he is.
Hutch squirts some cream onto my fingers, and I start rubbing it into the bites. The itch is still there, but the cool cream feels good on the heated skin. I let out a soft sigh.
“Is that all of them?” he asks, nodding to where I’m still rubbing in cream.
“I have some on the other leg, too,” I tell him.
There are more on this side too, but they’re higher, and I am not going there right now. Hopefully, this will be enough to stop the worst of them from itching and keeping me awake.
He gives me more cream for each bite, and his eye snags on the nastiest of my blisters from earlier.
He chuckles. “You’re a mess, California.”
I don’t know if it’s the darkness, or the sort of sleepy quality to the sound of his voice, or the fact that he’s nearly naked next to me, but his soft admonishment doesn’t sting like it normally does.
“It doesn’t hurt,” I tell him as he reaches out to check it for me.
He touches my foot and inspects the other toe that has the popped blister on it. “You lost your Band-Aids.”
“They came off when I showered.”
“Here, let’s get something on those two at least, you don’t want them getting infected,” he says and turns, showing off his glorious abs and thighs as he reaches for the first aid kit.
“Okay,” I say, barely above a whisper, and my tongue feels two inches thick.
I can feel the heat radiating off him, can see his chest rise and fall with each breath, and holy fuck, does he smell nice.
While he works—pulling out antibiotic ointment and a couple of bandages—I take the chance to really study his tattoos. There’s an eagle, mountains, a rustic arrow piercing what lookslike a cross between a clock and a compass, and a word I can barely make out.Resilience, maybe?
I glance up at him as he tends to my feet, then let my eyes drift back to his chest.
A round, hammered pendant hangs from a leather cord around his neck—roughly shaped like a compass. My gaze trails up the ink on his arm, catching the bottom of an animal skull. His hair is mostly dry now, hanging loose around his shoulders and hiding the rest of the tattooed detail.
My fingers literallyacheto run through it.
What?
He works in silence. His hands are huge, yet he handles the tiny bandages with ease, even in the dim light. I’ve felt the strength in those hands—how rough and hungry he can be. But this? This quiet, focused gentleness as he treats my battered feet?
It’s unexpectedly intimate. Andsogoddamn sexy.
