Page 18 of Bossy Grump's Secret

"You'd better not." I threaten her, knowing it is useless, but I follow her. We go to the mini supplies room. I sit on a metal ledge, waiting for her to prep the kit.

"Even your biology is a hassle," she mumbles while dressing the wound on my back. “The nurses did a good job on this one, yet you still make it seem like it’s a fresh medical emergency.”

…even?

“Pfft. What other part of me is a hassle?" I chuckle. She gives me a raised-brow look. Whatever. Does she know how much work she is?

"I wonder how you know so much about medical care," I sigh.

"It's part of the syllabus for housekeeping. First-aid," she explains.

"Huh."

After we cleaned the wound and replaced the band-aid, I told her that changing the dressing the next day would be necessary for consistent results. I can go to the clinic, of course, but I can't resist the sensation of her touch.

"I know," she shrugs. “Now, let's do your brow. " Ava reaches out, and I instinctively lean into her hands, giving her more of my head than she wants. Why do I suddenly crave her touch!?

She freezes for a millisecond but doesn't object to the touch. She runs her hand over the side of my face, brushing stray strands of hair to place the band-aid, but she doesn't do it professionally. Nonetheless, it's a smooth, graceful sweep that ends with her pinky slightly scraping my cheek.

I'm not supposed to be getting the growth I'm getting inside my pants. It's just a touch! On my face!

I don't feel a thing as she redresses the wound on my face. All I'm doing is looking at her and analyzing why it wouldn't be a good idea to hold her slim, delicate waist and pull her closer to me. I feel really proud of myself when I can fight the urge, but I can't help it when she stokes my face one last time.

I catch her hand just as it's about to leave my face and hold it there for a few seconds. I see her breath hitch, noticing the unsteady pace in her chest movements. I must be making her uncomfortable. She nearly got raped a few days ago!

Before I let go of her hand, I run it through mine, and she offers no resistance. They look lovely together - my hand and hers.

"You have soft palms," I say awkwardly, to justify this weird contact.

"Thanks?" she says and cringes. I don't blame her. I'd feel the same way, too.

"Now, let's get back to work," I huff and bounce to my feet.

Ava

Each day brings new ways to keep butterflies in my stomach. If I continue like this, my legs will be jelly before the week runs out. I look forward to seeing him. If I plan everything right, we always cross paths an average of three or four times every day, making direct contact more than half of those times.

This has been happening since the day past our orientation week. I want to see him more... and that scares me. Why!? What makes me excited about changing his dressing every day? I feel an irresistible urge to touch his skin - Why?

Though not hunky-built, every time he takes his shirt off, I'm struck by his marvelous form. His body is a literal Easter egg. You never know what is inside there until you look. Whenever I get a chance to feel the contours of his muscles, I do it within the bounds of propriety.

One time, I got shameless enough to lie about a swelling needing to be eased toward his stomach just to get a feel of his abdomen and satisfy my curiosity about whether it was soft or hard. Sure enough, it’s rock solid.

I can only imagine him standing shirtless. Does he have abs? How toned is his chest? I will answer soon these questions. I just know it.

Sunday is our day. The work here maybe is tedious, but it is completely doable. Lily and I don't see the need to do much this Sunday. All that's left is to wander the catacombs of the magnificence behind the hotel walls in non-uniformed clothes to give ourselves the “guest” vibe.

"There's only one place left to explore, Lil,' I drone, bored out of my mind. Lily probably is too, but she's too scared to agree with what I suggest.

"Uh-uh," she shakes her head vehemently. "There's no way I'm going to the parking lot with you. We'll die, and no one will know we left this world screaming."

I roll my eyes. "Lily, you watch too many horror movies," I laugh at her.

"Yes. I'll be wise about the places I shouldn't go. The parking lot... yeah. Definitely and comfortably on the top of the list." She reaches into her pockets to grab her phone and begins typing. She proceeds to almost push the thing into my face. "See!?"

I push the phone out of my face, irritated, and ask her, "What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"Two million crimes...in parking lots...every year...in the United States alone," she gloats.

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