Page 20 of Flint

“Sorry, Kitten, but General’s orders. Can’t get the stitches and stuff wet, at least not till he does a few more tests on things.”

“Fine,” I grumble as I turn back around and start grabbing clothes. “But I’m changing out of this. Girl needs fresh underwear. Nothing is more wrong than having mud next to your cooter.”

I march to the bathroom—okay, limp, but I feel like the intent’s there—daring the guy to stop me. I’ll scrub myself clean with a washcloth in the sink if I have to, but this mud has got to go.

“Need help?”

I stop and turn around slowly. He’s enjoying this, laughing at me again. I have a mind to tell him yes, I do need him to wash me. But then I think about what he would be touching, and if I would want him to do a clinical clean or sort of go a bit deeper. You know, see if a finger, or maybe even a mouth, would clean out all the dirt I have in my hoo-ha.

His eyes sparkle till they cloud over a bit with what I think is lust. Is he thinking the same thing, or did he read me just as easily as he has since meeting me and guessed my thoughts?

“Careful, Kitten. Your claws ain’t sharp enough to dig in, but mine are, and you won’t like the burn I leave.”

Right, okay. I turn and shut the door, safely on the other side. There’s just something about that look and his words that has me running scared. Don’t think I’m ready for all that. I mean, not when I’m in this getup. Maybe after the stitches come out.

As whore baths go, I think I did a good job with what I had to work with. Especially since I’m one arm down and the boot thing. I had to go back out to get better clothes halfway through, and I’m happy to see that the bedroom door was shut before I hobbled out and found stretchy pants. Thankfully, the sports bra has a zipper in the front, so with a little work, I was able to get that off—once I took the sling off, of course.

The tank top is a bit more complicated, and I almost break down to call for help, but I sort of want to prove to myself I can do it. I know, weird, right? I do feel a bit better once I put the hoodie the club gave me back on. Not really sure whose it is or if it’s just a generic one, but I like it. It’s warm and surprisingly isn’t dirty.

Grabbing the sling, ’cause I have no idea how to put it back on now that I’ve taken it off, I head out to find everyone. Don’t have to look far since the house isn’t that big. “Am I rich?”

Bailey catches the dribble of coffee that slips from her mouth as she sets her cup down quickly.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

“No, it’s fine. Should have expected you to come out sooner than later. You didn’t usually take that long in the bathroom, but I should have known that after an hour, you would appear.”

Huh, had no clue I was in there so long. But as I take in the laid-back feeling of the group, I guess they all got on pretty well. Well, enough to make themselves feel welcome to make coffee.

I set the sling on the counter and pass to the fridge, pull it open, and frown. Still no Diet Coke. Dammit. I settle for a Ginger Ale and turn back around to pass it to Flint to open.

He rolls his eyes but obliges me, and I take it back and chug about half of it while Bailey answers my original question.

“I wouldn’t classify you as rich, but you aren’t left wanting. You got some money still from the modeling and all, but you don’t really do the whole spending, shopping thing.”

“I was a model?” I put the can down and grab the sling, once again passing it to Flint. I have no idea why I believe he knows how to put it on, but I got a feeling he knows more than me. I’m not wrong.

“Yeah, um, your parents, they… well, they had you in a beauty pageant when you were like three, and you sort of got discovered. That’s when you started doing the traveling. You were kind of a big deal over in Europe and Asia.”

I hear what she’s saying, but it’s not registering. I mean, Flint’s hands are on me. Yes, he’s putting on a shoulder sling, and I’m completely covered with clothing, but I swear to God I can feel the heat from his fingers. We might not like each other much—still working on our best friend level—but the man is panty-melting fine. And I would know. It was half the mud and half him that made me want clean undies.

He’s quick to put it on, but I sort of feel like he doesn’t have to brush past my boobs so much. I mean, you just have to slide your arm through the sling part and connect the strap in the back. I probably could have done it, but I don’t have the energy to put more strain on it than I already did with dressing myself.

I take a breath and actively move to the other side of the room. More to get my libido in check before I start dry humping a stranger. Sure, he might be the person in the room who I’ve “known” the longest, but technically still a stranger. Right? When do strangers become friends? Like, is there a timetable, or do you sort of just go with the gut?

“So, I’m assuming since you have a key to my house and no pictures of us as a couple, we’re close friends and not lovers,” I hedge my guess to Bailey.

“To my knowledge, you’ve always been strictly dickly, but there was college, and I wasn’t there for that.”

“Oh, a mystery. Gotta love it.”

“God, I missed this.” She chuckles, mostly to herself, I think.

“Missed what?” Flint, my little babysitter, is hot on the heels of intrigue.

“This, her. She’s doing her no-filter thing. Been a while since I’ve seen this side of her. Kind of nice to get the old Jules back, even if she has no memory and is like a new version of her old self.”

“Why did I stop?” I ask.

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