and grab me again, which doesn’t end up being my arm this time. His hand is cupped over one of my ladies, and he needs to move his hand right now. Although I’m not sure what to focus on because his man-part is definitely pressing up against my butt now too.
For two people who haven’t kissed or even admitted to being truly attracted to each other, I feel like we’ve gone a little too far. This is too much. It’s almost a joke now. “I’m so embarrassed,” I say quietly, struggling out of his grip.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
“I tripped.” Obviously.
He pulls away, looking down toward my feet. “You must have caught your knee on the grout. You’re bleeding a little.” Jags grabs the towel from the ground and wraps it around me before taking my hand and pulling me over toward the toilet where we became a little too intimate last night. Who becomes intimate on a friggin’ toilet? He drops the toilet lid down over the seat and urges me to sit. At least I’m covered up now, but he doesn’t seem to care that he’s still completely exposed, hanging out all over the place.
He squats down in front of me, takes my foot and places it over his bent knee. “Geez, doll, that’s a good one.”
Jags reaches over to the sink and opens the bottom cabinet, searching around through a bunch of stuff until he retrieves a first aid kit. The first thing he does is pour peroxide over the blood. It stings a little, but he grabs my hand and smiles. “Look at me, not at the blood.” His smile is endearing and kind of cute when I know he’s not thinking of his next dirty word. “I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he chuckles. So funny. Not.
“I think it’s clear I don’t know what foot to even use,” I laugh.
“That’s for sure.” He takes some of the gauze and lightly presses it up against my knee. “The bruise will probably hurt more than the wound will,” he says, gently. With the blood cleaned up, he blows lightly over the sore spot and reaches down for a Band-Aid. My focus follows his hands, finding a quick reminder that he’s still buck naked. How is this comfortable for him? I’m mortified, and I have a towel on. “Okay, you’re as good as new now.” He smooths the Band-Aid over my knee and presses it gently on each side to secure it. His hands are still cupped around my leg, and he gently sweeps them both down the sides in an attempt to separate his grip. “Sasha.”
“Yeah,” I say, sounding way more breathless than intended.
“I’m really, really attracted to you. I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve had the privilege of having jerk me off in a pitch black bathroom in the middle of the night.”
I wind up to slap him, but his hand grips around my wrist before I have the chance. “You’re a jerk.” A jerk who just bandaged my knee up, and who I have walked in on twice now.
“I’m just messing with you, but you really are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JAGS
THERE MIGHT BE an extra hop in my step this morning. I feel like that wasn’t real last night. I know it shouldn’t have happened, but because it did, I also sort of feel like I won a small lottery. Sasha is fucking hot and in a completely different league of human beings—among the people who don’t cuss or outwardly talk about sex in detail. I must be so offensive to her, yet the look in her eyes tells me she’s intrigued by everything I say.
Driving over to the body shop, I ring up Tango to see how the bastard is doing. He answers after a couple of rings and sounds completely out of it. “Hey bro, how’s it hanging,” he asks.
I’d love to tell him it’s been hanging straight out and at a slight angle, but that would lead to questions, so I’ll just be casual. “Great. How are you feeling?”
“Like a bag of ass,” he says.
“What does a bag of ass feel like exactly?”
“Just how it sounds,” Tango says, groaning through his last word.
“Can I bring you anything at lunch time? Dirty mags or a burger?”
“Oh man, yeah, that’d be great,” he says.
“Alright, well if you need anything else, holler before noon.”
“Thanks, Bro,” he says through a heavy exhale. “Oh, hey, man, question for