“I did.” I hold them up to him as though showing proof of my work.
“So why do you sound like a wounded animal?”
“I don’t—” I start to argue with him and then cut myself off because it sounds frilly and needlessly secretive. We’re both adults here. I’ll be direct. “I have some stuck on the back of my… legs. They might be awkward to reach, and I need some privacy so that you don’t… I don’t know, take blackmail pictures of me twisted up like a pretzel.”
“Julia, be real. I wouldn’t use them for blackmail. I’d keep them for personal use.”
“Wow, you are something else. You know—”
“Turn around,” he cuts me off with a smirk. “I’ll help you.”
“No. I’d rather you didn’t.”
He sighs now, running a calloused hand through his dark golden curls. “Julia, I’ve seen women’s legs before, okay? I’ll quit teasing you and get straight to business, but let’s get this done so that we can both get to work.”
I sigh heavily, resignation sweeping through me. “You can’t help me because I lied. They’re not on my legs.”
His brows lift in silent question as he stares back at me.
“They’re on my ass.”
For a beat: nothing. Then his bright blue irises widen in shock as he lifts a fist up to shield his lips.
Which only serves to annoy me because I know that behind that big fucking hand he’s laughing at me. But he covers it up in seconds, dropping his hand as he shoots me an earnest expression. “You’re in luck, because I’ve also seen a lot of women’s asses. Seeing yours will be just another day in the life. So, the offer still stands.”
I groan and drop my face into my hands.
“I promise to be a complete gentleman about it. I’ve removed porcupine quills from a horse’s nose, so this should be a walk in the park. I know I run my mouth a lot, but I would never—”
“I know,” I say, waving him off. Because Idoknow. I may not be all that familiar with Emmett, but he has seen me at my most vulnerable, and he was nothing short of saintly.
Plus, I can’t fathom spending hours with these prickles torturing me. So, with an exasperated sigh, I say, “Fine. But don’t get a boner.”
He scoffs at me and I shoot him a withering glare. Then I turn around with flaming red cheeks and plant my palms on the linoleum counter. “Okay. Get it over with.”
“Oh god. I love it when women say that to me,” he quips, stepping closer.
“Emmett.”
“Sorry, sorry. It slips out sometimes.”
“Well, lock it down. I’m not one of the contestants. Save it for later.”
He’s a respectable distance away, but I can still feel the heat of his body as he crouches a bit to inspect me. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping I can disassociate from the level of mortification this entire thing is causing me.
“Julia, I don’t know how to tell you this without pissing you off.”
“Just say it,” I grit out.
“I’m going to need you to bend over.”
“Fuck my life,” I groan, staring at the worn floorboards beneath me and silently praying that they might open up and swallow me whole.
“In the least sexual way possible. Obviously, because it’s you.”
I bend over, propping my elbows against the counter as I toss back, “Okay, there’s no need to be insulting about it.”
He chuckles, and I can feel his eyes on me. Knowing he’s looking his fill stirs something inside of me that has been dormant for over two years now. Wearing only my shorts and sports bra, I’m exposed but not uncomfortable.
