Page 11 of The Key Holder

“And new shorts,” Dylan added.

“Those too.”

“Two days in the wilderness and two bare asses. Great start to my sexless summer.”

Say what now? “Sexless summer?”

3

Dylan

Me and my big fucking mouth.

“Forget it,” I said, hopeful Ford might actually listen. I took a step to try to leave yet another awkward situation behind and almost dropped to the ground again.

I definitely couldn’t support my weight.

“You obviously can’t walk on it,” Ford said. “You can lean on me and hop.”

“That’s gonna take forever.”

“I can carry you.”

I scoffed. “Right.”

“You don’t think I can?”

Oh, I knew he probably could. I was just worried he’d suggest piggyback because he’d feel my cage dig into his back for sure. “We can try it.” I relented. “Are we leaving the picnic here or do you want me to hold it while you carry me? Will that be too much weight?”

“I should be able to handle both.”

I waited for him to say because I was small, but thankfully he didn’t. Instead, he handed me the picnic basket and moved close to me. With one arm behind my back, I let him take all of my weight as he scooped me up with his other arm under my thighs.

It was really something that he actually made it to the cabin, and with no break.

As he carried me across the threshold, I reined in my desire to make a comment about being his bride. He apparently had less self control.

“This feels oddly domestic,” he said. “Should I call you baby or honey?”

I ignored the joke. “It feels more like some sort of CrossFit challenge to me and you’re winning.” He took me through the kitchen. “Where are we heading?”

“The bathroom. I need to clean that cut. You don’t want it infected.”

“I can handle it,” I said.

Ford laughed. “One, you can barely stand up, and two, you can’t see your own ass. You didn’t even know you were injured back there.”

I wasn’t about to tell him I shave my asshole without his help, but said, “I can use a mirror.”

“It’ll just be easier if you let me help. You’ve seen my ass. I’ve seen yours. An ass is an ass.”

“My ass isn’t just an ass. It’s stunning.”

He gently let me down in front of the sink and started rummaging through the bathroom closet.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t stunning,” he said, without looking at me. “I apologize profusely if I insulted the beauty of your ass.”

I stared at the line of sweat down the middle of Ford’s tank top as he bent over further, determined to find whatever he was looking for. “Apology accepted.”