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“Hello?” a male voice replied and there was no mistaking the amusement in his tone.
She exhaled loudly and tried to walk toward his voice but collided with the table again.
“You are all turned around,” he said, coming closer. “Just wait.”
“Please help me,” she said. “I’m stuck and I can’t—” She wiggled her arms above her head uselessly. Her fingertips tingled. That couldn’t be good.
“What can I do to help?” he asked, now standing in front of her.
She hinged forward at the hips. “Can you pull the sweater off?”
Silence for a beat and then a deep breath.
He smelled like coffee and fresh air. She wondered which engineer this was. His voice didn’t sound like Johnny, the owner of the studio, and it definitely wasn’t Johnny’s younger brother Shawn because he would have just started laughing and wouldn’t have stopped.
“Okay, I’m going to have to touch you. Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” she replied, slightly confused by his statement. Because it was pretty obvious that if she’d asked him to help her, he was going to have to touch her.
But when cool fingers brushed against the exposed skin near her armpits, she flinched.
Oh, now that made sense.
He tugged on the fabric around her armpits and it didn’t budge.
“Hm,” he said to himself and she sensed him step back. “It’s really stuck.”
She bobbed her upper body in agreement.
Because, duh.
He stepped closer and tried again in a slightly different place.
Nothing changed.
“I don’t want to ruin your sweater,” he said, sounding distressed.
“And I don’t want to die dressed like a traffic cone,” she replied a little more hotly than she should have.
He chuckled and tugged at the sleeves over her head.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“You do not have to apologize.” His voice moved like he was walking a circle around her. “Though I don’t think you look like a traffic cone. I actually saw you as one of those inflatable tube man things you see outside car dealerships.”
She laughed despite herself. “That’s not better.”
“You think if I pull straight up, we’ll end up with a finger trap situation? Because that’s what I’m afraid of.”
“I am very willing to risk it.”
“Okay.” He fiddled with the top of the sweater. “Stop me if it hurts.”
She braced.
The fabric tugged, pulled and smashed her face as he worked it off of her. She held her breath, like that would somehow ease the progression. The hem pinched and rolled over her armpits and then…relief.
She sagged forward and then cried out.
