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While most girls thrive off the attention they get, Blaire doesn’t give any of them a second look. It’s as if she doesn’t even realize she’s being watched. Not once on the walk to the bathroom does she look around. Her head stays straight the entire way. My roommate Mateo’s eyes drift down toward her perfectly round ass, and I have to suppress the growl that wants to come out of me. Deciding not to call him out, I move slightly to the left to block his view. His eyes lift up and when he sees the look on my face, he laughs.
The bathroom is the last door on the right, and Blaire steps to the side to let me in. After turning the light on, I look in the mirror and assess the damage. The pain has become bearable. The light thud is still there, though. From the looks of my chest, you’d think it would hurt more.
The area that was exposed at the top of my shirt is the worst. Blisters have begun to form throughout the redness. There’s still some lingering red sauce around my nipple, which makes me wonder if someone else wiped the burning, hot pizza off of me. When I look over at Blaire, I notice for the first time she’s holding a washcloth with red spots and crusted pizza on it…and she has that same rag I saw earlier wrapped around her hand.
“What the fuck happened?” I reach forward for her hand, but she jumps back, slamming into the doorframe behind her.
Her face says it all, even if her body language didn’t already. I scared her. Shit, I wasn’t trying to, but I’m pissed as hell that she got hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I say, making sure my voice is soft. “Will you let me see your hand? I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
She looks around, unsure of what to do, but after taking a shaky breath, she unwraps her hand.
Blaire is a timid person. She doesn’t trust me, which makes sense because I am basically a stranger. I don’t know what’s happened to make her nervous, but I can tell letting me examine her hand is making her uncomfortable.
Ever so slowly, she lifts her arm until her hand is out in front of me. I take it, making sure to be careful of where she was burned and try not to startle her again.
Our hands touch. Blaire flinches.
I don’t know if it’s from the burn or the physical touch, but she doesn’t pull away. With a small boost of confidence, I slide my hand around her wrist and flip it over so her palm is facing up and I unwrap the wet towel.
“Shit,” I whisper.
Her hand is a bright red, much like my chest. Luckily, it doesn’t look too bad. She has a light bubbling forming on her upper palm, but it’s not horrible.
“What happened?” I ask. My fingers run along the edge of her palm, barely touching it. When they graze the aggravated skin, my fingers burn from the heat coming off of it.
Goose bumps form on Blaire’s forearm. I lift my head to come eye to eye with her and she’s biting her lip, staring down at her hand in mine.
“I grabbed the pan,” she mumbles. It’s barely above a whisper, and I’m confused by what she means. Pan? What pan?
Oh, my question.
“You grabbed a burning hot pan with your bare hand?” She had gloves on when she ran into me with the pizza, so I’m not sure why she didn’t then.
Blaire ducks her head, so I can’t see her eyes. “The mitts fell off when I ran into you. The pan had fallen on your chest. I grabbed it so it wouldn’t burn you worse than it already did.” Her voice is low, but I hear every single word.
“Why would you do that?” I ask, completely shocked.
That full bottom lip makes its way between her teeth again, and Blaire shifts from foot to foot. “I just…you were burned, and I didn’t know what to do.”
There is a man with burning hot pizza on his chest and her first reaction is to go in with bare hands and grab it off his chest? Rational, I think not.
“That was really…stupid, you know that?” Her head snaps up as if I just insulted her. “What? The last thing you should have done was grab it without any mitts. Why create more damage by injuring yourself in the process?”
Letting out a little, adorable huff, she removes her hand from my grasp and crosses her arms over her chest, still clinging to the rag. “I’msosorry for trying to help you. Next time I’ll just let you lie there with hot pizza burning into your chest.”
My eyebrows rise. “Next time, huh? You plan on burning me again?”
She uncrosses her arms and the rag slips between her fingers. “No, no. I just…I meant—”
“I’m only messing with you,” I cut her off. The nervous stuttering wasn’t what I was going for. “Why don’t we get these burns cleaned up a little, yeah?” I ask, trying to do anything to get her to relax around me. I want Blaire comfortable in my presence.
Reaching down, I grab the discarded rag and turn the sink on, running it under the cold water. As I’m wiping the pizza sauce and cheese off my chest, I notice from the side that Blaire is still standing there, completely silent. Her hands are interlocked together, and the corner of her bottom lip is between her teeth.
Her gaze is focused right on my chest. And that look in her eyes, I know it all too well.
“Like what you see, baby?” I ask, not being shy about catching her checking me out.
