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Perfect ass with a giant bruise.
Get a grip!
“This is a bit much, isn’t it?” she asked, as I pulled the five pad shirt with adjustable chest straps over her head and then turned her around to make sure the fit was right.
“You’re copping a feel.”
“Babe, I’m not.” I was shifting the pad on her shoulders, so she was balanced and even. Then I secured the Velcro straps. “If I was copping a feel, I’d do this.”
Making sure I didn’t get the sore side, I gave her perfect little legging-clad butt cheek a squeeze, eliciting a fake sounding squeal on her part.
Another thing you shouldn’t be doing.
“That’s copping a feel,” I said, and quickly removed my hand.
It was meant to be a joke, not an aggressive move. The way she swatted back at my hand told me she took it good-naturedly.
“You’re such a guy,” she accused me.
“Guilty. How does that feel?”
She wiggled her shoulders. “Fine, I guess.”
I stepped back and took a look at her.
“Well?” She put a hand on her hip like an old-school pin up girl.
“You’re smoking hot, babe.” She’d be smoking hot in a garbage bag.
“I feel like a Pillsbury Dough Girl.” She thumped the chest pad in the shirt. “Am I done?” she asked. “Or do you have any more armor in there?”
“You’re done,” I said, and pulled the straps so she could get herself out of the gear.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and while Liv was pulling off her helmet and the pads, I read a text from my sister.
Wendy: Hey, dearest brother. Fall festival next weekend. I can count on you behind the bar. Right?
Dillon: No
Wendy: But I signed you up to be in the dunk tank.
Dillon: Not funny
Wendy: For you, probably not. For me? Hilarious. It’s for a good cause. The local arena needs a new Zamboni.
Dillon: Low blow, Wendy. Low blow.
No chance I was working the bar at the Fall Festival, and now I would be buying the arena a new Zamboni. I can’t believe Hank never said anything when I’d been there.
But she gave me an awesome idea, a solution to this problem Liv and I found ourselves in.
Dillon: Thanks for the reminder.
I put my phone back in my pocket and watched Liv pull her shirt down where it had ridden up, exposing her taut abs. Her creamy skin. I caught a glimpse of a little birth mark near her ribs and the urge to investigate made me take a step back.
“You got any plans next weekend?” I asked, gathering up the garbage from the gifts.
“Studying tape,” she said. “Why?”
