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I run smack into the wooden frame that Cole and Jared have been building. A large crack sounds and I automatically put my hand out to grab the rough wood.
“Ouch!” Pain lances my fingers and I pull my hand away. Flipping my palm over, I see several huge splinters sticking out of my hand and fingers. “Owww ow ow!”
Cole bolts to my side, taking my hand in his and examining it with careful fingers.
“Where is your first aid kit?” he asks.
I think about it for a second. “Maybe in the office at the end of the hall? Ow, it really hurts!”
“Okay. You’re coming with me. You’d better hope I can get these splinters out with tweezers. Otherwise, we’re going straight to the hospital.”
He opens the door for me, puts his hand on my lower back, and gives me a little push.
All the hairs on my arms and neck rise.
Cole can give me goosebumps just by touching my lower back. It’s a shame that I know what else his touch can do to me.
I grunt as he pulls me into the hall. “I’d rather not go to the hospital for something so minor. I’m not made of money.”
“Pray that I can remove the splinters, then. Now which way is the office?”
It takes us about two minutes to reach the only office that is still used on this floor. Cole barges ahead, flipping the light switch on. It illuminates an old metal desk, a filing cabinet, a busted office chair, and an ancient bookshelf. Cole looks around and pinpoints the red and white plastic case emblazoned with the words FIRST AID.
He points to the desk. “Sit down, Sav.”
This catches me off guard. Since when has Mr. Doom and Gloom called me Sav?
I plunk myself down on the chair. as Cole out tweezers, alcohol swabs, Neosporin, and Band-Aids out of the kit.
Clearing his throat, Cole comes around the desk to sit on the edge. He beckons.
“All right. Give it here.”
I put my palm out, trying not to look too closely at the damage. Cole tugs me closer and the chair moves until I am sitting between his knees. He touches my wrist and glances up at me with some surprise.
“Are you nervous?”
What a dumb question. Am I nervous to have the man I almost banged in a boathouse touching me and tending my wounds?
Yes. Without a doubt.
I swallow thickly and gaze up at him.
“No…,” I lie.
Cole grabs the tweezers.
“Don’t worry. I have a system.”
“What’s that?”
“I ask you questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
His fingers circle the back of my hand. His eyes are fixed on me.
“If you would’ve just said ‘Yes, Cole,’ this whole thing would probably be over.”
