Page 6 of Pucking Bad Boys

Blood trickles down his long, strong fingers. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.” I don’t even know why I’m apologizing. “Let me take a look. I hope you don’t need stitches. There’s quite a bit of blood.”

“Nah,” he doesn’t even flinch at the sight of his own blood. “It’s probably just cut a capillary. I’ve seen much worse, believe me.”

I wonder where he’s seen worse. He isn’t twenty-one yet, so he it’s very unlikely that he’s a trained medical professional.

By looking at him, I’d bet he’s into sports, and that’s probably where he’s gotten used to seeing blood.

The good news is that he can’t be a hockey player, or I would have seen him at camp. That’s assuming he goes to college.

Maybe he plays football? I could definitely imagine him in those tight pants football players wear. Or wait. Maybe he’s a fighter. I could totally see him as a boxer or an MMA fighter.

Just the idea of the blond hottie shirtless with sweat trickling down what I’m sure is a sculpted chest makes my pulse quicken.

“You ok?” he asks.

I realize that I’ve been holding his hand in mine, staring at his bleeding fingers for a beat too long.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Come with me; we need to take care of this cut. I’ll get one of my co-workers to finish cleaning up.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out. A few tissues will be enough.”

I rise to my feet but don’t let go of his hand, forcing him to get up too. “No way. You cut yourself while you were helping me. Please let me take care of you. Sit.” I order as I lead him to the same bar stool he was occupying earlier. “I’ll be two seconds. We have a first aid kit in the staff room in the back. Don’t you dare move.”

“Yes, ma’am.” That barely there smile dances on his lips again, and for a second, I forget what I was about to do.

Becker

The pretty bartender disappears behind a door in the back of the room.

I’m already missing her gentle touch, but I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t notice how perfect her ass looks in the black denim shorts that are part of the staff’s uniform.

It’s the one thing those three motherfuckers were right about, I guess.

True to her word, she’s back shortly after with a red plastic case in her hands. A co-worker follows her out from the back area and stops by her side behind the bar.

“Are you sure you’re ok closing down and you don’t need anything else other than a little help with that broken glass?”

She shakes her head. “No, thanks, Maddie. I’ve got the rest.”

The slightly older woman smiles. “Ok, then. I’ll quickly get to that and then get going. I pulled a double shift and I’m beat.”

“Ok, let’s see what we’ve got here.”

She takes my hand and begins wiping away the blood with an antiseptic wipe.

Her touch is gentle but confident, and I’m enjoying this way too much. I should have cut myself hours ago.

As she discards the used wipe in a small trash can behind her, it dawns on me that I’m not ready to say goodbye. I don’t even know her name. And while I could come back here if I want to see her again, I just want more. I want to get to know this beautiful, fascinating woman.

“I’m all done here. I’m off. I’ll just dump this trash on my way out back. See you next weekend, Talia.” Her co-worker dashes out, but I’m no longer paying attention.

My hot bartender’s name is Talia.

Such a pretty name.

Talia opens a Band-Aid and applies it to the cut on my finger. “Here we go. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much. I don’t think you need stitches, but if it doesn’t heal properly or it gets infected, you should get it seen by a medical professional.”

I’m tempted to say that it does hurt and I need her to kiss it better, but I chicken out. I don’t want to push my luck and sound like a douche.