Page 102 of The Bodyguard's Fall

“So…the butt?”

“I wouldn’t say that. It’s the north end of the upper, upper hamstring,” he supplied rather cheerfully as he watched me squirm.

I smiled tightly instead. I set the bandages on the bed and ripped open an alcohol wipe.

“I didn’t know your mom had been changing your bandages all this time,” I said, wishing I knew so I could have prepared myself for this possibility one day.

“Did you want the job earlier? You could have said something.”

I held up the alcohol pad hopefully. “Does this sting?”

He grinned. “A little. So be gentle back there.”

And then we just stared at each other.

“So…how does this usually work?” I ventured.

He smiled. “I’ve got boxers on underneath my jeans. Turn around, and I’ll take my jeans off.”

I turned around immediately, trying not to overthink the sound of the zipper and the heavy thud his jeans made when they hit the floor.

“Are you blushing right now?” he asked, a smile in his voice.

“Shut up.”

If my cheeks weren't already on fire, his soft chuckle would have done the job.

“Are you decent?” I asked.

“Rarely,” came his flirtatious reply.

“Tate,” I hissed, not sure how much longer I could handle this without spontaneously combusting.

He was enjoying himself. “I’m decent.”

I turned around, all business. “Now…where is it?”

He stood by the bed, in his t-shirt and boxer shorts, looking rumpled and manly, and I steeled myself to keep it together.

“If you just peel down the top left corner of my boxers, you should be able to clean it and put a Band-aid on without getting too much of an eyeful,” he said.

“The top left side. That’s the butt, you punk. Directly on the butt.”

“Huh,” he said, an impish expression on his face as he turned around, his back to me. “I always thought it was more the hamstring.”

Praying for strength, I reached toward the waistband of his boxers.

“On the left side, right?” I asked, completely stalling.

“It’s actually closer to the center.”

My fingers had just grazed his waist before my hands jerked away, flinging themselves up to my cheeks. “What?! Stop. I can’t do this.”

“I’m just teasing, Rawlins.”

He was laughing as he turned back toward me. Taking pity on me, he grabbed the alcohol wipe from my hands. I flicked my eyes away when he awkwardly moved the waistband down one side of his shorts and dabbed at the spot as best as he could.

“The bandage is trickier. I can’t reach it from this angle. Can you pull yourself together enough to do this?”