Page 9 of A Very Cheeky Christmas

When I finish in the bathroom and step out, I find her on the phone. I try to give her privacy, but it’s a struggle, because she keeps her cards close to her chest. I’m not a hundred percent sure she doesn’t have a guy somewhere, despite all the asking around I’ve done. No one has mentioned a boyfriend, and she didn’t mention that as a reason she turned me down any of the times I’ve asked her out, but some women don’t. All I have to go on is my gut instinct this woman is meant for me and therefore isn’t with anyone else. Thankfully she’s not on the phone long.

When she hangs up she turns to me and says, “Good news. Shayla has a long lunch break and she’s going to come over now. She’ll be here in a few minutes.”

That is good news, and bad. Yeah, I want this injury to be taken care of, not just for the preservation of my career, my ass, and my dignity. But also because there are things that I want to do with Max that require me to have better range of motion than I currently have.

On the other side, right now, I have Max in my apartment, all alone. And I have the good sense to know that she’s going to try and leave the second she doesn’t feel responsible for me. I just need to come up with reasons why she should stay.

chapter six

Maxine

Shayla arrives a few minutes later just as she said she would. Thank God.

I need to get out of here. As. Soon. As. Possible.

The fact that I was comfortable enough around Andrew to fall asleep in his bed, does not bode well for my levels of resistance. Plus, I have already seen this man’s ass more often than is beneficial for my heart rate.

“Thank you for taking time out of your lunch break to do this,” I say.

“For you, anything, anytime. Tell me again about this injury you need me to look at.”

I point at Andrew. “He’s got a hole in his butt.”

“Don’t we all,” Shayla says dryly.

I do introductions, refusing to give more than the basic details. I don’t need Andrew knowing more about my life than he already does. I have a lifetime of experience keeping details about my family to myself.

“All right, let’s see what we’ve got going on,” Shayla says.

“Drop your pants, Andrew,” I say.

“This is so fucking awkward,” he mutters.

“Nonsense. You told me earlier you’re the reigning Mr. Perfect Ass or whatever you called it,” I remind him.

“Mr. Perfect Cheeks,” he corrects.

“I’m gonna need clarification,” Shayla says, waggling her eyebrows in obvious delight. “What exactly is it you do?”

He blows out a breath, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed.

“I’m a set double,” I say.

“What exactly does that mean?” Shayla asks. “Wow, this is a straight up hole in your ass.” She laughs. “You weren’t wrong, Max.”

“I’m usually not.”

Andrew gives the basic overview of his job and how he injured himself this time.

Shayla looks amused by his job and the injury, which makes me feel oddly protective of him. What’s up with that?

“Someone on set gave him a Xanax because he has vasovagal syncope,” I explain.

“I never actually pass out. It just makes me feel woozy and a bit sick to my stomach. Just not a fan of blood.”

“Fair enough,” Shayla says. “The good news is, I think I can do this with only a couple of stitches.”

“What about scarring?” I ask.