Page 18 of Trustfall

“Ready,” he confirms.

I pierce his skin with the needle, coming out through the other side of the wound. Luke grits his teeth but remains still. I keep working, pulling the suture through and tying a knot. I can see he’s in pain, but if I stop or slow down, this will take forever and prolong the inevitable. I need to work quickly and get it over with. I repeat the same process down the length of the cut.

When I’m about four stitches in, he lets out a moan, and I know it’s one of pain, but why does it sound so hot? Is that what he sounds like in the throes of passion? I shake my head and continue my work, ignoring the slight pulse to my core.

“Almost there, Luke. Just two more. You’re doing great.”

I tie the last suture and cut the material, ensuring the tie is secure. Then, I clean the area one more time and bandage it.

“Okay, all set,” I say, snapping my gloves off. “Not so bad, right?”

“I need a beer,” he groans.

“Sorry, no beer. Drinking alcohol can increase the chance of infection. Take two Tylenol every four to six hours. That should help with the pain. Change the bandage after showering. I’ll leave some extra ones for you. I’ll need to remove the sutures in about a week. Oh, and try to avoid strenuous activity for the next forty-eight hours.”

He eyes me up and down at that last part. “Got it.” He smirks and then adds, “I’ll need your number, though. You know, in case it gets infected or something.”

“I’m right next door.”

“I’d feel more comfortable if I could reach you any time of day or night,” he says as he stands up and walks around the table to grab his phone off the counter.

I huff and reach out for his phone. I put my number in it, but as I hand it back to him, irritation starts to build from somewhere deep within.

“What the fuck, Luke?” I spit out, and, okay, that came out a little more aggressive than I intended.

“What?” He looks taken aback by my sudden shift in mood.

“First, you burst into my date like a jealous boyfriend and demand information that was none of your damn business, by the way. Then you pin me to my car and almost kiss me. Then, you flat-out ignore me for weeks. And now you’re shamelessly flirting with me while I’m sewing you back together. You’re giving me whiplash, Collins.” I exhale, realizing I hadn’t taken a single breath during that entire rant.

I expect him to look angry, confused, bewildered, even. But the look on his face is pure amusement.

And that smirk.

Fuck that smirk.

I want to slap it off his goddamn face.

As if that’s not bad enough, the amusement on his face slowly turns to realization.

“So that’s what your little performance was about?”

“Performance?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Caldwell. The performance where you came outside in nothing but a flimsy shirt and panties and crawled around in the dirt, gyrating your hips like you were in a fucking porno.”

“Excuse me? I gasp, holding my hand to my heart. “I was gardening.”

He snickers. “Sure.”

“And what aboutyourperformance? Or should I say repeat performance? You know, the one where you fix your bike in nothing but those slutty gray sweatpants,” I yell as I gesture to the offending pants.

Luke immediately starts laughing. No, not laughing. Wheezing.

“Careful, you’re going to blow a stitch. And what is so funny?” I ask, my hands firmly planted on my hips.

“Oh, just the hypocrisy of it all. I say you have ‘fuck me’ heels on, and I’m sexist, but you get to call my clothing slutty and get a pass.”

“Yeah, well. Try being overlooked, belittled, and objectified for centuries, and then come talk to me about feminism being a double standard.”

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