Page 93 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

He had the upper hand. I hadn’t meant to give it to him. But he didn’t abuse it. He didn’t even admonish me again as he stalked past me to grab his new outfit, and immediately retreated right back into his shower stall to put his clothes on.

I mourned the loss of all that skin, but shoved the thought aside. Shaking my head at myself, I mirrored him and headed into my shower stall to change.

This time, when we exited, we were fully clothed and my dick had decided to behave somewhat.

A miracle.

“Fingers,” I said, because I needed to get my mind back on track. “I need to take care of your fingers.”

“They’re fine,” George waved me off. In response, I closed the scant few feet between us and caught his wrist. It was frail so I held him gingerly, careful not to squeeze too tight. George’s eyes went wide before they darted away and a healthy flush covered his cheeks.

“They’re not fine. I thought I made it clear that I was helping you. You agreed.” I tipped his hand toward myself, studying the swollen digits with concern. “You don’t need to pretend it doesn’t hurt for my sake. Hell, I’d rather you cry than fake being okay.”

George opened his mouth to argue. He was reluctant to admit just how bad they actually hurt—like it was difficult to accept help, even when he needed it.

“I’m not going to judge you,” I promised before he could, needing him to know that he didn’t need to be perfect when I was around.

“Everyone judges everyone. It’s human nature.”

I supposed he was right, so instead of fighting him about it, I nodded. “Okay. Fine. But I’m not going to judge you forthis.”

George’s eyes met mine again and a war waged between us. He did that a lot—stared into my eyes like he could read my mind through them. I wondered if he could. If he could see my intentions as plainly as I could see his discomfort.

Maybe so.

Maybe Brendon had been unpredictable.

Maybe George read people the way I did. But where I used that skill to keep people at a distance, George used his to stay safe.

Two sides of the same coin.

“Fine,” he acquiesced verbally, though he still looked mildly uncomfortable. “You can help me.”

I relaxed, grateful now that we’d come to an understanding. George wasquiet as I worked, his ass on the counter between sinks, his hand in my grip.

Wasn’t like I knew a shit-ton about first aid or anything, but I’d been alive long enough to learn how to treat a basic burn. Besides, I’d been a Boy Scout—and I figured whatever courses I’d taken to earn my first-aid badge would kick in when I needed them to. Like learning to ride a bike.

“How’s that feel?” I asked when I was finished and George’s fingers were covered in white non-adhesive bandages. I’d done a pretty damn good job, if I did say so myself. The bandages looked neat, all perfectly spaced. And most importantly, they were protected. The heavy layer of burn ointment I’d coated them with was trapped inside where it could do its work.

“Better,” George admitted. Some of the tension in his frame had eased. Maybe he’d been extra prickly because of the pain? That would make sense.

Now that he was taken care of I was tempted to address the elephant in the room—this morning and the cock-against-ass debacle—but I didn’t want to make his hackles rise again, so I stayed quiet.

I’d finally gotten on his good side.

At least…IhopedI’d gotten on his good side.

“Let’s get food,” George said, surprising me when the words came out almost like an invitation.

“Really? Together?” I blinked.

He nodded, sliding off the counter and out of my personal space. The whole walk back to the tent George held his pile of wet clothes away from his body, refusing to get damp again. I did the same, so I didn’t blame him. We were quick to abandon the clothing, and even quicker to zip the tent up behind us, back in the midday sun once more. George put his loafers on so his sneakers could dry. He looked ridiculously darling in a new set of long socks, loafers, and shorts.

The shorts were a revelation.

God’s gift to mankind.

I’d nearly choked on my tongue the first time I saw them. I’d had to forcemyself not to stare, just like I was doing now—resolutely looking ahead so I wouldn’t drop to my knees and start licking from his knees up his thighs.

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