Page 64 of Pucked Up

“Are you talking to me?” Ford’s voice carried,echoing off the tiled floors and walls so perfectly it was like his voice was being funneled right into my ear canals.

“Why are you in here?”

“Because you’re taking too long. Finish jerking off so we can get going. I’m literally going to die of starvation.”

“You have days’ worth of muscle for your body to eat,” I told him, letting myself go and reaching for the shower knob. Pulling back the fogged glass door, I saw Ford mostly dressed, leaning against the sink with his right pant leg loose over where his prosthetic should have been. “Are you not taking Carol-Ann?”

“Nah. The hussy said she wanted to stay in and watch porn.”

“You know, it’s super creepy you say shit like that when the character is a child.”

“She was a child in the seventies! She’s a nice, mature, gorgeous cougar,” he defended. “She deserves a night in to watch porn.”

I was actually pretty sure the actress herself had died as a little girl, but I wasn’t going to bring that up. This conversation was weird enough. “Whatever makes you happy.”

“Will it bother your dad?” he asked as I shifted over to the toilet lid and began to dry my legs.

“Probably.” There was no sugarcoating that. My dad had always been weird about disability. He’d taught me to play but avoided my sled games as often as he could when I was growing up, and heheaped praise on any of my friends I brought home who were able-bodied.

It was incentive to avoid them at all costs, which was also why the idea of bringing Hugo home as my boyfriend crawled under my skin. My dad would love him, and I would get freshly pissed off every time he sang Hugo’s praises, even if they were well deserved.

“What’s that face?” Ford asked, leaning in close.

I looked over at him and shrugged. “Just preparing myself for tonight.” I grabbed my hearing aids from the counter and slipped them in before sliding into my boxers and then strapping my orthotics on.

My slacks fit easily over them, and my legs were relieved to be supported as I stood at the mirror and began to fuss with my hair, but my hands didn’t want to cooperate after such a long day.

“Let me,” Ford said when he noticed my stiff fingers.

He sat me back on the toilet and attacked my head with a bottle of spray gel and his comb. It felt nice to be doted on for a little bit. I knew I could have had that more—that it could have been so much better than just sex if I’d let Hugo have what he really wanted. And that sat bitter and acidic in the back of my throat.

“It’s not just your dad,” Ford said after a long while. Fuck, the way he could read me was really annoying some days.

“It doesn’t matter.”

He said nothing as he finished my hair, then helped me into my shirt, doing all the little buttons up for me so I didn’t have to dig out my button tool from my bag. When I was finished, he used both hands to haul me to my feet, then gave me a slow up-and-down look.

“Fuckable.”

“Not what I was going for since it’s dinner with my dad, but thanks.”

He shrugged and hopped back a step. “I mean, he might have some hot-as-fuck, rich Daddy with him that you could use to?—”

“No.”

“Then maybeIcould use to?—”

“Ford!”

He threw up his hands in surrender, hopping back another step. “Fine, fine. Suit yourself. Be a cock-block.”

“You and I both know you have zero interest in fucking some rich, shriveled-dick asshole who only lives for money.”

Ford grimaced and moved to the side as I grabbed my crutches and headed back into the main room. “I’d take one for the team if I had to.”

“Don’t be gross.”

He groaned. “Look, I’m trying to take your mind off Hugo, okay?”

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