Page 51 of Single-Minded
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” I said, trying to block out thoughts of waking up next to her in her pink bed, naked.
Presley picked up her phone, saw the time, and said, “Oh, my God. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“Your body had other ideas.”
Shit, don’t talk about her body. Don’t think about her body.
She quickly stood, brushing off her backside. “I can’t believe I slept for…two hours?”
“You must’ve been exhausted to sleep for any amount of time on that concrete floor.”
“I’m sorry. You said mudding was next. What can I do to help?”
I let out a quiet laugh and busied myself scraping off the dry mud from my tools. “Mud’s all done for tonight. It needs to dry overnight.”
“So that’s all for today?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She stared pointedly at me, hair mussed, clothes dusty, and still the most desirable woman I’d ever laid eyes on. “I thought we were over the ma’am thing.”
I grinned. “Habit.”
“So we’re ready to clean up for the day?” She seemed drowsy, like she was still waking up.
“That’s right.”
Presley went to the table and picked up the trash from our pizza dinner as I finished scraping my tools.
“Ouch!” She tossed down the pizza box as if it had bitten her, then grabbed on to one of her fingers.
“What happened?”
“Paper cut.” She lifted her uninjured hand to reveal a bleeding wound on her index finger.
I grabbed an unused napkin and handed it to her to staunch it. “Those things can bleed like a sucker.”
She nodded, wincing.
“Is it deep?” I asked. That thick cardboard could do some damage.
“I can’t tell,” she said, not looking at the cut. “Too much blood.”
I handed her a couple more napkins then went to my toolbox and grabbed some first aid supplies.
“Have a seat.” I pointed to the chair. “I’ll fix you up.” I squirted hand sanitizer from the first aid kit on my hands.
She lowered herself to the chair, her hands in her lap, pressing a napkin tightly to the cut.
“Let me see,” I said, squatting in front of her.
Holding out both hands, she turned her head away.
“Does blood make you squeamish?” I asked.
She sucked in a breath and said, “Only when it’s my own.”
“I got you.” I removed the blood-spotted napkin. The cut was on the lower part of her index finger. “Cardboard cuts are wicked.”
