Page 25 of Bazooka
It was. And it wasn’t.
“I bought some furniture,” he explained as I kept staring at his bulging biceps. “I’m not a fan, but I need to make this place livable while I’m here. No, not livable. Workable.”
“You’re not a fan of furniture?” I said when my brain started functioning again.
“No.”
“What are you a fan of, then?”
“Duffel bags. I don’t like anything that doesn’t fit in a duffel bag.”
“Why?”
“Because then I can’t leave when I feel like it.”
It actually made sense. He always seemed like a lone wolf to me. Admittedly, it was also kind of sad.
When his phone pinged, he reached for it while I allowed my gaze to slide down his body. The snug T-shirt that stretched over his continent-sized torso was the equivalent of a torture device. It may have covered his skin, but it left little to the imagination. And the gray sweats he put on… come on! That man should be forbidden from wearing gray sweats. His thighs were thick as logs. His tight, firm ass made me drool, so I wiped my chin just in case. When he shifted on his feet, allowing me to see his front, I choked.
“Stop staring at my crotch, Luz,” he said, without looking at me.
How… how… How could INOTstare? That bulge wasmeantto be stared at. Otherwise, would it be sticking out of his sweatslikeTHAT? No. Would it be that huge? No. Would it be that thick? No.
Speaking of bulges, I had morning wood, so… awkward.
Finally, Bazooka looked up from his phone. “How are you feeling?”
I shrugged. “Better? The same? As if someone put me in a coffee grinder and spat me out? By the way, how come you’re not at work?”
“The sketch artist will be here in half an hour, so I’ll go after he’s finished,” Bazooka replied. “Are you up for it?”
“Do I have a choice?” I said with a heavy sigh. “I’d better go change then.”
“Did you text your friends?”
“Yeah, they’ll let me know when they’re available.”
I headed to the bathroom, wondering how long Bazooka would let me stay here. Not long, probably, and I didn’t know how to persuade him to let me stay. Should I just talk to him? Plead with him? Beg him? Pay him? Force him? Offer him sexual services? No, that would be a reward, not compensation.
After I brushed my teeth, I dared to look at myself in the mirror. I still looked like a horror flick monster, but it wasn’t as bad as yesterday. I didn’t have a black eye anymore, at least. The cuts on my lips were healing, so fuck his comment that my lips were too bruised for kissing.
It occurred to me that I should retaliate somehow. Put Viagra in his coffee, maybe. Nah, I couldn’t do that, not after he was so kind to me. He took care of me like no one would take care of me, although I was just a stranger. Although, we weren’t strangers anymore, were we? Not after the way he treated my wounds last night with that smelly ointment. Not after he’d carried me to the bathroom and back—I clamped a hand over my mouth and yelped because it hurt. Howthe fuckdidn’t I remember this sooner? I was high on meds because John Smith fuckingdrugged me, but my legs were around Bazooka’s waist at some point, weren’t they? Or was I losing my mind?
“Are you okay?” Bazooka bellowed from a distance.
“Yeah,” I yelled back, still stunned.
When my phone pinged, I pulled it out of my pocket.
Alain:I talked to the guys. We can be at the address you texted me around noon. Is that okay?
Me:I’ll ask Bazooka and let you know.
Alain:Dotty says hi. Wagner, too.
Alain:BTW, did you two have electricity last night? Wagner hacked Smitsenergy.
Me:Bring me CLOTHES. The spare key is under the welcome mat in front of my apartment. If the key doesn’t work, break into my flat, but don’t come here without my clothes.
