Page 72 of Take My Love
Even though she purposely put me in hard positions, she blames me for removing my shirt when she told me not to, but I couldn’t help it. The humidity and heat were excruciating—mix in the poses she was making me do, and I couldn’t bear it any longer.
Even though Mila returned on Thursday to run the class, Posey volunteered me to keep demonstrating, and I once again removed my shirt when it got too hot—so honestly, she’s the one to blame for making me participate.
It’s not my fault someone recorded me without permission but she should be glad that it brought more attention to their goat yoga classes. The next several weeks are already booked out.
Warren’s been giving me shit about it, as are my sisters, but now they’re determined more than ever to find me a girlfriend.
Although I’ve been talking to Jamie and we’re getting along fine, I feel nothing besides friendship toward her. She’s beautiful and funny, and I’m sure she’d make a great partner—to someone else. I have a suspicion that kissing her would be like kissing my grandma.
Still, I’m going through with our double date for Posey’s sake.She won’t go out with Jackson on her own, but hopefully they’ll hit it off enough that they’ll make a second date.
Even if the thought of them together makes me sick to my stomach, it’d be good for her to find someone who treats her right and makes her happy. The guys she’s dated in the past have been residents of a flaming trash bin floating down a river.
When a loud commotion followed by a slew of curse words grabs my attention, I jump out of bed. The music’s no longer damaging my ear drum but there’s a mess of shattered glass on the kitchen floor.
“Shit, are you okay?” I kneel to where she’s picking up the pieces. “Let me do this. I’ll sweep it up.”
She groans, clearly frustrated and annoyed with herself. “It’s fine. I’ll do it.”
“I can help.”
When our eyes meet, there’s a fire behind hers, and I swallow hard at the way she’s looking at me. But then hers lowers down my body, and I remember I’m only in my boxer briefs.
My gaze drops to her finger.
“Posey, you’re bleedin’.” I grab her wrist and hold up her hand before more blood drips on the floor.
“I’m fine,” she insists. “The vase slipped and sliced me.”
Not wanting to risk her stepping on the glass, I lift her up and set her down on the other side of the island.
“Silas!” she squeals.
“Where’s your first aid kit?”
“Under the sink in my bathroom.”
“Stay here,” I order. “And keep your arm up.”
She sighs. “You’re overreactin’.”
Ignoringher, I rush to grab it.
“It’s really not that bad,” she insists when I return.
“Better to clean it and make sure no glass got inside,” I tell her. “Don’t wanna risk it gettin’ infected.”
Grabbing one of the antiseptic wipes, I rub it over the open cut that’s just below her knuckle before adding a little cream. Then I open a Band-Aid and wrap it around her finger. Once it’s secure, I bring it to my mouth and kiss it.
“There, all better.” I wink, then toss out the trash.
“Thanks, Dr. City Boy.”
I snort, unable to stop my smile at her unamused tone even though her breathing picked up when I pressed my lips to her finger.
“Wanna tell me what made you so upset in the first place?” I stand against the counter across from her.
“No…” She lowers her gaze to her hands in her lap. “It’s too embarrassin’.”
