"A-flutter?" I repeated, tossing another couple things into my handcart.
"In your lady business," she clarified and I could hear the smirk in her voice.
"There is no fluttering."
"You liar."
She perhaps knew me too well.
"Where are you that he's not around?"
"Getting some stuff to treat his arm with. It's not healing right."
"Oh, look at you. Getting your nursemaid on. That is some fun foreplay if I ever heard of any before. You gonna put on a white dress and fishnets while you do it?"
"Stop. Poor Camden is probably having a heart attack with all that talk."
"Don't worry. He's my next project. Once I know you've gotten some."
"How is the search coming?"
"There have been a few leads actually. I should have more pinned down by the time you're back. But no rush. Enjoy all that bed time with Roderick!" she called, hanging up before I could say anything more.
Picking up some last minute snacks in case I was up all night and hungry, I headed back to the hotel, now more acutely aware of the lady business fluttering as I opened the door to find that while I was gone, Roderick had showered.
Meaning he was standing there with his back to me... shirtless, his pants hanging down low on his hips.
Astrid was wrong, though.
It wasn't fluttering.
No, this was definite pre-orgasm tightening.
And then, oh, and then, he turned.
I'm not sure there was a word for the shock that moved through my system, making my knees go a bit wobbly, making me slam back against the door.
Because, well, damn.
A low, whimpering sound escaped me, making his head cock to the side a bit, a confident smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Want me to cover up?" he asked, sounding like he had no intentions of doing so no matter what my answer might be.
"This is, ah, distracting," I told him, trying to keep my eyes from wandering down the deep indents of muscle, the way his Adonis belt disappeared into the waistband of his pants.
"Distracting from what, mami?"
Oh, God.
He was doing this on purpose.
He had to be, right?
"To, ah, treating your arm," I remembered, waving one of the bags up at him. "I have some stuff to pour over it, so we might be better off doing it on the sink. Over," I rushed to corrected, unable to keep eye contact. "Over the sink," I tried, voice calmer.
"We'll just look past that Freudian slip," he agreed, turning to move back into the still steamy bathroom, standing beside the sink, waiting for me. "What do you got?"
"Well, to start, some witch hazel. My grandmother always used it on my cuts as a kid," I told him, putting the bottle down on the counter.
"Is Sierra Mist a new medical cure I don't know about?" he asked when that bottle followed.
"No, that's for me. Sierra Mist is the most underrated soda. But only the ones with the real sugar, not the corn syrup."
"Good to know."
"And then we have some of this," I told him, flashing the little amber glass bottle at him.
"Tea tree oil?"
"It smells godawful, but Astrid swore it was the only thing to help the infection she got when she got her... when she got some piercings," I was careful to cover. "And then some triple antibiotic cream to put on after. I figure between all three, you should be less red in the morning. I got fresh gauze too."
"You seem pretty adept at this kind of thing."
"We tend to get a lot of injuries in our line of work. It's easier not to have to spend six hours in the hospital each time. This shouldn't burn," I said, pulling the seal off the witch hazel to pour it over the arm he held over the sink. "It doesn't have alcohol. This might, though," I warned after mopping some of the excess fluid off with a washcloth, careful not to touch the cut itself. Then I shook the foul-smelling oil onto his arm.
"I thought you were exaggerating. This smells fucking awful."
"I'm kind of used to it," I admitted, shrugging as I once again got rid of the excess, waiting for the rest of it to dry on its own as I fiddled with the triple antibiotic and gauze, then squeezing a huge glob on, spreading it around with a small strip of bandage.
"It still somehow reeks," he said after I completely re-bandaged his arm.
"I'd tell you it will wear off, but that's a lie."
"If it works, I suppose it will be worth it."
"Alright, hop out. I want to take a shower," I told him, cleaning up the supplies, taking the bag when he came back in to offer it to me.
Then I took the longest shower in history, trying to psych myself up - or down - before climbing out and realizing my pajamas were really meant for sleeping in my apartment around my loved ones or in a hotel room by myself.