“Here?” I ask, poking at a small wound on his ass.
“Fuck, man. Come on! That shit hurts.”
“And how big was this dog?”
“Huge,” he lies.
“And it wasn’t a street dog?”
“It was—I was—just fix my ass, Jude.”
“I’d say this massive wound is from a chihuahua, or a small terrier at best. You came in limping like you were attacked by a pack of wolves.”
“Felt like a pack,” he complains, wincing and clenching his ass when I use a Q-Tip with alcohol on it.
I could use some pain-free wound wash, but I like seeing the big tough guys brought down a few notches.
The exam room door flies open, the bottom of it hitting the stopper connected to the baseboard. We had to have half a dozen holes from the doorknob repaired before I finally found one that worked. The door swings back to close, having bounced off the block of wood there, but Deacon anticipates it and stops it before it smacks him in the face. He learns very quickly, apparently.
“What the hell happened?” he snaps, and I wonder just how many times the man has to say that in a day.
“Oh, no! Brooks are you okay?”
Only now do I snap my eyes up at the feminine voice. Brooks having his ass out in front of Deacon is one thing, having those cheeks pointed to the ceiling in front of the boss’s wife, is a totally different situation.
“Anna, go back to my office,” Deacon snaps.
“Patient privacy still counts in the office,” I mutter.
“How bad are you hurt?” Anna asks, trying to slide past Deacon’s large frame. “Do you need anything?”
“A hug wouldn’t hurt,” Brooks teases, earning a growl and threats of dismemberment from the boss.
“Move,” Anna says as she swats at Deacon’s back.
“To my office, Anna! His ass is bare!”
“You’re such a beast. I’ve seen asses before. Does he need to go to the hospital? Why would he come here if he’s hurt?”
“He’s fine. Just a couple of tiny contusions.”
“They feel massive,” Brooks grumbles. “Let her by, boss man. If she’s that desperate to see what a nice ass looks like—”
“I will murder you,” Deacon growls. “Anna!”
I apply more alcohol to the cuts, making Brooks hiss again, and it’s the small things that make my life so enjoyable.
Anna huffs, walking away, and Deacon steps inside, closes the door, and then locks it for good measure.
“What happened? You were supposed to be on the Bremen case.”
“I was.”
“Then how did you end up with bite marks in your ass?”
“Are you questioning my methods?”
I can’t see his face, but I imagine Brooks waggling his eyebrows just to piss Deacon off even more.
“You’re still not explaining.”
“I was on my lunch break. It was personal.”
“Injuries on personal time are supposed to be dealt with using personal supplies.”
I snap my head up. “New rule?”
He didn’t seem to have a problem letting me ice and wrap Wren’s wrist when he sprained it a couple of weeks ago with some bedroom antics I didn’t stick around to get the details of.
“New rule,” he confirms before opening the door back up. “Try and flash my wife any part of your anatomy again, and you’ll have more to worry about than a yapping dog on your ass.”
We both chuckle when Deacon storms out, the door snapping closed with his irritation.
“If that were Whitney and Wren, that woman would be seconds away from getting her ass blistered.”
“Whitney was in Wren’s office earlier, and I don’t imagine she has to upset him to get her ass spanked,” I offer. “Now, are you going to give me the details as to why you have bite marks on your ass?”
“I underestimated her speed?”
“On your lunch break?”
“It’s personal. Jude. Can you just leave it alone?” Brooks sighs, settling his head on his folded arms. “Just sew my ass up so I can go about my day.”
“You don’t need stitches, you big baby.”
“Can you not call me baby while my ass is out?”
I chuckle, grabbing some ointment for his wounds.
“Too gay?”
Brooks stiffens before huffing a laugh that has no humor to it.
“There’s nothing gay about prostate stimulation. Studies show that—”
“What is it with people being so focused on my ass today?” He huffs. “Can you please just hurry up?”
I flip him the bird behind his head and get back to work.
For all the jovial moods everyone was in a couple days ago when they teased me about being a virgin, they all seem to be the ones needing to blow off a little steam.
Chapter 8
Parker
I growl in frustration as I overpour yet another drink, tempted to lick the tequila off my fingers even though that would be the least sanitary way to deal with the fifth mess I’ve created tonight.
“Distracted?” the patron bellied up to the bar asks as I slide his shot and beer across to him.
“Just a little tired,” I lie, giving him a sweet smile.