“Are you conversing with my stomach, Birdie?” Laughter shines through Brade’s voice, yet I still can’t seem to break eye contact with his midsection. That V... and those pants that look like a teensy tug would have them pooling around his feet. And that— t-shirt? What the fuck? I scowl up at the interloper. A totally unrepentant “Sorry” comes out of his mouth.
“Are not.” Oh, shit. I clap a hand over my mouth. “I mean, what’s up?” Smooth, Lark. Smooth.
“Well, if you were a guy, I’d say it would be your dick. But since I’m your BFF, I’ll overlook that fact.” I just stare at him nonplussed. “Really though, I have something on my back, and I wanted to know if you’d take a look. I think there’s something in it.” He pulls his shirt back off as he’s turning.
“Brade, if you’re showing me some nasty pimple, I’m going to hurt you.” He’s lucky it’s not. But it is a decent-sized splinter with the skin inflamed around it. “What the heck? How’d you get a splinter in your back?” I tug him down on the side of the bed while I go hunting in the bathroom for my travel-sized first aid kit and the tweezers out of my make-up bag. He starts to explain while I’m rummaging, and I’m glad he can’t see my face.
“I was out with Emmett yesterday for a run and leaned against a tree when we stopped for a break.” With your shirt off? Right. I let the water in the sink run hot to wash my hands and wet a washcloth.
“Hmm… still kinda weird.” I school my features and return to the bedroom to doctor his back. Surely the scenarios I'm imagining for him to be against a tree topless aren't likely.
"We got to talking, and I must have rubbed against it or something. I didn't really notice at the time. I woke up with it itchy and stinging and could only tell it was red in the mirror."
"Mm-hmm…" I answer noncommittally, strangling my green monster trying to take over as I apply the hot rag to the affected area.
"Ow! What the heck are you doing back there?" I push on his shoulder when he tries to twist around.
"Oh, quit being a baby. If you were too preoccupied to notice it going in, you can sit still while I get it out." I use an alcohol wipe on the tweezers before pressing the edge under the side I think the splinter went in. It breaks the barely closed skin, and I'm able to catch the edge and pull it out.
While my patient makes noises like I'm removing his fingernail rather than a foreign object, I scrub the festered spot with another alcohol wipe and smooth some antibiotic ointment over it. "I'm going to cover this for now, but tonight I'll take the bandage off, and if it looks okay, leave it off." I pat his shoulder, signaling I'm done as I get up. "Maybe next time find a better place to chat."
Without waiting for a reply, I go into the bathroom to put everything away, shutting the door behind me.
Judging my mood correctly, he doesn't follow but yells through the door, "At least your name isn't Florence; you have a terrible bedside manner!" I can hear the partner in crime when Brade exits my room to go downstairs.
"Who's Florence?" Shamelessly, I crack the door so I can hear what's going on in the hallway. I must have missed what Brade replied, but from Emmett's next words it was about my assistance. "You know there's a doctor in the house, right?"
"I'd rather take my chances with Florence in there." I can imagine Brade hiking a thumb in my direction.
Feeling guilty for eavesdropping, and put out that I feel that way, I go into my room and pull some shoes on. I'm determined to get out of the cabin today. I'm the only one that hasn't, mostly because I didn't want to crash anyone's routine, and now, as absurd as it seems after my complaints, I need some alone time before my eye twitch turns into something serious.
I go to leave and discover they're both still in the hall near the stairs, discussing something too quietly for me to hear with their heads together. The slam of my door gets their attention, and I stalk past them without a word, heading down the stairs to get outside. I vaguely hear Emmett asking what my problem is but really don't care and keep going.