2. Grant
Chapter Two
GRANT
Harley was a handful, and I wanted to kiss her. I'd wanted to kiss her for too damn long. But she was off-limits. Unfortunately, she was also my roommate. Fuck my life.
“Grant,” she began. She actually wagged her finger at me. “I really think we should go to the hospital.”
“I really think you should get the butterfly bandages out, pour peroxide or alcohol over it, and put the bandages on.”
I wasn't thinking when I reached out and placed my hands on her hips to turn her around. “There's antibiotic ointment in the smaller container in the cabinet.”
Fuck me. Her hips were soft, my fingers pressing into the lush give of her curves.
Thank fuck I was sitting down because I was sporting a serious hard-on at this point.
All over Harley, my friend's little sister. I had two younger sisters myself. I knew the rules. You were not supposed to fall for anybody’s sister. Definitely not a younger sister.
Harley stepped away, marching back to that cabinet, her hips swinging with every step. She fetched the smaller container in question and returned, opening it. “Oh, I see. All right. I should use alcohol just because you won't take my advice,” she muttered.
“Go for it.”
She looked my way again and then shook her head. “No, that would be mean.” She lifted the bottle of peroxide and dampened a cotton ball with it before gently dabbing it across the cut. I felt the bubble of the peroxide and a subtle sting, but it wasn’t too bad.
She worked quietly, cleaning it thoroughly and dabbing antibiotic ointment on it before following my instructions to bandage it.
“That gash is three inches long. It’s definitely going to leave a scar,” she announced.
I glanced up at her. She'd been standing close to me, touching me this whole time, yet I'd been focused on what she was doing.
It helped that the cut hurt. My shoulder was beginning to throb.
But now, my awareness shifted abruptly, like the flick of a switch, to Harley—her glossy, almost black hair, her big green eyes, her sensual lips, and the way her nose tipped up at the end.
Her tongue darted out, swiping across her bottom lip. “How do you feel?” she asked.
My fingers itched to touch her. There was almost a vibration of sensation, the need was so intense.
Her eyes darkened, and I could see the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. My heartbeat was drumming madly in my chest.
“Fine.” My voice came out husky. I cleared my throat.
She smoothed her hand over the bandage again, checking to ensure the edges were pressed down.
“You should take some ibuprofen before you go to bed. It's going to be sore.”
“It already is,” I answered honestly.
Her eyes swung to mine again, blinking. In another second, she spun away, hurrying over to the cabinet by the sink where we kept a bottle of ibuprofen. “How many?” she asked.
“Two,” I called in response.
She shook the bottle, dropping two pills in the center of her palm, and returned to me.
Her fingertips brushed mine as she handed them over with another glass of water.
I swallowed them quickly. Everything seemed loud.
The sound of my throat moving was audible in the quiet kitchen.
The clock went tick, tock, tick, tock where it was mounted on the wall above the stove.
I didn't even realize I'd lost my internal battle of wills in trying to keep my hands to myself.
Because I suddenly realized my palm was resting on her hip, just where it began to flare out below her waist.
Her breath hitched in her throat. “Grant?” Her voice held a barely-there hint of a question.
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing?”
I almost told her the truth—that I wanted to kiss her—but that was foolish and reckless. And really stupid. I gave her hip a light squeeze and a pat. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Oh, for chasing the moose off with a shovel and a rock and bandaging my shoulder,” I teased lightly, trying not to think about what her lips might feel like.
Pink crested high on her angled cheekbones. She stared at me. I sensed she knew I was dodging. At least I wasn't lying. I really was appreciative of her help.
“I'm sure you could have handled it yourself. You are Alaskan born and raised, after all.”
I forced my hand to drop away from her hips even though I wanted to kiss her senseless. I shrugged. “Maybe I've had more encounters with moose than you, but they're unpredictable.”
She snorted as she turned away and quickly gathered up the first-aid supplies. “Maybe so, but that's the closest I've been to one.”
“Really? You've been here over a year.”
She shrugged. “I know, but I’ve only seen them from a distance. He seemed scary tall.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “He was pretty tall. I think you had a better view than I did, though, since you were on the porch. As soon as I heard him coming, I tried to get the hell out of the way and got kicked instead. Moose are big in general.”
“Do I need to worry about him coming back?” she asked, looking genuinely concerned.
Then she went and bit her bottom lip, a habit of hers I was fairly convinced served solely to torture me. My cock throbbed, and I curled my hand on the edge of the chair. “Maybe, but we always need to keep our eye out for moose. They’re around a lot.”
“I just make a lot of noise, right?”
“Yeah. Like I've told you before, they're near-sighted. You want to make sure they hear you before they see you. By the time they see you, it might be too late. I kind of zoned out when I was walking back.”
“From a night at the bar?” she asked.
“Sure. Is that a problem?”
“No. Of course not. It's your life, not mine.”
“You could go out with me sometimes,” I pointed out.
“Why?” Her sharp tone, the arch of her brow, and the skepticism in her gaze needled me.
“Why not? We're roommates. We're friends, right?”
“Sure, but I don't really do bars. Plus, no offense, but I'm not up for playing your wing-woman while you go out and hit on women.”
I rolled my eyes. “I just like to knock back a beer or two and relax.”
She shrugged. “Plus, we're only sort of roommates.”
“What does that mean?”
She crossed her arms, tapping the toe of one socked foot on the floor. “Because you’re not always here. You often stay out the whole night when you go out.”
Harley and her opinions. I shook my head. “You know I have friends. I usually just crash with them. I don't get around the way you imply.”
“I’m not implying anything.” Her arms dropped. “Whatever. I'm glad you're okay. Good night,” she said tartly.
Her sweet, curvy hips were a magnet for my eyes when she marched past me.
She might as well have had a string attached to me.
My head turned, watching as she strode briskly through the wide archway out of the kitchen into the living room and up the stairs.
Her hips swayed temptingly with every step.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath.
Once I heard her bedroom door close, I stood, straightening my jeans. I was relieved she was out of sight because my arousal was visible. Fuck. I would have to take a cold shower to deal with this.