“Decided to come back. Didn’t know you were old enough to talk like that,” I say, hitting her with a wink, which only gets me an eye roll and an exasperated sigh. It seems to be a common transaction for the two of us.

“And it’s Brandt, not Bush,” I add, before I can think better of correcting her.

That sentence brings her up short. She carefully places the tweezers on the counter before lifting one brow in my direction. “What do you mean it’s Brandt and not Bush?"

I freeze for a beat, kicking myself for sharing that with her. It tumbled out with such ease. The messiness of my life seeps through the cracks a little too readily when I’m around her.

“Getting kind of personal, don’t you think?” I quip, crossing my arms, hoping to steer us into safer territory. Julia is all bright and shiny, her family is all wholesome and happy. I don’t want to pop the lid on something that will only make me feel lesser than in her presence.

She doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she busies herself by reaching for a paper towel, wetting it, and wiping her skin clean. Then she inspects her hands with a dry chuckle. “You’ve washed vomit out of my sarong, so I think we might be past the point of worrying about what’s personal.”

I pop my tongue into my cheek to cover a laugh, because, fuck, if she hasn’t got a point. A dark one. But a point nonetheless.

One that has me realizing Julia may not be judging me the way that I assume she is.

OceanofPDF.com

OceanofPDF.com

CHAPTER 12

Julia

I STEP BACK FROM him, knowing I need to create some space, but a sharp sting brings me up short.

I wince and let out a pained hiss when the fucking thorns speared into my ass cheek twist and snag against the loose fabric of my shorts. They’ve been needling me since I walked down that mountain, every step a reminder that I had no idea how I was going to get them out.

Hell, I even leaned up against a tree and tried to twist around far enough, but to no avail. My plan has certainly not been to tell a single person. Least of all Emmett Bush. But concern overtakes his features. It seems I underestimated how observant the man is.

“Are you lying about being injured?”

“No,” I reply quickly, my cheeks heating as I shake my head with too much enthusiasm to be normal.

“Julia. What’s wrong?”

He steps closer, and I grip the edge of the counter as my butt bumps against the edge, forcing me to swallow a pained moan. It comes out as more of a pathetic whimper. Apparently, a noise that makes chivalrous men want to help you, because Emmett’s body language has morphed from coy and teasing to alarmed.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. I thought you got all the spines out of your hands.”

“I did.” I hold them up to him as though showing proof of my work.

“So why do you sound like a wounded animal?”

“I don’t—” I start to argue with him and then cut myself off because it sounds frilly and needlessly secretive. We’re both adults here. I’ll be direct. “I have some stuck on the back of my… legs. They might be awkward to reach, and I need some privacy so that you don’t… I don’t know, take blackmail pictures of me twisted up like a pretzel.”

“Julia, be real. I wouldn’t use them for blackmail. I’d keep them for personal use.”

“Wow, you are something else. You know—”

“Turn around,” he cuts me off with a smirk. “I’ll help you.”

“No. I’d rather you didn’t.”

He sighs now, running a calloused hand through his dark golden curls. “Julia, I’ve seen women’s legs before, okay? I’ll quit teasing you and get straight to business, but let’s get this done so that we can both get to work.”

I sigh heavily, resignation sweeping through me. “You can’t help me because I lied. They’re not on my legs.”

His brows lift in silent question as he stares back at me.

“They’re on my ass.”

For a beat: nothing. Then his bright blue irises widen in shock as he lifts a fist up to shield his lips.

Which only serves to annoy me because I know that behind that big fucking hand he’s laughing at me. But he covers it up in seconds, dropping his hand as he shoots me an earnest expression. “You’re in luck, because I’ve also seen a lot of women’s asses. Seeing yours will be just another day in the life. So, the offer still stands.”

I groan and drop my face into my hands.

“I promise to be a complete gentleman about it. I’ve removed porcupine quills from a horse’s nose, so this should be a walk in the park. I know I run my mouth a lot, but I would never—”

“I know,” I say, waving him off. Because I do know. I may not be all that familiar with Emmett, but he has seen me at my most vulnerable, and he was nothing short of saintly.

Plus, I can’t fathom spending hours with these prickles torturing me. So, with an exasperated sigh, I say, “Fine. But don’t get a boner.”

He scoffs at me and I shoot him a withering glare. Then I turn around with flaming red cheeks and plant my palms on the linoleum counter. “Okay. Get it over with.”

“Oh god. I love it when women say that to me,” he quips, stepping closer.

“Emmett.”

“Sorry, sorry. It slips out sometimes.”

“Well, lock it down. I’m not one of the contestants. Save it for later.”

He’s a respectable distance away, but I can still feel the heat of his body as he crouches a bit to inspect me. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping I can disassociate from the level of mortification this entire thing is causing me.

“Julia, I don’t know how to tell you this without pissing you off.”

“Just say it,” I grit out.

“I’m going to need you to bend over.”

“Fuck my life,” I groan, staring at the worn floorboards beneath me and silently praying that they might open up and swallow me whole.

“In the least sexual way possible. Obviously, because it’s you.”

I bend over, propping my elbows against the counter as I toss back, “Okay, there’s no need to be insulting about it.”

He chuckles, and I can feel his eyes on me. Knowing he’s looking his fill stirs something inside of me that has been dormant for over two years now. Wearing only my shorts and sports bra, I’m exposed but not uncomfortable.

“You really did a number on yourself. There are… a lot.”

I swear I can hear him wince.

I glare at him over my shoulder, refusing to answer that question with any words. He grins back at me, and it’s hard to maintain my frown because this is objectively kind of funny.

Still, I turn back to analyzing the counter. It has brown veining in it, like it was trying to imitate marble while keeping to a very seventies color scheme. Hell, even the oven and fridge are a yellow-gold color.

Silence stretches between us as he moves, assessing the damage or coming up with a plan of attack. All I can hear is the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock that sits above the woodburning fireplace in the small adjoining living room.

“Okay, can I touch you now?”

My heart stutters in my chest at the tenderness and respect in his voice. For a guy who was just joking about bending me over, he has pivoted into dutiful territory very quickly.

“Y-yeah. That’s fine.” I nod as I respond, but I don’t risk looking back at him.

“Okay, I’m going to start down here.” He presses a single finger to my upper thigh to demonstrate the location. “And then I’ll work my way up. But I’ll let you know. I might have to… lift the fabric a bit to get at a few of them.”

“Sure. Whatever,” I say. Because what do I care? Any shred of pride I had has dissolved into this retro vinyl countertop.

This hideous mustard tone is officially the shade of humiliation.