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watch her, I wait for her to pour some alcohol into the cap, but she doesn’t. No, she pours half the damn bottle over my knee. “Holy mother of shit!” I seethe between clinched teeth. My leg feels like it’s been doused in gasoline and caught on fucking fire!
    “Oh my God! Wyatt, I’m sorry!” she apologizes. Grabbing onto the arm of the couch, I take in a deep breath to calm myself.
    I reach out and place my hand on top of hers. “It’s okay. Look, I’m fine,” I assure her. I reach out and tilt her chin upwards, lifting her eyes to mine. “Just...you could’ve warned me. I wasn’t expecting you to dump half the bottle on me; that’s all.” She bites her lip and nods. I bring my thumb up beneath her lip and tug it loose from her teeth. “Keep going,” I urge.
    She licks her lips, brings her face down towards my knee, and blows gently. And yes, my knee stings like I’ve stuck it into a wasp’s nest, but her beauty makes the pain almost nonexistent. Her hair’s draping over her shoulders; her lips glisten as she blows, and I can’t hold back the hardness from making its debut. What can I say? She’s drop dead gorgeous. Any man who could sit here and watch this without getting a boner wouldn’t have a drop of testosterone within his body. She blows until the wetness from the alcohol left behind is dry. She pulls herself up and digs through the kit, pulling out something that resembles a large Q-tip.
    She picks up the yellow and white tube laid out beside her and twists the cap off. She then squeezes some thick ointment onto the swab and brings it to my wound. Looking up to me, she waits for a cue that it’s okay to proceed. I nod, giving her the go ahead. “This won’t hurt like the alcohol did, promise,” she smiles.
    “Are you smiling.....at hurting me?” I ask bemused. She sucks her cheeks in and bites onto the inside of her cheek in an attempt to contain her laughter. “So, my pain is laughable to you? Amusing?” I ask.
    “What? No,” she replies. She’s cute as fuck, and I love giving her a hard time. Her smile lights up my entire fucking world.
    “No?” I ask, squinting my eyes at her.
    “Okay, maybe a little,” she admits.
    I lean back into the couch and spread my arms out across the back. “Well, amuse me with telling me why in the hell my pain amuses you, baby.”
    She places the cotton swab onto my knee and rubs it around my wound in circular motions, spreading the ointment evenly. “It’s just, well....I don’t know, dammit! You seem so manly, yet such a big-ass baby when it comes to something as simple as pouring a little alcohol over your sore. I’m a little surprised, that’s all,” she shrugs.
    Big-ass baby? Little bit of alcohol? “Uh, that was not a ‘little bit’ of alcohol, babe. You dumped half the damn bottle on me. It’s like pouring salt into it; it fucking stung,” I inform her.
    I am manly. I carry no pussy-like traits.
    She shrugs again. “If you say so.” She pulls out a Band-Aid and rips open the wrapper. As she reaches out to place it over my knee, I capture her hand with mine, preventing her from bandaging my wound. “What?” she asks.
    I shake my head, lower my eyes to my knee, and then back to her eyes, “Hell no. You are not placing a Band-Aid there. I refuse to rip my leg hair off with that damn thing.”
    She cocks her head to the side and eyes me in disbelief. “Seriously? See, a big-ass baby,” she accuses. “You can either let me put this on, or you can wait for mama bear to see it and take you to the ER for stitches. And, by the way, you hardly tolerated the sting from the alcohol; I’d hate to see how you’d react to having someone sew your knee back up. They’d have to drug you with a horse tranquilizer,” she expresses, nonchalantly.
    She drops my knee and pushes herself up off the table. Bending down, she places a kiss on my cheek. “That’s okay, though. I love you just the way you are. Just don’t make your crying a