by Emily James
“Six. Pleasure to meet you.”
Melinda’s eyebrows shoot up like fireworks. She traitorously smiles at Six as she shakes his hand, ignoring the fact that I’m just inches from them both.
“Of course you are. Nice to meet you, Six. She didn’t mention you were so... tall.”
I close my eyes. My devastation consumes me. Melinda continues, “You wouldn’t give me a lift with this one would you? She’s heavier than she looks.”
“Is she?” I ask. Neither of them notices the shaking of my head or the look of death I fire from my eyes.
“It would be my pleasure.”
Six hoists me up carefully onto his shoulder, into a lift that stirs a vivid memory from deep inside of me. I let out a gasp as pain shoots in my butt. Six carries my weight with little effort, and we quickly reach the door of my apartment.
Even if I wanted to protest, I can’t. The slightest of movements cause shooting white-hot pain in my butt. I hold my breath while Melinda opens my door and Six walks inside and lowers me gently onto my side on the sofa.
“Shall I make us some tea?” Melinda offers.
I decline. I’m not sure I could stay awake for the length of time it takes for the kettle to boil. Melinda goes into the kitchen anyway and returns with an ice pack that she lies across my butt.
Sleep takes me hard and fast. But, in the gap before I fall, a small part of me hopes that when I wake, Six is still here to look after me.
THE FIRST THING I NOTICE when I wake is that my ass still throbs with pain, so much so I don’t dare move. The second thing I notice is Six seated on the chair opposite my sofa. He doesn’t notice I’m awake, he’s reading the medical leaflet I was given at the hospital. His bare feet are on my coffee table and he’s wearing light jeans with rips at the knees. They look so good I question how I missed them earlier. I allow my eyes to drift, just for a moment, while he is entertained. I am sure he will ridicule me later but his body is so ripped it would be rude not to look while I can. His white T-shirt clings to his chest and looks soft enough to wrap babies in. I wonder what our babies might look like.
Six looks at me strangely, I close my mouth and offer him a friendly smile.
“Good evening, Four. Your friend Melinda asked me to stay; she had to get back to her kids,” Six says.
It’s dark outside. The clock says ten. Six has shut the curtains and put on the lamp. He’s even draped me in Chesney, and I’m still lying on my side but the icepack from earlier is gone.
“Thank you, for staying again.”
“Where else would I be,” Six murmurs. “Mikey dropped in some freshly made soup and bread. Would you like me to heat you some?”
I nod, suddenly ravenous.
A funny feeling flutters through my belly when Six, in his bare feet, takes ownership of my kitchen. He heats the soup and brings me the bowl with three chunks of freshly baked bread. I watch him clean the kitchen while I eat and think back to how Chris looked in the same kitchen not two weeks ago. My stomach doesn’t feel as fluttery, so I concentrate on my soup which is divine.
Six brings us both tea and sits opposite me, back in his chair, with his feet once again on the coffee table. I wonder if he’ll make his excuses to go home soon, now that he doesn’t have a reason to stay.
Six takes the television remote from the coffee table and pushes the on button. He catches me looking and throws me a grin. “What?” he says innocently.
“Nothing,” I reply, surprised by his sudden civility. In reverse, I’d probably be tempted to tease.
The television blinks on and Six changes the channel. Then he looks away from the television and focuses on me. His smile parts to reveal his teeth. “Can I ass you a question?”
Six’s abdominal muscles bob with his silent laugh.
“Spit it out Six; get it all out your system now. But be warned, when I am not in so much pain, I will get you back,” I threaten.
“Fair comment, I’m sorry, Four. Is there anything I can do to ass-ist you?” Six’s silent laugh increases to a barely audible chuckle. “Perhaps I can get you some Ass-pirin?”
“Hilarious, Six.” I shake my head and narrow my eyes, fighting the grin that wants to break free.
“Sorry, I’m putting all my jokes ass-ide; you have my ass-urances.” His laugh leaves his lips in unrestrained chugs until he gives up and belly laughs. Six’s face when he smiles like this is such a treat for sore eyes I don’t even have it in me to be offended.
“You’re an ass-hole, you know that, Six?” I crack up at the sight of Six laughing and at my own humiliation, but the movement my body makes, as my belly laughs creases me up, causing me to shriek with pain.
Six leaps up and perches next to me.
“It says massage is helpful.” He points to the leaflet, a glint of concern in his eyes. His hand goes to the painful swell of my right buttock. He looks at me for permission. I pretend I don’t see him and sigh as he rubs at the tight, hard muscle. It’s a glorious, deep rub and my eyes flutter and blink in euphoric release.
After a few minutes, he moves from his awkward position in front of the sofa and carefully lifts my feet onto his lap. As he sits beside me, he continues his massage and we settle to watch the film playing on the television.
THE LIGHT STREAMS THROUGH the curtain and I wipe the sleep dust from my eyes. Six snuffles his light snores from the end of the sofa, and I uncomfortably try to shift my body. The pain shoots like a rocket through my butt cheek and my leg jolts out like fork lightening.
Six lurches up off the sofa, cupping his man parts. “Jesus, Four, you nearly disabled the crown jewels, again.”
“Oops. Sorry, Six.” He gives his balls the lightest of fondles. Confident there is no damage, he moves to the kitchen and I hear the kettle switch on.
While he is busy, I take one of the stainless steel coasters from my coffee table and inspect my morning look. My face is pale and dark circles haunt my eyes. There’s a smattering of dirt with essence of green paint. I’m still wearing my paintball clothes, minus my jacket and my Bon Jovi T-shirt has rips and stains. The effort to lift my arms so I can sniff my pits is excruciating, and I let out a groan as my tender joints stretch.
I need a shower, but I know it’s going to hurt, bad. I use both hands to heave myself off the sofa, crying out as I do. Six is suddenly at my side, his hand under my arm. Water leaks from my eyes, and I start to wonder how I am going to manage to walk into the bathroom, never mind actually shower. Six seems to understand my predicament. He puts his arms beneath mine and supports my weight as we walk together, where he leaves me in the bathroom.
I’m able to undo my zip and relieve myself. I manage to switch on the shower and kick off my trousers with great difficulty. Every slight movement feels like I’m lifting the weight of ten men. I wretch with pain and shock when I see my butt protruding from my underwear. If this was a police line-up of butts, then mine could be mistaken for a Kardashian’s, either that or two hard purple footballs.
“Four, are you okay? Open the door.” My T-shirt barely covers my navel and I’m in a state of disrepair. My body is black, blue, purple, and green. Parts of the shot wounds are bright red welts of raw skin and sting as the air touches them.
It’s no good; I will need to stay dirty and smelly.
I sob and reply to Six, “I can’t do this. It hurts too much. I can’t even lift my arms to take my top off.”
“Four, I’m coming in,” he says, knocking twice for good measure and opening the door.
I let out a snigger, which hurts like hell, but the consequential pain is worth it when I notice what Six is wearing. “Six, is that my bra?”
“It was on the radiator in the kitchen; it looked about the right size.”
Six is wearing my off-white sports bra as a curtain across his eyes. My heart does a little flip. He looks so vulnerable and sweet, blindfolded by my bra.
“Right, I’m here to help. Just tell me where not to grab.”
I stand
in front of Six and move his hands to the hem of my shirt. “Take it off real slow,” I tell him and he lifts it and releases my arms in lingering, careful movements. I turn my back to him and ask him to undo my bra. He carefully feels his way to the clasp and unhooks it. My breasts, released from their prison feel as though they engorge in size, and I consider what a shame it is that he can’t see them. Six slides the straps down from my shoulders, his long fingers are light and create a path of goose bumps in their wake. I guide his hands to my hips, and audibly swallow the lump as he slides my underwear down over my curves to the floor. My pain is like a distant memory, as parts of my body heat with pleasure, until I shift my weight to stand closer to the bathtub.
“Ahh,” I let out a sigh, and Six is suddenly quite literally standing to attention in front of me.
“Grab hold of me if you need to, Four. We’ve got this,” Six says, and I can’t help but admire his erection, though I’m not sure that was what he was referring to me grabbing. I grip his arm, I’m a lady after all, and he feels across my back and supports under my arms while I climb over the side of the bath and under the warm jets.
I groan in pleasure at the sensation of the warm water as I watch Six, standing guard. I could pull the shower curtain across, but amazingly, I trust that he won’t peek. It would be erotic if everything weren’t so damned painful. I lather myself up using my cherry scented body wash and begin to feel more like a woman again.
Six’s nostril’s flare as he inhales, the water spraying him slightly. The bulge in his area seems to have swollen even more, and I’m questioning the strength of the denim from releasing his beast. I’m drenched, and not because of the shower.
“Do you need me to do anything, Four?”
Oh my, is he...
“I could wash your hair if you need me to, just pour the soap in my hands.” He holds out his hands in cups.
Urghh. Trust Six to suddenly become a gentleman.
I pour the shampoo into his waiting hands and he asks me to say when his hands are above my scalp. He performs a massage capable of bankrupting salons across the land. Groans escape my mouth, which, judging by the look on Six’s face pleases him greatly. While he rinses the suds from my hair, his T-shirt becomes soaked and I admire his firm chest and solid muscles as he works me—I mean my hair—into a frenzy. Too soon, the soap is all rinsed out, but I decide I need conditioner. It’s better to be thorough. Six’s T-shirt is now soaking wet. He asks me to hang on while he removes it. I tell him it’s a good idea, I don’t want him to get cold, after all.
He removes it slowly and carefully, so not to remove the blindfold. It’s an erotic striptease.
A shirtless Six is a sizzling sight.
I wonder if it’d be crass to suggest the conditioner ought to soak in for five minutes, so that I can admire the view, but Six proceeds with the rinsing, and since his fingers are moving in my hair and his elbow accidentally brushes my nipple, the thought is soon washed clean.
When I can’t prolong the shower any longer, Six grabs my fluffiest towel from the radiator, and wraps it around me, tucking it in at the side of my breast.
I’m left breathless and throbbing, and not because of my injuries.
Trust Six to make getting clean absolutely filthy.
Chapter 12
AFTER I AM DRESSED and Six has helped me put on my socks and settle back onto my side on the sofa, he nips next door for another T-shirt. Six returns after only a minute or two with his toolbox and some breakfast ingredients. He makes us bacon and eggs, even though it is nearing lunchtime, and he serves it with coffee so strong you could eat it with a spoon.
“You know, Four, you buy really terrible coffee. It tastes like cat’s pee.” Six stocks his coffee in my canister. I don’t complain. I quite like Six’s coffee, now that I’m used to it.
After we have eaten, Six washes the dishes and fixes a broken cupboard handle in the kitchen. He complains that I have my heating switched up too high. I’m tempted to suggest that if he’s too warm he could take off his T-shirt again, but leave the tool belt on...
My mind wanders into dark, delicious places. I don’t recall a time before now that I have ever fantasized over a man. My filthy little imagination is more than compensating for this fact. I realise, for the first time that I could totally get used to having Six around. Especially since, for the last few hours, he has hardly been annoying at all. Perhaps we have turned a corner in our relationship
Six sits opposite me in his chair. His feet, minus socks, are resting on my coffee table, again. I’m surprised that this doesn’t annoy me since I used to make Chris wear slippers in the apartment; although, his feet were bony with wiry black hairs on his toes. Six’s toes are tanned and smooth with short, clipped toenails. I’m not a person who normally notices feet, but it has to be noted that Six’s feet are not offensive to the eye. Strangely, I like seeing him relax in my home.
Six clears his throat, catching my attention. When my gaze meets his, his eyebrows raise with his smile. “Something interesting about my feet?” he asks.
“Not at all,” I tell him. I can’t exactly admit I was just admiring his feet; that would be weird. “Actually, I’m just wondering if the painkillers are mellowing my mood.” I throw a pointed eye at his offending feet, even though I don’t really mind all that much.
“Do you want me to remove my feet, Four?” he asks.
“God, no! That would just make a mess; there’d be blood everywhere. Last time I made someone do that it took weeks to get the metallic smell out of the room,” I mumble. Six’s eyebrows rise up in that cute way when he finds something amusing, and he nods his understanding. He has a cheeky little smile on his lips as if he thinks I’m not completely mental. I change the subject. “Can you pass me my laptop, please?”
I point to the side of Six’s chair and he carefully takes my laptop out from the bag and passes it to me. He then settles back in his chair, feet on the coffee table, to read the action book he must have brought from next door.
While we were at the hospital, Melinda called work to explain that I am sick, but I need to email in some files I’ve been working on from home.
Once my laptop has whirled back to life, a familiar ringing echoes around the room. I answer the video call instinctively before I fully think through the repercussions. It will be my mother, who is the only person, apart from Melinda, to have ever video called me.
“There you are, my little brave soldier. I’ve been trying to contact you. Where is your phone? Melinda told me everything. How are you and how on earth do you manage to break your bottom, my dear girl?” My mum’s words bluster out through the speakers.
Heat flares in my face as I angle the screen of my laptop away from Six, who puts his book down and studies my situation with interest. My fingers twitch nervously while trying to switch the volume down. My mum has a tendency to spill whatever lunacy pops into her head with no thought of consequence. She could literally give Six enough taunts, in just one sentence, to last a dozen years. I cuss myself for not having asked Six to pass me my earphones.
My mum is wearing rollers in her yellow hair and her perma-tanned face looks older than the last time we spoke. Her bright pink lipstick matches her shirt, which dips to reveal quite a bit of cleavage.
Six stands and I wonder if he is about to go home, to give me some privacy and leave me with my dignity intact.
“Oh, I have got to see this,” he says and walks around the coffee table, leaning on the sofa behind me.
I give him my narrowed ‘buzz off’ glare and try to swat him away, but my mum sees him and leans her face forward until she's filling the screen of my laptop.
“Joanie, don’t be alarmed but there is a man behind you and it isn’t Chris!” She whispers this as if Six can’t hear her just as clearly as I can.
I take a deep breath and try to steel myself for the embarrassment that’s too late to avoid. “Mum, this is my neighbour. He’s fixed my cupboard and has been helping me o
ut, you know since I...”
“Broke your bum?” My mother fills in the gaps, just as she always does.
“Hurt myself,” I clarify, while my mother and Six both examine me under their microscopes. “Chris and I, we um... broke up.” I brace myself for her reaction. She loves Chris and was hoping for a shotgun wedding any day now. She said as much to anyone who cared to listen. “We um... Just wanted different things but I’m okay. It was for the best, really it was. He’s gone to New York...” I shake my head to dispel my discomfort at this conversation. My back twinges and I try to rub at my tightening injuries.
I can still feel Six watching me; it makes me want to pull Chesney over my head. He climbs over the back of the sofa and slides my feet up onto his lap, pulling my Chesney blanket over our legs.
“Oh no, Joanie, my darling. Maybe he’ll take you back. I could phone him, make him realise what a good girl you are. Maybe if you wear the push-up bra I bought you, with those nice shoes I sent you... You could send him some pictures of yourself to remind him what he’s missing. Your father always preferred a busty woman, that’s why I had the implants. Perhaps we could get you some for Christmas?”
My palms are sweating too much to press the key to end the call. Trust my mother to point out my shortcomings in the sexy underwear and breast department to Six!
I hold my head in my hands and take deep breaths. It will not do to lose my patience with my mother, she’ll just think she’s on to something and call Chris anyway. It’ll be my senior prom all over again, when Robert Pearce’s mother colluded with mine and we spent a painful three hours in each other’s company.
I use the calm voice, an imitation of the one Melinda uses with her children—when I know she actually wants to lose her shit—as I tell my mum, “I’m not sure some saucy shots of me in sexy underwear and a boob job are really going to help...”
Six grabs the laptop from me. His eyes are dark and intense as he looks closely at my face. He can definitely see my mortification, which is probably why my body feels like it’s breaking out in hives.