SKIPPING TIME

Chapter 13.5

PLEASE READ: HEY GUYS, I KNOW I ALREADY MENTIONED THIS BUT I JUST WANTED TO REMIND YOU THAT THIS BOOK IS  IN THE PROCESS OF BEING EDITED. IF YOU NOTICE ODD INCONSISTENCIES IN THE CHARACTERS THOUGHTS AND/OR ACTIONS, IT IS USUALLY BECAUSE THEY'VE BEEN CHANGED IN ONE CHAPTER, BUT THE FOLLOWING CHAPTERS HAVEN'T BEEN EDITED YET AND, THEREFORE, DON'T REFLECT SAID CHANGES. IT'S NOTHING THAT HAS A MAJOR IMPACT ON THE STORY, SO PLEASE JUST CHALK IT UP TO EDITS AND KEEP READING. :) THANKS! 

Jess moved closer to Cacee, turning to face her. She cleaned his arm first, which got her woozy enough that she needed to flop back against the pillow. The second the color returned to her face  she sprang to her feet and launched into a lecture about how he'd, "let her stand around talking while he bled to death." Truthfully, he was pretty lightheaded. He'd be damned if he'd let her see it though, his mad dash from the elevator was enough humiliation for one night. He reassured her he was fine, and she limped off to get the washcloth soapy. She insisted on cleaning the cut, repeatedly getting up to rinse the bloody towel.

Whenever she disappeared, Shane would sit up and lick his wound. He knew Shane wanted to take care of him and also knew Cace would kill him for getting dog germs in his cut. What was funny is Shane seemed to understand that as well. Every time Cace returned, the dog would be innocently laying down again. By the time the cut stopped bleeding, he was choking on laughter.

Cacee limped back to the bathroom and brought out a hand towel for him. "I need you to keep a lot of pressure on that, okay?"

"Yeah, it's no big deal though. It's just a cut."

"No, it's not. You need stitches."

He grinned at her. "Why? Don't girls think scars are hot?"

Cacee rolled her eyes and started cleaning up the rest of him. She frequently got up, limping to get another soapy washcloth, rinse hers or grab a dry towel to pat him off with. Every time he tried to get up for her, she'd shove him back and order him to stay.

He couldn't remember the last time someone took care of him and he finally demanded she sit and let him enjoy it. Cacee giggled but brought out a couple cups of water to rinse her washcloth. After that, she remained by his side, where she kept up a running stream of chatter in an obvious effort to distract him from his pain.

It was unnecessary since he felt fine. The low cut tank and skimpy shorts she wore were distraction enough, in addition to not getting busted looking down the front of her shirt whenever she leaned over. He had a little guilt over this last part but his eyes seemed incapable of listening to his conscience. So he fidgeted and stared at the body she'd always hidden beneath over-sized clothing, at the swell of her chest rising above the low-cut V of her shirt, at the couple inches of exposed stomach that were making his insides do cartwheels. She was petite, but every bit of her was perfectly in proportion.

He didn't understand why she was so shy, or why she dressed to hide herself. Or maybe he did. Maybe it was to keep guys like him from looking at her exactly the way he was. He took a shaky breath as his eyes roamed over her again.

She was made of nothing but soft curves, the tiny circle of her waist, the rounded arc of her hips, the smooth contours of her calves. Her pale skin glowed softly in the amber light of the neon sign and reams of satin hair swayed around her as she moved. He couldn't have put his eyes back in his head for a room at the Plaza Hotel. She leaned close enough to smell the faint scent of honeysuckle and wiped his forehead. He squirmed and tried to pull it together.

Cacee's hand faltered. "Did I hurt you?"

He spoke in a rasp. "I'm fine. Thanks for doing this."

"No problem." Cacee continued to wash the blood off him and he turned his eyes determinedly to her face, trying to stop having a stroke. It didn't take long to notice how often her forehead wrinkled or the way she kept wincing and biting her lip.