“Sorry. Tweezers slipped, but I’ve almost got it. Drink, Stems.”
“Fuck.” With her breath hissing out through gritted teeth, she took in a couple hearty gulps of her so-called medicine. “Distract me. Tell me about the more memorable asses you’ve tattooed. Maybe I won’t feel so bad about putting you through this if I can remember that you probably see half a dozen naked butts a week.”
“More like twice that amount. In fact, the amount of ass I see would be a helluva lot easier to take if every ass was as perfect as yours. Sad to say, that’s not the case.”
“Yeah?” The never-ending pinching and digging in that one spot had her envisioning her backside as raw, bloody meat. Gritting her teeth, she chugged down the last of the whiskey and tried to focus on the subject. “You think my ass is perfect? Personally, I think it’s my least attractive attribute. My boobs are way more interesting compared to my ass.”
There was a pregnant pause. “I’ve never heard of boobs being described as interesting before.”
“I mean they’re not boring. I don’t have boring boobs.” Which made total sense to her. It wasn’t her problem if he couldn’t understand what she was saying. “My legs could make grown men cry.”
“Now that I can believe. I’m getting misty over what little I can see of them now. I’m going to give you another shot of the good stuff,” he added, and a second later glass clinked against glass as he poured out more amber liquid. “That’s enough to put even me down. Now, tell me why you think your ass is your least attractive attribute, when all I can see is silky smooth roundness that was made to fit in the cradle of a man’s hands.”
She blinked as a wave of heat hit her until her head spun. Damn. Did this man know how to bring on the spicy talk, or what? “It’s not round enough. I have a flat ass.”
“I know what a flat ass looks like, babe, and this isn’t it. Just today I had a guy come in, a Harley enthusiast, but he’s what us real bikers would call a weekend warrior. He had a gut that any sumo wrestler would’ve been proud of, but absolutely nothing going on in the back. So, naturally that was the part of his anatomy he wanted tattooed. Swear to Christ, this poor guy’s ass was so flat I couldn’t tell where it ended and the back of his legs began. Not to mention the patch of ass he wanted tattooed took about an hour to shave. Swear to God, that shit could’ve been combed.”
“Shave?” She downed the last of the whiskey and let the warmth spread from her ears to her face, then down her neck and into the rest of her body. She laid her cheek on the cool countertop and sighed in relief. “You shaved a man’s ass today?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“The area that gets ink has to be as smooth as a baby’s butt, and this guy’s definitely wasn’t.”
The image of Loki shaving a potbellied man’s hairy butt wouldn’t leave her brain. “I think I need more alcohol to deal with that. Payne doesn’t pay you enough.”
“Tell me about it. How’re you feeling?”
“Warm.” By degrees her muscles relaxed, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she was glowing like a hot poker. “Is it hot in here?”
“Nope. That’s just you.”
“You think I’m hot? Awesome.” She chuckled and closed her eyes, then opened them again to make sure she wasn’t floating. “I think the whiskey might be working.”
“Good, because I’ve almost got it.”
She winced as he dug deeper. “I’ve never drunk hard liquor before. The only alcohol I’ve ever had is beer, or maybe a glass of wine in social situations.” Wow, did she really just say “shituationsh?” How embarrassing. “I don’t think I’m used to it.”
“That works in your favor. You’ve got no immunity built up against it. And it’s nice to know you’re a cheap date. A couple drinks and you’re in la-la-land. Aha,” he crowed triumphantly, and the pinching pressure and interminable digging in that one sore spot abruptly ended. “Got it. Damn, look at that sucker.”
She opened her eyes just long enough to see a claw-like shard of bloody glass about the size of her thumbnail clamped in the tweezers, before turning her head away. “Ewww, yuck. Toss it.”
“You sure you don’t want to get it bronzed for posterity? Don’t stand up yet,” he added when she began to do just that. “Now that I got the glass out, you’re bleeding like a stuck pig. Let me get you patched up, then you can lie down.”
“Glad you said lie down and not sit down.” It was getting harder and harder to talk. Her tongue didn’t seem to want to work. “I’m so sore back there I’ve decided I’m never going to sit again.”
“I can think of plenty positions for you to take that wouldn’t hurt, but you’re in no condition to get into that now.”
“Oh, yeah?” The room rocked pleasantly when she turned to look at him over her shoulder, and it was enough to startle a laugh out of her. “Like what? And keep in mind that any position that doesn’t hurt my poor little tushie is a good one.”
He shook his head and pressed some medical tape to the edges of a gauze pad before placing it over her wound. “They’re all good positions, babe. The position you’re in now, for instance.”
“Yeah, it’s comfortable enough, but I can’t sleep this way.”
“I’m not talking about sleeping.”
“What are you talking about?” She frowned, studying him for a long moment before some dim bulb went on, and she laughed again. “Ohhhhh. You’re talking about sex positions, right? I’m right, aren’t I? Ha, that is hilarious.”
“So are you. All right, baby, you’re all patched up. Let’s get you dressed and into bed.”
“Dressed?” Damn, she had no idea the man was such a frigging comedian. With jokes like the ones he was coming up with, he should go on tour. “Why are we talking about sex positions one second, and then me getting dressed the next? Are you sending me mixed signals? Or are you trying to convince me that you don’t know how sex is done?” She gasped suddenly as a thought occurred. “Oh, my God, Loki. Are you a virgin?”
“Christ.” In an economy of movement, her panties and jeans were yanked up to their proper places and she was pulled upright. The floor and her feet parted ways, startling a yelp out of her before she clung to Loki in the hopes of stopping the world from spinning off its axis. “Just do me a favor and don’t puke on me, all right? I’m putting you to bed before you can do any damage to either of us.”
“You make me sound dangerous.” Which was ridiculous, she thought, twining her arms around his shoulders and enjoying the oddly floaty sensation of being carried. “I’m not, you know. I’m not dangerous. I’m not a bad Halliday.”
“No, baby, you’re not a bad Halliday. What you are is an accidental cocktease even when you’re smashed, but I’m not complaining. You’re perfect just the way you are.”
“There’s a song that said that, I think,” she said, trying to remember the lyrics. Then she forgot all about that as he shouldered through a doorway and into a bedroom still well-lit by late afternoon sun. The rumpled, unmade bed, a wide California king, was in tones of burgundy, and he gently deposited her on it before turning to close the curtains. “Is this your bed?”