Page 140 of Shade
We walk inside the house and Shade disappears upstairs. I make my way into the kitchen and text Willa to see the progress of her labor. She tells me she’s only dilated to a five. I’m not entirely sure what that means.
As I’m sitting at the bar in the kitchen, my ass burns so bad.
I have no choice but to ask for help or risk going to the doctor with no health insurance.
I have three options at this point. I pissed the one off, the other was arguing with a girl on the phone in the living room next to me, and the last was playing pool in the den.
And I hit him with a lawn chair for no apparent reason last night. My chances are slim. But it’s either Tiller, or heading to the ER, and guess who gave up her medical insurance at the hotel for her dream job?
This girl.
So I’m forced to ask Tiller, quite possibly theworstperson for this job and the very last person I want seeing my bare ass.
“I need your help.”
He looks at me, then the pool table and the two other guys beside him. “Fuck off. You hit me with a lawn chair.”
I sigh, biting on my thumb. “I need you to look at my ass.” My voice is squeaky, and I’m trying not to let the others hear me, but they do, and they’re both smiling at me like they’d willingly do this if I asked.
Tiller shrugs, leaning into the pool stick, uninterested in our conversation. “Already have.”
“No, I mean,naked.”
Casually, because nothing affects this hardened shit face, he strokes the pool stick with his hand, up and down. “If you let me put my dick in your ass, we can be friends again. If not,fuckoff.”
Jesus Christ, I hate him.
“Dude, come on. I need help. It hurts!” And then I break out the tears because it’s the only way with Tiller. “I can’t get an infected ass. I don’t have medical insurance, and I’m pretty sure you’re the reason I have this in my ass because you called me a pussy.”
That earns me a glare. “You’re the one who jumped.”
I move from tears to begging. “Tiller, please.”
It takes him like a minute, an entire minute of me standing there, crying, and finally, he throws the pool stick. “Fuck, fine.” He motions to the guys around him. “Get the fuck out.” They do because if Tiller Sawyer barks an order at you, you fucking do it. Then he flicks his wrist at me. “Strip.”
I bet he says that a lot to women. Demanding, yet effective. “I’m only taking off my pants, not my shirt.”
He gives me that look that screams, yeah, right.
Do you see me there? I’m the one bent over the pool table, jeans around my ankles, my ass on display with Tiller on his knees with a pair of tweezers and a headlight lamp like he’s performing surgery.
It’s about as embarrassing as fuck yet somewhat entertaining because he’s talking to me the entire time like a dentist would. You know, when they’re constantly asking, “Are you okay?” or, “How’s your pain level? Need more Novocain?”
Only Tiller’s saying things like, “If you take your thong off, I’d be able to see it better.” And, “I know this isn’t appropriate, but I’m so fucking hard right now it’s ridiculous.”
I turn my head and look behind me. “Tiller, stop. Just get it out.”
He peeks his head around my ass. “I can’t. This is like torture. Have you ever had a chick’s ass in your face? All I can think about is my dick inside it.”
And then guess what he does?
Bites my fucking ass cheek.
I sigh and drop my forehead to the green felt of the table. “Stop it or I’m going to have someone else do it.”
“Pretty sure you came to me because you had no one else to do it.” And then, after two minutes of him poking around, he admits, “You know I’m like blind as a bat, right?”
I stand up and whirl to face him, smacking his shoulder. “What? You don’t wear glasses.”
