Page 21 of The Roommate Problem
Her face brightened. “Really?”
“Yeah, but don’t tell her I said that.”
“Oh, August.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “You realize you just gave me blackmail for later when I want something from you.”
He groaned, but truthfully, these cookies were worth whatever outlandish adventure Mo planned to drag him on next. In fact, he— Wait a minute. He paused in his scarfing of the delicious treat. Brain clicking back to what he heard before he rushed in here and what he saw now. Mo was still standing by the stove with a tray and pile of broken cookies at her feet. She still had her hands clasped together, too. No. They weren’t clasped. One was clutching the other as if she… Shit. He was a self-absorbed ass. He’d been so distracted by the delicious cookies, he hadn’t noticed that Mo hurt herself.
“You okay?” He nudged his chin in the direction of her hands.
Mo immediately dropped her joined hands, hiding them behind her back. “What? Oh yes, never better.”
He glanced skeptically to the floor and back up to her. “Moira.”
“Okay, fine,” she huffed, bringing her hand back out in front of her and lifting her left palm. “I might have accidently grabbed the spatula to transfer the cookies from the hot baking sheet to the cooling rack with my oven mitt–covered hand and the hot baking tray with my uncovered hand and gotten a small burn, which caused me to drop the tray and scream because, duh, getting burned hurts, and I was going to clean it all up, but then you walked in and—”
“You’re rambling,” he pointed out.
She lifted her chin. “Rambling is just explaining in long story form.”
He shook his head with a small laugh. This woman sure was something else. “Come here,” he said, motioning to her. “Let me see it.”
“Oh, did you abandon your pretty flowers and go to medical school since last night?”
“Moira.”
“Ugh, fine.” She stomped over to his side, holding her hand out, palm up. “I was just about to put some ointment on it.”
He put down the cookie in his hand. Though he really wanted to shove another in his mouth, she needed his help, and he needed to pace himself. Gently, he cupped her small hand in his larger palms. Ouch. The entire surface was red from the base of her fingers all the way to the meaty bit right above her delicate wrist. Luckily, he didn’t see any blistering. August might not have any medical training, but he’d gotten his fair share of cooking burns over the years helping Gran make cookies.
“Do you have any aloe vera?”
“Yes?”
He glanced up, feeling a small smile tick up the corner of his lips. “You don’t know if you have aloe vera or not?”
“Lilly used to keep it around. I’m not sure if she left any when she moved out.”
Mo might be bubbly and great at baking snickerdoodles, but he was coming to find she wasn’t the best at planning. Or cleaning.
“All right.” He pulled out one of the table chairs and guided her into it, placing her palm faceup on the table. “You just sit right here, and I’ll go see what I can find.”
“Yes, doctor.” She nodded grimly.
He shook his head, finding her odd sense of humor slightly adorable. Heading to the front bathroom, the one Mo used, he searched the medicine cabinet and under the sink, rifling through various face toners and cleaners, painkillers, feminine hygiene products, and a ridiculous amount of hair dye in every color of the rainbow until he finally found a small, half empty bottle of aloe vera. After checking the expiration date to make sure it was still usable, he headed back to the kitchen and Mo.
“Oh good, you found some.” She smiled. “It’s really starting to hurt. I was about to dunk my hand in some ice water.”
“Do not do that.” He pulled out the chair across from her and sat. “Ever.”
Terrible idea. Ice might seem like a good idea, but he knew it only damaged the tissue further. “May I?”
He held out the bottle. Mo nodded. He opened the cap, squirting a bit of the slimy goo onto the tips of his fingers. Placing the bottle on the table, he gently grasped her hand in his and used the other to spread the aloe all over her palm, getting every inch of red he saw. A long, low moan escaped her lips, and August had to shift in his seat as the sound caused his jeans to tighten.
Jackass. Here she was enjoying the relief from pain and he was conjuring up dirty images of her in his mind. All because of a little moan. This was not good.
“Feel better?” he asked to distract himself from his very inappropriate thoughts.
“Yes, a million times better. How did you know to do that?”
