The Boys of Summer by C.J. Duggan Page B

preferably with steel-capped boots. Had he just
offered to fix my bike? And I had blurted out that no, my daddy
would do it?
    IDIOT!!
    “Cool, well, they’re not that dear so you
should pick one up down at Mac’s store.”
    I started to walk him to the car, but he
paused, head tilted as he looked at my leg.
    “You’re bleeding.”
    “Oh, it’s nothing, just had an
up-close-and-personal encounter with the bitumen,” I said. “It
doesn’t hurt.”
    Like hell it doesn’t!
    His brows creased with concern and he
crouched to examine it closer. My breath hitched in my throat as he
lightly touched the skin around my knee. I fought to keep my
breathing steady with the intimacy of it. He straightened, his look
still serious.
    “I have a first aid kit in my glove box; come
on, let’s clean you up.”
    We had a first aid kit in the house, but I
wasn’t blowing it a second time. I followed him to his ute.
    “Jump up on the tray,” he called over his
shoulder as he headed to flip open the glove box and retrieve a
small, blue zip-up case. I had planned to follow his advice when I
noticed, due to my five-foot-nothing stature and the height of the
tray, there was no way I could master it gracefully. Before I could
even voice the issue, Toby had read the troubled look on my face.
Without a word, he was by my side. With a small smile, he placed
the first aid kit and a bottle of water on the tray.
    “Here.” Before I had time to think, his hands
were on my waist and, as if I weighed nothing more than a feather,
he boosted me up to perch on the tray. I fought not to squeal in
surprise and my hands grabbed onto his shoulders for leverage.
    “You okay?” he asked, his hands still on my
sides, as if securing me in place.
    I nodded all too quickly. He smiled at the
affirmation and let me go. I could still feel the pressure of his
hands, the feel and flex of his muscles as I was suddenly airborne.
I could tell I was blushing profusely and hoped it might pass as
sunburn.
    I straightened my leg for his attention, as
he rummaged through the first aid kit.
    I arched a brow. “Rescue many damsels in
distress?”
    A crooked grin formed on his lips, but he
didn’t meet my eyes. “Every day! It’s a tireless job.”
    My skin tingled from his touch as his hand
clasped under my knee to hold my leg steady.
    “Looks like you’re the Superman then? Coming
to the rescue and all.”
    He grabbed a bottle of water, popping the top
with his teeth.
    “This might sting a bit, okay, Tess? But I
need to clean it.”
    My heart fluttered every time he said my
name, I liked the sound of him saying it. I had never, in all my
life of pining over Toby Morrison, heard it from his mouth before
today. It had stopped me in my tracks when I had heard it through
the open window earlier; I had suspected, but couldn’t quite
believe it to be true.
    “It’s okay.” I smiled down at him and then he
tipped a slow stream of water on my grazed knee.
    SON-OF-A-BITCH!!
    My entire frame locked up with the flash of
pain; Toby’s eyes darted upwards to watch my face.
    “Sorry.” He grimaced.
    I tried my hardest to maintain my dignity as
I clenched my jaw and forced a smile.
    “It’s okay.”
    Toby worked methodically, gently dabbing at
the cut with cotton wool and Bettadine. I came to believe this was
how Toby approached all things in life. Not to say just because he
was ludicrously handsome that he must be a perfectionist in
everyday life. It doesn’t work like that. But everything he did was
carefully thought out. Planned. Whether it be choosing a song on
the jukebox, taking a shot at pool, or cleaning a clumsy girl’s
scraped knee, everything he did, it seemed, everything he touched,
he did with great care.
    The sting ebbed as I concentrated on the
pressure of his fingers placed intimately under my knee, his
butterfly touches of dabbing on the ointment. Once satisfied, he
tore the package for the plaster and with intense concentration
slowly placed it on my