“Do you need medical attention?” “Nah, it’s just more burns.” I lift my shirt and let it pool right under my bra, angling slightly to show him. “My tank top was askew, and the sun managed to get…” All of a sudden, his pupils are as large as the irises. Lowe abruptly turns his head in the opposite direction. The tendons of his neck stretch, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “You should leave,” he says. Gruff. Cutting. “Oh.” His shoulders relax. “Go take another one of your baths, Misery.” His voice is husky, but kinder.
OH?
