can’t ogle the blind man even if he looks like a Greek god. He’d really have a good reason to fire me if I’m jabbing him with a hard-on as I try to help him back into his wheelchair.
“What was that?” I ask. “They probably shot out a tire. Just go,” he says. “What’d you think I was going to do? Jump out and change it?” I ask sarcastically.
He’s wearing a button-up that is pulled tight over his gut. Two of the buttons should win an Oscar for how hard they’re working at keeping it together.
As soon as I pick up the chain, it clangs against the metal gate, and Lane turns to me in alarm. “Quiet,” he says. “Sorry, I forgot what that means,” I say sarcastically
“Can I make fun of your height instead? I mean, I literally have to crouch to kiss the top of your head.” “No, you don’t!” I say. “You’re like travel size. A wittle snack pack,” he croons in a babyish tone.
