“Hold still,” I murmured and I tried to pull it out. “Ow!” he pulled his foot back, pouting. “Steve. Ouchies.” Christ. I grumbled at him. “I don’t have nails.” “We need tweezers.” “Do you have a first aid kit?” “I have no idea.” “Scissors?” His eyes widened. “For what?” “To pull it out?” “We’re not in a war zone, Steve. We don’t need to improvise.
