Free Wounded (In My Dreams) by Erin R Flynn

am,” I agreed, batting his hands away. And just like that the fight was over. I thought it was the best way to end a fight… Okay, maybe the second best way possible, but I wasn’t going to where else my mind went with that one.
    Yeah, it totally went to dirty town. How could it not when he was that hot?
     

5
     
    It was one of the days of month four that Jasper came bursting into the house shouting, “Lily! Lily, I need help!”
    I jumped up from my desk and raced into the kitchen, eyes going wide when he was pacing around scratching himself. “What happened?”
    “I don’t know. Something’s wrong. I’m all itchy with—”
    “Poison ivy,” I groaned and pointed to the porch. “Outside. Stop scratching or you’ll get big, painful blisters.”
    “Lily, it hurts,” he whimpered as he did as I said. I quickly raced around the house, grabbing some latex gloves, soap, washcloth, oven mitts, and duct tape.
    “Actually come back in here and wash your hands first,” I sighed, wanting to smack him but not willing to get what he had. He nodded and stepped inside, holding out his hands for soap as I turned on the water. I pumped some antibacterial stuff on his hands and tried not to laugh as he bent over the sink funny so he didn’t touch the counter.
    Once he was washed and hands dried off with the paper towel I handed him, I shooed him back outside. I pulled the kitchen stool with me and pointed for him to sit down.
    “I want to itch ,” he whined as he shook out his hands.
    “Hold them out, you baby,” I drawled. He did, raising an eyebrow at me when I put the oven mitts on him. Then I duct taped them tightly onto his wrists so he couldn’t remove them.
    “Okay then,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
    “Hey, my mom did that to my sister when she had the chicken pox as a kid,” I defended.
    “Didn’t you get them then too?”
    “No, my brother and I had them before she was born. I don’t even remember them, I was two months old.”
    “Wow, I’ve never heard of someone so young getting them.”
    “Me either,” I admitted. “I should ask Guinness about that.”
    “You do that after you make me stop itching.” I nodded and put on the latex gloves. “Why do you have those? Give a lot of enemas?”
    “Do you want my help or to pick on me?”
    “Sorry, sorry, want help,” he whimpered and squirmed on the stool.
    I soaped up the washcloth really well and cleaned the bright red areas on his stomach, side, and back. “Sometimes I put cooling Ben-Gay on my hands and I use the gloves so I don’t get it everywhere.”
    “Smart. So smart. Oh god, thank you, I love you,” he hissed, moving into my hand. “Please itch me!”
    “No,” I chuckled, shaking my head. “Though I have to say I’ve never had a man ask me to do that.”
    “Bite me.”
    “Been asked for that before,” I drawled, washing off the soap. “Okay, I’m going to run out and get you some calamine lotion. If I come back and see you were itching, I won’t give it to you.”
    “Don’t be mean to me,” he whined at a high enough pitch I winced.
    “I’m going to leave some open bottles of water out here with you. Hydrate yourself and if the burning starts to get really bad, throw some on yourself.”
    He simply nodded as I hurried around to do that and grab my purse. I rushed out of the house and broke the speed limit to get to the small grocery store about ten minutes away. I stopped to talk to the pharmacist and grabbed what she recommended. Then I paid and was back in my car, speeding out of the parking lot as fast as I could.
    When I got back home and to Jasper, he was pacing on the porch swearing up a storm.
    “What took you so long?” he bellowed as I joined him.
    “I’m so glad you did this during your time of the month,” I muttered as I put on new gloves and opened the bottle of lotion for him.
    “My time of the month? What are you talking about? Oh, my growly grouch time or whatever? That’s not a real