Page 10 of Bazooka

And Who the Fuck Are You

Luz

The doorbell woke me up, followed by some kind of infernal noise. I blinked against the sun streaming through the window and looked around. A pool of saliva on the pillow told me I was drooling in my sleep, and I whined internally.

Way to go, Luz. So sexy of you.

I looked around for witnesses to my embarrassing bodily fluid display, but the room was empty. It made me anxious. Was I alone? Bazooka wouldn’t leave me alone without telling me, would he? Nah. But where was he?

At the sound of a loud thump somewhere in the apartment, I scrambled out of bed.

I peeked through the door that was ajar, and tiptoed down the empty hall, only to find myself in a large room .

Living room? Dining room? Both? The space was empty apart from a small, albeit seemingly fully functioning kitchen.

Then, Bazooka appeared while putting on a T-shirt and almost gave me a heart attack.

Bulging biceps, huge pecs, abs of steel, a line of dark hair ending in a thin line below his belly button…

God, help me . It told me that staying here would be a bad idea, despite my wishes. No, it would kill me.

“Morning,” he said, unaware of my troubles.

“Morning,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes. Ow! It hurt me to do that. Don’t do that again. Don’t lift your hand again. Do nothing.

While I was repeating my mantra for the day, Bazooka disappeared in the hallway.

When he reappeared, he was pushing what seemed like a sofa into the room .

It was a big, comfy-looking piece of furniture, and something I would choose for myself, which meant he had good taste.

Not just looks. Not just abs and muscles. Good taste, too. Not fucking fair.

“What is that?” I asked him as he pushed the sofa toward the wall.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

It was. And it wasn’t.

“I bought some furniture,” he explained as I kept staring at his bulging biceps. “I’m not a fan, but I need to make this place livable while I’m here. No, not livable. Workable.”

“You’re not a fan of furniture?” I said when my brain started functioning again.

“No.”

“What are you a fan of, then?”

“Duffel bags. I don’t like anything that doesn’t fit in a duffel bag.”

“Why?”

“Because then I can’t leave when I feel like it.”

It actually made sense. He always seemed like a lone wolf to me. Admittedly, it was also kind of sad.

When his phone pinged, he reached for it while I allowed my gaze to slide down his body.

The snug T-shirt that stretched over his continent-sized torso was the equivalent of a torture device.

It may have covered his skin, but it left little to the imagination.

And the gray sweats he put on… come on! That man should be forbidden from wearing gray sweats.

His thighs were thick as logs. His tight, firm ass made me drool, so I wiped my chin just in case.

When he shifted on his feet, allowing me to see his front, I choked.

“Stop staring at my crotch, Luz,” he said, without looking at me.

How… how… How could I NOT stare? That bulge was meant to be stared at. Otherwise, would it be sticking out of his sweats like THAT ? No. Would it be that huge? No. Would it be that thick? No.

Speaking of bulges, I had morning wood, so… awkward.

Finally, Bazooka looked up from his phone. “How are you feeling?”

I shrugged. “Better? The same? As if someone put me in a coffee grinder and spat me out? By the way, how come you’re not at work?”

“The sketch artist will be here in half an hour, so I’ll go after he’s finished,” Bazooka replied. “Are you up for it?”

“Do I have a choice?” I said with a heavy sigh. “I’d better go change then.”

“Did you text your friends?”

“Yeah, they’ll let me know when they’re available.”

I headed to the bathroom, wondering how long Bazooka would let me stay here. Not long, probably, and I didn’t know how to persuade him to let me stay. Should I just talk to him? Plead with him? Beg him? Pay him? Force him? Offer him sexual services? No, that would be a reward, not compensation.

After I brushed my teeth, I dared to look at myself in the mirror. I still looked like a horror flick monster, but it wasn’t as bad as yesterday. I didn’t have a black eye anymore, at least. The cuts on my lips were healing, so fuck his comment that my lips were too bruised for kissing.

It occurred to me that I should retaliate somehow.

Put Viagra in his coffee, maybe. Nah, I couldn’t do that, not after he was so kind to me.

He took care of me like no one would take care of me, although I was just a stranger.

Although, we weren’t strangers anymore, were we?

Not after the way he treated my wounds last night with that smelly ointment.

Not after he’d carried me to the bathroom and back—I clamped a hand over my mouth and yelped because it hurt.

How the fuck didn’t I remember this sooner?

I was high on meds because John Smith fucking drugged me , but my legs were around Bazooka’s waist at some point, weren’t they? Or was I losing my mind?

“Are you okay?” Bazooka bellowed from a distance.

“Yeah,” I yelled back, still stunned.

When my phone pinged, I pulled it out of my pocket.

Alain: I talked to the guys. We can be at the address you texted me around noon. Is that okay?

Me: I’ll ask Bazooka and let you know.

Alain: Dotty says hi. Wagner, too.

Alain: BTW, did you two have electricity last night? Wagner hacked Smitsenergy.

Me: Bring me CLOTHES. The spare key is under the welcome mat in front of my apartment. If the key doesn’t work, break into my flat, but don’t come here without my clothes.

Me: I need boxers, the sexy ones. PJ’s—the see-through ones. Hmm… What else?

Alain: Are you staying there???

Me: Think, Luz, dammit. Think. Wait, why am I texting you this?

Me: BTW, my legs were around Bazooka’s waist last night!!!

Alain: No! Noooo!

Alain: Did you two fuck?

Me: No, silly.

Me: Not yet.

Me: I’ll explain later.

Me: And I need face powder. I don’t have it, so buy me one. And a CONCEALER. Don’t dare show up here without a CONCEALER. And lip balm. The one that tastes like watermelon. No!!! Vanilla!!!!!

Me: And LUBE!!!!!!!!!

Alain: You are officially insane.

Insane? I mulled it over, considering his statement. Was I insane?

No, I finally concluded. No, I wasn’t insane. Why?

For reasons:

·He let me text him for months.

·He saved me.

·He fed me.

·He let me sleep in his bed.

·He carried me all over the place.

·He helped me shower.

·He treated my wounds.

·He joked about kissing me.

·He stayed with me while I peed (he didn’t look at my dick, which was a shame because I had a big dick, so I had that going for me).

Was Bazooka straight? Probably. Maybe. For now. But not attracted to me? Not even a little? Impossible. Right?

I headed to the kitchen, mulling it over.

“Do you drink coffee?” Bazooka asked me when I joined him.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Are you hungry?”

“A bit. Where did you sleep?”

Was it possible that he’d spent the night in bed with me and I couldn’t remember? If so, John Smith is a dead man.

“I spent the night on the floor, but I didn’t sleep much. I was on my laptop, going through some case files.”

“You could have joined me on the bed, you know?” I grumbled.

He looked at me and grinned. “I know.”

Oh, fuck him. And fuck his smile because it made my heart hurt. It was a good thing he didn’t smile a lot. There… another pang. I started to rub my chest above my heart, wondering if you could have a heart attack in your twenties?

“By the way, my friends can come around noon. Is that okay?” I asked him.

“Yeah, that works.”

I sent a text to Alain before Bazooka handed me a doughnut. I brought it to my mouth, only to groan in pain.

“Fuck.”

“What is it?”

“My shoulder.”

If it wasn’t my ankle that was hurting, it was my shoulder, and vice versa. Lately, all I could feel was pain.

When Bazooka gripped my waist, I squealed in surprise, only to find myself seated on the countertop.

“Jesus,” I gasped, as my heart went crazy. “I need a warning for that kind of thing.”

Bazooka broke off a piece of a doughnut and stuffed it into my mouth, which wasn’t hard to do because I was agape. When his fingers grazed my lips, I rested my palms on the countertop and closed my eyes, feeling dizzy.

“Are you okay?” he said, sounding amused.

“Mm-hmm,” I hummed, chewing on a doughnut because I didn’t want to choke on it.

Was he feeding me again? Yes. Did it mean something? Nah. No way. Also, was he always like this? With everyone? Kind, considerate, caring. It became my mission to find out.

I opened my eyes, only to see him stuffing the rest of the doughnut into his mouth. It was the second time we’d literally shared food. Could he taste my saliva on his fingers? No, don’t go there. The thought alone was soo hot. Stop!

“More?” Baz asked me.

I shook my head because I knew I wouldn’t be able to take it, not without jumping his bones.

Instead, I reached for my coffee that he placed beside me, wondering.

What would he do if I just… threw myself at him and kissed him?

If we were suddenly mouth-to-mouth and dick-to-dick.

Would he slap me? Kiss me back? Ravage me ?

All the options made me feel so weak that I almost dropped my cup.

“I have good news,” Bazooka said, pouring himself a glass of water from the tap. “I thought of someone who could take care of you.”

I choked on my coffee, spitting some of it onto my T-shirt. Boner killer! Boner killer!

Bazooka started to dry my T-shirt with a napkin, looking at me quizzically.

“Yeah?” I mumbled, unable to think of anything better to say.

“I remembered I have a friend here who’s a nurse. Well, more of a caretaker. He works part-time in a nursing home, and he owes me a favor. He could visit you at your place, maybe even move in with you until you get better. He could give you the care that you need.”