Downtown Boy

c h a p t e r 11

🎵She's been living in her white bread world
As long as anyone with hot blood can
And now she's looking for a downtown man
That's what I am🎵

-Billy Joel

Sierra's pov:

I was having the worst day of my life.

I didn't have any lotion, Lacey wasn't here, and my back was getting so dry it was burning, I needed to either scratch my back with a pitchfork or put some cream on.

So I repeat, I didn't have any lotion, and the one Granny had was almost empty, and I couldn't reach my back. Lacey and Granny were out to someone's house to visit.

Fuck, this was painful, it was like I being pinched and scratched and tickled.

"Why are you dancing like a monkey?" I snap my gaze to Hunter who stood at the room's door, holding his phone to his ear and questionably looking at me.

"No not you, idiot," He rolls his eyes and whoever he was talking to, giving his attention back there, "I need you to tell me the bank details and stop jumping around the topic."

"What do you mean write it down? Can't you send a picture or whatever?" He asks, all the while he's walking over to me, grabbing a notebook and pencil from Lacey's drawers.

After writing down something, he bids goodbye, putting his phone beside himself on the bed and looks at me while I try to stand normally.

He stares at me, slightly tilting his hear to the side, it was adorable and I would've cooed out loud if it weren't for the fact that I didn't like him.

My back itching and killing me slowly, so I slip and wriggle around.

"What're you doin?" He walks up to me, and tries to get a hold of my shoulders while I'm dancing around.

"My back, it's itchy and dry and irritating." I whine, when he loses his grip on me, I run to the wall and place my back there, sliding up and down.

It doesn't get better.

"Do you have any lotion? I'm so close to crying, it's uncomfortable." I ask him.

"I think there's one in my room," moving forward to grab my hand, we go over there and he sits me down, and rummages through his desk.

Taking out a bottle, he hands it to me.

"You can use this one, there isn't much left in it, but I guess it'll be enough," he says, putting his hands in his pockets, "I think."

Staring at me expectedly, I suddenly jump onto him, because of the itch, of course, "Fuck that hurt!"

It was because of the itch, I swear.

There's no way I would purposely jump on him.

Never.

So I don't know what I was thinking of when I looked up at him, the same eyes I use innocently whenever I wanted out of something and asked him, very vulnerably, "Can you put it on?"

It always worked, but a part of me was hoping it wouldn't work on him. I didn't want him hands on me, his hands were very- cue me flexing my hands- masculine and rough.

Not that I've ever held them, never, but i've been touched by them, and when I tell you that they make my heart go boom boom BAAM explosion.

Trust me, his arms are very veiny and masculine and hot, they ruin my whole good girl angelic little brat reputation.