So what the fuck am I going to do about it now?
* * * *
Cussing under his breath, Dylan lifted the steaming mug and took a deep swig. The damned coffee was so hot it burned his mouth and all the way down. At least that searing pain took his mind off the angry twinge of his leg and the pressure of his cock inside his overalls.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m not going to get het up over some candy-assed kid from the lower forty-eight, damn it. In a day or two, I’ll send him packing and return to life as I knew it before this fuckin’ accident. But I guess I do need some help. Damn it to bloody fucking hell, I need help whether I want it or not. I’m sure I can’t do everything right now, and simply wanting to do things myself won’t make it possible.