Cold showers, Elvis, chainsaw juggling, French pastry... thought Peter, trying to think of something, anything, to distract himself from Lara's massive rack which he was still touching shit. He quickly shifted his hand before she noticed, he hoped. Fortunately, they were pulling into the garage.
Peter followed behind Lara, doing his best not to stare at her ass. Once they were inside, Peter tried to take his shirt off, before realizing he couldn't get his arm up. Instead, he ripped his shirt off--it was ruined from blood anyway. "Don't suppose you have a sterile work surface in here or anything."