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“Beautiful,” I admitted dispassionately. I was an asshole, not a liar.
“I meant the wound.” She chewed on the edge of her thumb. “Is it hideous? Ghastly? Frightening?”
“It’s small. Crescent shaped.” I licked the pad of my thumb and rubbed away some dry blood around it to take a better look. Don’t say it. Don’t. “And it’s perfect because it’s on you.”
Her lips quirked into a tired smile, and she pressed her cheek into my palm. “Hello, McMonster. Nice to have you back.”
“You never lost me.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re hopelessly in love with me.”
“Don’t make me kill you.”
“Why not?” The corner of her lip moved along my rough palm. “It would make for a perfect excuse to procrastinate. ‘Sorry, can’t come tomorrow. I’ll be dead.’”
“Nice try, but you are showing up to the shift tomorrow, even if it’s in a coffin.”
“I actually want to be cremated.”
“Not gonna work. You’re already too hot.”
“Is that a pickup line?” Her eyes flared.
“That depends on whether it’s working or not.”
“Well, it’s cheesier than a deep-dish pizza.” She tried hard not to laugh. “I think I finally found something you’re bad at. You’re terrible at flirting.”
“That’s because I’ve never had to work very hard to get women to fall into my bed,” I said, not an ounce of cockiness in my voice. “You’re ruining my stats.”
“Don’t be so touchy. I like cheese. I would do heinous things for fried halloumi. This is a no-judgment zone.” She laced her fingers through mine on her cheek.
For the first time in years, I experienced a moment of true happiness. It revolted and alarmed me. I pulled away, resting her head over the armrest. “You’re bleeding again.”
“Oh shit.” She raised her hand to touch her wound before thinking the better of it. Her eyes widened in horror. “That couple never got the wine menu. I need to…” She tried standing up, but I shoved her back down to the couch.
“Who cares about their wine?”
“Hmm, you, Mr. Stickler.” She poked my chest. “Ugh, I’m getting lightheaded again.”
I stood up and walked over to my desk, opening the left-hand drawer. I ambled back toward her, unwrapping an Oh Henry! and thrusting it into her hand. “Sit up,” I ordered.
She did, leaning against the headrest and snatching the candy, staring at me intently as she tore a bite off the chewy bar. The corners of her mouth lifted. “Hmm. Tastes like heaven. Wonder why you kept one in your drawer.”
“You’re not the only one who likes Oh Henry!” I seethed.
“We both know I am,” she said around a huge chunk of chocolate, her smile widening. “Which is why I can’t find these puppies anywhere. Where are you getting them? The black market? A time machine that’s taking you to the nineties? Come on, share the wealth.”
A thin river of blood snaked from her forehead down her cheek. Where was that damn doctor?
There was a knock on the door. Rhyland walked in. “Kitchen needs you.”
“Kitchen can go fu—” I stopped, realizing Rhy’s lips were a breath away from forming a shit-eating grin. “I’m busy right now,” I corrected myself.
“Busy doing what?” He propped an elbow against the doorframe.
“Are you blind?”
“Are you? Cal’s forehead seems under control.” Rhy took one look at her, and even that was enough to jack up my blood temperature. “And Taylor’s having a moment. Someone sent their steak tartare back. They want it cooked.”
