Page 82 of Heartless Sinner

“Me.”

I made a show of eyeing the bruises on his body. “Sure doesn’t look like it.”

“You should see him.”

“Men …” I said with a tsk. “Can’t you guys just spread rumors about someone you hate like normal people?”

He snorted. “Is that how you fight your battles?”

“Absolutely. Every girl on this floor believes you have a small dick.”

He shrugged. “I’ve had worse said about me.”

“They also think you were afraid of the dark until age ten and cry every time you come.”

“Again, not the worst.”

I shifted on my knees and grabbed his thigh to pull myself up. “What’s the worst then?”

“The worst rumor?”

I nodded while turning on the faucet and soaking the washcloth.

His voice turned almost hushed. “The one where people think I hate you.”

I forgot about the washcloth until water started spilling over my fingers.

“You do hate my guts,” I said.

“Do you think I’d choose you as my Fawn if that were true?”

I shut off the faucet with my elbow and wrung out the washcloth. “I think you chose me as your Fawn because Cory wanted me.” I unfolded the cloth. “And for some reason, you think you have some ownership over me.”

He winced when I dragged the washcloth over the cut running along the bottom of his cheek toward his chin. It looked deep enough to leave a scar. “You really think that’s why I chose you?”

“That, among other reasons.”

“And the others?”

I dabbed blood from the corner of his mouth. “To get revenge …” My hand slowed. “On me.”

He didn’t answer. His chest rose as I tilted his face toward the light. Blood still crusted near his ear, so I wiped that away too.

“You don’t have to deny it,” I said quietly. “I’d probably do the same if I were in your situation.”

“It’s not—” He flinched when I pressed the washcloth to his split lip.

“Don’t lie to me,” I warned. “Or I’ll start another rumor about you.”

He thankfully dropped the subject.

Once his face was as clean as I could get, I leaned over, slid open the shower door, and turned on the water. The rest of him was covered in blood. A washcloth wasn’t going to cut it.

“You’d better be easy on me this week for letting you bleed all over my bathroom.” I tested the water, then wagged a damp finger at him. “And you stay in your boxers. Got it?”

He braced a hand on the vanity and struggled to his feet. I made no move to help him. He only got so much nice Daphne in one night.

Once he was upright, he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his cargo pants. “Help me out here, will you?”