“It’s fine,” I say, dabbing at the blood with a paper towel.“Just needs a bit of bandaging.”
“Fine?”His voice is clipped.“You look like you went ten rounds with a wildcat!”
“Thanks for the ego boost.Really helpful right now.”I reach for the antiseptic, but his hand shoots out to grab my wrist.
“Let me help.”
“I don’t need your help.”I try to pull away, but his grip is firm.“I can bandage my own face, thanks.”
“You can’t even see half the cuts properly.”His tone is impatient, and he’s not letting go of my wrist.
“I said I’m fine!”
But he’s already moving, stepping closer until I’m trapped between his body and the counter.His blue eyes are hard, annoyed.“You’re not fine,” he says curtly.“That psycho could’ve really hurt you.”
“But she didn’t.”
“She could have.”A muscle jumps in his jaw.“And then what?”
“Oh, please.Don’t go all white knight on me now, Reynolds.I had the situation under control.”
He lets out a harsh laugh.“Control?What control?Have you seen your face?!”
“That was a cheap shot!I would have handled her if?—”
“If what?If she’d given you a formal invitation to fight?”His voice drips with sarcasm.“Real life doesn’t work that way, Princess.”
I glare at him.“Stop calling me that!”
“Stop being so stubborn!”He reaches for the antiseptic, his movements efficient.“Hold still.”
“I can do it myself?—”
“Shut up, and let me help you.”The words come out flat and annoyed.
I’ve never seen Caleb this tense.He’s trying to act annoyed, but there’s something in the way he won’t let go of my wrist, the way he positioned himself between me and the door.
“Fine,” I bite out.“But make it quick.I don’t have all day.”
“Neither do I,” he mutters, but his hands are surprisingly careful as he opens the antiseptic bottle.The scent of his cologne mixed with the pungent smell of the disinfectant fills the small space between us, and I notice he’s standing closer than necessary, like he’s still ready to shield me from something.
“This is going to sting,” he says, his voice softer despite his obvious annoyance.
“I can handle—” The antiseptic hits the cut, and I hiss through my teeth.“Son of a bitch!”
“I warned you.”His brows knit together.“This one’s deeper than it looks.”
“Your bedside manner needs work.”
“Good thing I’m not a doctor, then.”But he’s being incredibly gentle as he cleans the cut, his brow furrowed in concentration.“Hold still.”
“I am holding still!”
“You’re fidgeting.”
“I’m not fidgeting, I’m breathing.Sorry if that’s inconvenient for you.”
“Stop flinching,” he snaps.
