“Next time, move faster,” Somerset said as he took his hand back. “Then it won’t be.”
Dylan rubbed his jaw where Somerset had touched him. He wanted to say something smart and sarcastic, cutting enough to make it clear he didn’t care what Somerset thought. It took him a while to think of anything, and Somerset lost interest first. He switched his attention to the bouncer.
“Harris,” he said. “You can go home early. I’m going to close up until I get the place cleaned up.”
Harris looked from his boss to Dylan as if he thought he needed permission. Then he cleared his throat and got up off the stool.
“Thanks, boss,” he said. “Me and the doc will work on our ducking for next time.”
The joke fell flat. After a second, Harris grimaced uncomfortably and turned to go. Somerset watched him walk away and then turned back to Dylan and Alice.
“Take your time,” he said. “I’ll have someone lock up when you leave. And Dylan, take Harris’ advice.”
He walked away. Dylan deliberately didn’t look at his ass.
Well, maybe a glance. He stripped his gloves off, inside out, balled them up, and tossed them in the waste bag.
Alice glanced over at him as she packed up. “You want to try it out on me?”
“What?”
“Your witty retort,” she said. “The one you always think up the minute he’s walked away. C’mon, let me hear it. We can workshop it.”
Dylan scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t…”
“Go on,” Alice urged him. “You’ll feel better if someone hears it.”
“OK,” Dylan said. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
They looked at each other. Alice folded her lips together and wrinkled her nose like she had smelled something bad.
“Maybe it’s best you left that one in the holster.”
“Yeah,” Dylan said. His brain worked best on bitterness and exhaustion. Lust made him stutter. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. Our shift’s nearly over.”
Alice grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “And in… twenty minutes… it’ll be Christmas Eve Eve!”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is!” She said indignantly. “It’s two days to Christmas. That makes it the eve of Christmas Eve.”
“OK.”
Alice rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t take that tone with me, Dylan Moffat.” She fell into step beside him. “I’ve a kid. Christmasismy personality until New Year. Get used to it.”
“I don’t have a tone.”
“Sure, Mr. Grinch.”
Dylan made the threadbare obligatory protest. “I don’t hate Christmas.”
Alice stretched her legs to get ahead of him. “Sure,” she tossed over her shoulder. “You’re a conscientious objector. In your own time.”
He reallydidn’thate Christmas.
Dylan squinted at his reflection in his bathroom mirror. His nose looked better than it felt. Although that wasn’t saying much. It was maybe a bit more crooked and puffy across the bridge. Bluish-red bruises stained the skin under both eyes.
He’d have to fill in paperwork tomorrow.
