“Oh... right.” My stomach swirled with heat and my dick went from interested to needy. When I darted a glance down to check, there was an unmistakable bulge at my groin. There was nothing I could do, so I ignored it. “Well, I didn’t mind, but I know how it is.”
He laughed and his eyebrows flew high. “How what is?”
Closing my eyes, I rubbed at my temple. “I’m sort of tired. That’s odd for me.”
The gentle hand on my uninjured cheek startled me but felt very nice after being attacked earlier—comforting. “Ye clonk yer noggin?”
“I think, maybe.”
When I opened my eyes he was scowling, and that did unpleasant things to my insides after having someone beating me earlier with a similar expression etched on their face. “Ye weren’t out cold. Does it hurt?” Rowen tapped his own head.
“Not really.”
Relief smoothed out his features and he smiled. “Eh, getting knocked around and punched and hit can stress yer body. Ye go real high while ye’re in the fight, then real low after. Every time.”
The music of his accent had me struggling to follow what he said, and finally I nodded as all the words smashed around and made sense. “My brain wanders a lot, but it’s being extra uncooperative. Sorry.”
He reached out a finger, and I jumped when he touched my bottom lip, very much like the other man had.
“Gonna catch kisses poutin’ like that. Cillian’s already eyeing ye. Ye trying for more?” He got to the left side of my mouth with his pointer and tapped the corner. I jumped at the pain. “Oops.” Twisting around, he snagged a pile of alcohol wipes from his kit. He turned back and ripped one open, and I flinched as he dabbed at what must be a cut on my lip. “Ye dizzy?”
“Maybe?” I stood up and the room dipped but righted fast enough. “A bit. Not too much.”
“What the—get back here!” He grabbed my hand and tugged until I sat again; the bafflement that was so common on people’s faces was on his and chased off my hard-on. Sometimes I wished I could be the same as everyone else, mostly so handsome men wouldn’t stare at me like I was an alien. “Probably a concussion.”
“I should go to the hospital.” The idea was daunting. I was therea lotbecause I didn’t pay attention, which meant I’d had more stitches than a quilt over the span of my lifetime.
“Nah, they won’t do anything about it. They’ll read ye the riot act about symptoms, but if ye show any of ’em I’ll get ye there. Maybe ye should stick around.” He sent me a warm smile.
“Read me the.... I was reading. My book is gone.” All at once it struck me that the book I’d just gotten out of the library was missing. “Oh no! Jenna, the librarian, will murder me. We have to find it!”
“Shh. It’s in the SUV. Ye’re afraid of a librarian?”
“Terrified. Haven’t you ever met any?”
Rowen rested a hand on my wrist and squeezed, and I stared into his eyes again. “Ye’re fine.” He got up, and I was confused as he walked away from me, right up until he grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer. “Hold this on yer jaw.” He came back and ran a light finger along my cheek and the subtle pain had me sucking in a breath. The cold of the ice pack landing on my skin had me sitting up straight in my chair, and he cradled my hand to the pack as I pressed my fingers against it. Then he stepped back, and I wanted to ask him not to go.
“Oh, that reminds me, the book I mean. I wanted to meet you. I got distracted by it. The book. What did you want to ask me?”
“Ye did?” For some reason his smile got even brighter. “Maybe I just wanted to get to know ye? Ye’re fascinating, talking all about the history of violence. It’s not a normal sort of man who likes things like that.”
My laughter had his nose wrinkling, but it took me a minute to rein it in. “History is nothing but violence, with very few exceptions. Did you know, in all of history, there were only about two hundred years with zero recorded wars? And that might not even be the right number. Because we’re talking about what wasrecorded.” I snapped my mouth shut. “Sorry. I know people don’t like it when I ramble and I’m not teaching. Really, what did you want to know?”
“But maybe I really did just want to get to know ye,” he murmured and sat near me again.
“No, that’s never it.” I stroked my fingers along the ice pack and focused on the cold sensation. “No.”
“Why not?” He leaned closer, and his attention was so focused on me that my heart thumped faster. He didn’t seem angry or irritated yet. This was phenomenal. Completely unheard of. What the hell was happening?
“I’m the same everywhere. It isn’t stage fright or nerves that make me that way when I’m teaching. I’m always....” I gestured vaguely with one hand.
“Scattered?”
I nodded. “That’s one way of putting it.” I thought about telling him my diagnosis, but why bother? He already knew there was something different about me. Anyone who had a conversation with me could tell I wasn’t the same as most people. Neurodivergent was the nicest thing people called me out of the hundreds of comments that had been hurled my way over the years.
Rowen stood, and I sucked in a breath when he stepped closer. “Let me see the back of yer head. There looked to be a spot there with some blood.” He grabbed another alcohol wipe, and I inhaled his crisp cologne while he opened the wrapper, then tilted my head forward until my forehead rested on his firm chest. His body heat destroyed me. My stomach glowed with this amazing closeness. The muscles I leaned against were solid and made my mouth water. He ran the alcohol along a spot on the back of my head, and I moaned at the sting.
“Cillian does have good taste,” he murmured.
