He presses the cotton to my wound and holds it firmly in place. “I can’t tell. There’s too much blood. We need to get you to a restroom.” He gathers me into him protectively with his free arm, and we start moving.
“Get out of the fucking way, she’s bleeding!”he yells, and the crowd parts around us. I don’t blame them; he sounds murderous.
He kicks the restroom door open, unwilling to take his hands off me. When we step inside, it’s empty. He guides my hand up to my face. When I take over, his hands find my waist, and he lifts me onto the counter. After wetting a stack of paper towels, he steps between my legs, and I gingerly remove the compress.
“It looks like it’s slowing down.” I watch his chest expand, and when it decompresses, I hear the relief. “Thank fuck,” he whispers. Taking his T-shirt from me, he applies pressure again. “Does it hurt?” he asks, and his voice is so unbelievably gentle.
“Not really, but I think adrenaline’s still in charge. Being sucker punched by Ben Gatlin wasn’t on my bingo card, and I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.” Calm in the middle of crisis is on-brand for me. It’s later that it will all come crashing in.
His nostrils flare. “He’s gonna fucking pay for this?—”
He’s cut off when the door opens and Susan appears. “Oh hun, you’re a sight. Do you need me to call an ambulance?”
“No. It’s almost stopped bleeding,” I tell her.
She steps in and sets a small metal box on the counter next to me. “Here’s the first aid kit. Take anything you need. The bouncer’s clearing the place, so I need to get back out there and help, but just yell if you need anything else.”
“Where’s Hannah?” I ask. “You need to keep her and Ben separated.”
She pats my leg. “She’s in my office. Don’t you worry.”
“What about Ben? Where’s he?” Ever asks.
She pulls the door open and says, “He’s out front with our bartender, Zach. I’m still deciding what to do with him. You don’t pull shit like that in my bar and get away with it,” before she steps out.
Ever looks like he’s contemplating going back out to look for Ben.
“Hey,” I say to direct his eyes back to me. “He’s not worth it.”
“No, but you are. Fuck, Soph, when he hit you?—”
I cut him off. “It was an accident. Yeah, he’s fucked up, and it never should’ve gotten to that point. But he didn’t mean to hit me.”
He’s staring at me like he knows what I’m saying is true, but he can’t agree because he saw the punch and the resulting blood. “I’ve never felt uncontrollable anger like that.” He holds his free hand up in front of my good eye, and it’s visibly shaking. “Everything in me wants to go back out there and beat him within an inch of his goddamn life.”
He needs a distraction. So do I.
“Lock the door,” I tell him.
“What?” he asks as I take the fabric pressed against my head from him and swivel on the counter to look in the mirror behind me.
I look like I’ve either narrowly escaped murder or committed one, but the cut has clotted. I lick my lips, trying to decide if this is as reckless an idea as I think it might be. “Lock the door,” I repeat, catching his eyes in the mirror.
The room’s so small, he can reach it without stepping away.
As I take his face in my hands, the thought briefly crosses my mind that I need to tell Lola I deserve two check marks for this.
Then I kiss him.
And he kisses me back.
There’s no tentative, get-to-know-you, feel-this-out, soft buildup. We’re tongues, and teeth, and moans, and sighs.
Jesus,this man is good at everything.
The cautious side of me that’s usually in control has exited the building like it’s on fire. All that’s left is a woman who’s tired of following rules and who really,reallywants to see how far we can take this.
His hands are cupping my ass, and mine are skimming down his neck, to his chest, to his abs that go rigid under my touch. When he pulls me against him, I shamelessly grind.
