“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
She slams the container down. “Maybe you should tell your girlfriend that.”
I push off the wall and move toward her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Her chin tips up, defiant, and steps back. “Don’t fucking touch me right now, Tommy.”
I stop mid-stride, staring at her. “Don’t touch you? You think I’d hurt you?” My voice comes out low, rougher than I intend.
“That’s not what I mean. You’ve been avoiding this conversation all day, and you’re not getting out of it.” She sucks in a breath. “But yes, I do think you’d hurt me. I think you already did.”
Something in me snaps. “Say that again.”
She glares at me, her chest heaving. “You heard me.”
I take another step closer, and she shoves my arm. My jaw tightens, as pain from my bullet wound shoots through my arm. She hits me again, more of a smack, but still angry.
I can’t help it. A smirk breaks through involuntarily. Fucking love her little tantrums, and when she hurts me at the same time—
She catches it, and her face contorts. “Oh, my God. Are you getting off on this?”
I chuckle, reaching for her. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
She smacks my arm again, but when I keep coming for her, she grabs my face with both hands. “I’m serious, Tommy! We are having this conversation.”
My gaze drops to her mouth, but when I lean down, she leans away. Sighing, I step back, and she startles, staring first at my cheek then jerking her gaze down to her hands. There’s blood on her palm, and she blinks, then looks at my arm, and I follow her gaze. A dark stain is slowly spreading across my sleeve.
She gasps, clapping her hands to her mouth. “Oh my God, Tommy, what happened?”
I peel off the shirt off, wincing. “You popped my stitches.”
She stares at me, eyes narrowing. “Sure it was me? Not your girlfriend?”
I toss the ruined shirt into the trash. “Still no girlfriend,” I mutter, heading for the bathroom.
She follows, fuming. “What are you doing?”
“Fixing it.” I grab a needle, disinfectant, and dental floss.
Her voice spikes. “You’re insane. Get a doctor. Jesus, you’re a fucking Neanderthal.”
I thread the needle with the floss. “It’s fine.”
“Give it.” She snatches the supplies from me.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Sure you can handle it?”
She rolls her eyes. “I was with you for years, Tommy. You know this isn’t my first rodeo. I mean, it’s not ideal, but if you’re going to do it anyway, you might as well let me.”
I sit on the counter while she works. She’s rough with the needle, jabbing it in and out of my skin, but I don’t stop her. The sharp concentration on her face, the furrow between her brow,the way she glances up at me, catching me watching her—I love every second of it.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she snaps.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re thinking about something you shouldn’t.”
Dragging my knuckles along her hip, I grin faintly. “Maybe I am.”
