I drag my thumb along the corner of her lip, collecting the frosting. Her breath catches. Then I bring my thumb to my mouth and suck the chocolate off, eyes on hers. Her pupils flare. Good. She's still in there.
"Wasting good cake," I murmur.
She swallows. "You always say that, then you always lick it off anyway."
"That's because you taste better than dessert."
Normally she'd toss back a dry line. Roll her eyes. Tell me to stop being filthy in public. Today, her expression closes like a door. She turns her head, then reaches for her Coke.
"Rough day?" I ask quietly.
She exhales long and slow. "One of the patients coded this morning. We got him back, but…" One shoulder shrugs, the motion tight. "He's on max support. Family's coming in to talk about options. It's just… a lot."
I nod. "You okay with that?"
"I'm fine," she says automatically. Then, after a beat, "It's my job."
"And Candace? How you feeling about that?"
Her fingers tense around the cup. "I told you last night I was fine. I checked her over. She's beat up, but she's okay. End of story."
There it is. The edge. My first instinct is to push. To say, You came home shaking and tried to fuck the panic out. You're not fine.
But she's halfway through a shift where people live or die depending on whether she keeps her head on straight. This isn't the battlefield for that conversation.
I don't say anything. She slumps back, shoulders sagging. "Sorry. I just… I don't have room in my brain for everything today."
I hook a finger under her chin to make her look at me.
Guilt flashes across her face. "You shouldn't have to walk on eggshells just because my brain is a dumpster fire."
"Good thing I like walking. And I'm from a long line of trash collectors."
A huff of reluctant laughter slips out. There it is.
I lean in and kiss her, slow, careful of the public nature of the room, but not caring enough to pull back quickly. Her lips are warm and taste like chocolate, salt, and Sloane. She breathes out against my mouth, and for a second, she lets me hold her like I want to.
Then she pulls back, swallowing. "If I don't get back out there, someone's going to page me. Then I'll have to explain why I wasmaking out with my husband in the break room, and no one wants that."
Speak for yourself. I would not mind everyone knowing she's mine.
I sit back, forcing my hands to let her go.
"Malachi's fight is tonight," I say. "After that, everyone's sticking around the clubhouse. James is making burgers. Ruby and Frankie are planning 'morale activities,' which should concern us all. Come by if you feel up to it."
She hesitates. That haunted look sneaks back at the edges of her eyes.
I want to rip it out. Want to track down every man who ever put that there and break their fingers one by one.
"I'll try," she says finally. "Depends what the night looks like."
I nod, even though every cell in my body is already rearranging itself around making sure she can get there, get drunk, laugh, sit on my lap while East and Darla play chicken with their feelings across the room.
"Text me when you're on your way. I'll come get you from the lot."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," I cut in. Rougher than I intend. "Humor me."
