I raised an eyebrow. “Nowhat?”
“You’re not spending the whole night in here playingCandy Crushbecause you got punched around last night.”
“I don’t fucking playCandy Crush.”
He dropped his keys on the desk. “That wasn’t the point.”
“Then what’s your point?”
“My point is you’re not lying in here all night looking miserable.”
“I’m sore.”
“But you won. Let’s celebrate.”
“Still sore though.”
He moved to his side of the room and opened a dresser drawer. “Oh, come on. You need to come to The Rusty Spur tonight. Torres offered to drive, and Aguilar and some people from communications are coming too.”
“You’re making staying here sound better.”
He laughed. “You didn’t even pretend to think about it.”
“I had a fight less than twenty-four hours ago. I’m allowed to hate the idea of going out right now.”
He grabbed a shirt from the drawer and threw it onto his bed. “You were more beat up after that smoker in October.”
“That doesn’t make this better.”
“No, but it does make you dramatic.”
I sat up more carefully than I wanted him to notice. “I’m not being dramatic. My ribs hurt.”
“Your ribs always hurt.”
“That’s not true.”
“Sure it is. You box, train, work, and then act surprised when your body hates you.”
“And it’s why I want to stay home with my ice pack,” I deadpanned.
“Fine. Bring the ice pack. I’m still not letting you rot in this room all night.”
I nearly smiled despite myself.
Mills caught it and pointed at me. “There you are. You still know how to act human.”
“Don’t push it.”
He changed shirts, then fixed his collar. “You’re coming.”
I sat there for a second longer, then placed the ice pack on the nightstand and pushed myself to my feet.
“I knew you’d change your mind.”
“Shut up.” I walked to my closet.
“Wear the dark Henley.”
