Marcus was once again sitting, shirtless, in nothing buthis joggers. Gavin was quickly discovering that this was Marcus’s lounging-around-the-house wear.
“Did everything work out today?” Gavin asked, grabbing Marcus’s beer and taking a sip.
Then he spotted Marcus’s knuckles.
“Holy shit! Are you okay?” Gavin asked, placing the bottle down on the table and reaching for Marcus’s battered hands.
His knuckles were all cut and already scabbing over, clear signs that he had been in a fight earlier in the day. Gavin turned Marcus’s big hands over in his, examining both sides, looking for more injuries.
“What happened?” he asked, looking up and seeing the scratches on Marcus’s cheek as well. He reached out and softly traced the cuts with his thumb.
Marcus grunted, then pulled his face away from Gavin’s fingers.
What the hell had happened to him?
“I’m fine. Just had to take care of some business.”
Turning his attention back to Marcus’s hands—which still hadn’t been pulled away—Gavin ran his fingers over the injuries and grimaced at the pain he must be in.
Typical, hypermacho man, trying to put on a tough face.
While Gavin found the thought of a guy getting into a fight kind of hot, seeing the results of that brawl now made him feel nothing but worry and concern.
“Are you sure? Did you even clean these cuts?” Gavinasked, suddenly standing and wondering where the man kept his first aid kit.
Marcus let out a chuckle.
“I’m the leader of a motorcycle gang. I don’t need my knuckles cleaned every time I get into a scrap.”
Gavin looked down at the scruffy man lounging on the sofa as if this were no big deal and nothing to worry about.
What world did this man live in?
When you got into fights, you washed out your wounds, then spent the rest of the night being pampered and waited on.
That was just the way that things were supposed to go.
Marcus was just sitting there, as if nothing had happened.
Shaking his head, Gavin was at a loss for words.
“Don’t be stupid. Where’s your first aid kit?”
Marcus chuckled. “First aid kit. As if.”
Scoffing, Gavin hopped off the sofa and headed to the common bathroom. He searched through the medicine cabinet until he found some hydrogen peroxide. He grabbed the bottle and some paper towels from the kitchen before returning to where the big macho man was resting on the couch, smirking.
Jumping into Nurse Gavin mode, he quickly dabbed some fluid onto the paper towel, then gently pressed it over the man’s wounds.
There was a slight hiss from his patient, as the big, bad biker tried to ignore the sting of the peroxide against the open wound.
The cuts mainly looked clean, so Gavin guessed that Marcus probably washed his hands when he first got home. That was good. Hopefully, the peroxide would kill any lingering bacteria that might be present. He wasn’t a nurse, so he wasn’t exactly sure how to handle a cut or wound, but this was what people did on television all the time.
Plus, he kind of liked taking care of the big lug. Seeing the tough guy fight his hardest to not move a muscle was just the cherry on top.
Their eyes locked together, and for the first time, Gavin swore he saw what looked like appreciation in Marcus’s gaze.
Hadn’t anyone ever taken care of him before? His mother must have cleaned up his scraped knees and twisted ankles when he was a young hellion running around with his friends.
