“Hmm? Nothing.”
“Is he better looking than who?”
The handle turns, the door swings open, and there he is. Robin, like a god. He’s cooled down now, waiting until last in line for his physical. His skin is smooth and touchable, fresh from the exercise, though a stain ofpink’s coming into his bruised cheeks just now. He’s wrestled his mussed hair back into place, but that same dark smudge of dirt highlights the hinge of his jaw from when I pushed his face down in the mud. His eyes flash from friend to foe as quickly as he focuses on me.
“Hey, baby bird.”
I can virtually see him turning the situation over in his mind. Should I be here? Can he have Evander kick me out? Is there more training to be done?
But before he gets the chance to voice any of it, Evander gasps out an, “Oh!” Then actually cackles as he drops his glass back to the bench, letting it tap against mine. He leans over and whispers, “Caspian. But that’s just me.”
“You’re wrong about that,” I fling back, but he’s halfway across the room, pulling out bandages and whatnot.
Robin’s intelligent eyes follow him, knowing he’s missed something, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Which, thank goodness, it never will. I’ve been talking to Evander like this for years. We both know it means exactly nothing when Robin and Cas and almost everyone else in this place will be dead in a few short months.
“On the table, Robin,” Evander instructs.
Unlike Cas, Robin does as he’s told, his arm muscles flexing and his short tunic riding up his thigh as he lifts himself.
“Open your shirt.”
I make myself look away, concentrating on filling those glasses again, the snap of the clasps on Robin’s top like two fingers physically attempting to swivel my eyeballs around. I didn’t come here to ogle him, or to make him feel uncomfortable. I’m just in hiding. Though there are roughly a thousand worse places to do that right about now.
“Let’s take a look at you.” Evander takes Robin’s hand and extends his arm, which pulls a wince from him. Evander slows the movement, turning his arm over to reveal a series of angry red lacerations beneath his biceps. “Marco…” he sighs out. “What are you doing to him?”
I busy myself watching the clear liquid rise to the top of Evander’s glass. “He needs to learn to climb a tree, doesn’t he?”
“Was the tree made of razor blades?”
“His fault he slipped.”
“I was nine feet up!” bursts out of Robin. “And you threw a rock at me!”
I can hardly help the way my bottom lip juts out. Might have stopped the shrug, though. “Do you imagine your opponent would hesitate to throw a rock at you in the pit?”
“I almost died!” he shouts.
“But you didn’t,” I counter, staying instructively calm. “And now, when it happens for real, you’ll have the muscle memory to help you.”
I can pretty much feel Evander’s eyes roll, but I’m still not looking. Not at the pair of them, anyway. Evander’s little cache of glasses is glinting at me. He has six, though I have no idea why, since I’m the only person he ever drinks with. Maybe that’s why my little finger flicks out and grabs a third.
“And this one?” Evander asks, trailing his thumb beneath the long scarlet slash that runs along the defined curve of Robin’s left pec.
What I’d give to be his thumb right now.
“He’s gotta learn to block.”
Robin’s pretty head flicks sharply across to Evander. “He told me to have a stick fight with Andreas, then he pulled a knife on me as soon as I turned my back.”
“If your back was turned, then how did I get you in the chest?” I counter.
I pour him a drink while I await the answer that comes in a mess of, “Because you… But I… You were…” Then he shuts his lips completely when I hold the drink out for him. The tempestuous gray of his eyes darkens a full three shades.
“Marco,” Evander chides.
“Is it poisoned?” Robin quips, holding his gaze so intently on mine I could lick him. “Will one of them poison me during the game, and I need to learn how to hold my poison?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time, baby bird.”
