With a tiny exhale, I turned to find the others were now filing out of the kitchen, carrying food and plates to the table in the other room. I hurriedly grabbed enough utensils for all of us, then proceeded to follow McKenna and Brynne to the dining area.
Austin held McKenna’s chair out for her, Booker doing the same for Brynne. Seeing the two of them being treated like that by these men had a pain pinching in my chest. I loved this for my cousin and her best friend, but it still hurt sometimes thinking I might never have anything similar.
I loved love, but men sucked.
“Grace, could you grab the napkins please?” Brynne asked after a quick scan around the table. “McKenna seems to have been too distracted to get them herself.” Her tone was playful, but elicited a smirk from McKenna all the same.
“It’s not my fault Austin won’t stop touching me,” McKenna defended.
For emphasis, Austin reached over and squeezed her thigh. I averted my eyes when his hand seemed to slip a little higher between her legs.
“Yep. On it.” I set the utensils down in a pile, letting them divide them out themselves.
PDA didn’t make me uncomfortable, but the feelings PDA sparked in me did. Longing for something someone else had felt like pure jealousy. I knew not all forms of jealousy were negative, but it still felt wrong. I guess I should have expected that when coming to a birthday dinner with a bunch of couples.
When I entered the kitchen once more, Henley stood on the far side of the island, making some sort of cocktail. The fancy herbs and zest peels made me assume this was his gift to Brynne, which was a great idea, honestly. I’d do anything to get a sentiment like that from someone.
His eyes never lifted from the glass as he rimmed it with sugar, so I took that as a sign he didn’t want to engage in conversation. Everything I knew about Henley led me to believe he was the quiet type. In the past, McKenna had made it seem like he wasn’t the brightest, but the few times I’d seen him, her statement became hard to believe. He simply appeared…misunderstood. And maybe his newfound silence was due to the image others had painted of him.
I opened and closed a few drawers in search of napkins. I assumed it’d be the same set we’d used for our sort-of Friendsgiving—Booker didn’t seem like the type to have holiday-themed decor or dinnerware, especially not colorful birthday ones.
After digging through four drawers, I finally found the black fabric napkins tucked in the back of one. I grabbed enough for all of us, then shut it and aimed for the exit.
“What’s with the blood?”
Henley’s voice had me nearly tripping over my feet as I stopped. My heart rate kicked up to a dangerous level, the rhythm vibrating through my entire body.
I slowly turned and found him still focused on the drink. He hadn’t so much as looked up when he spoke. “The what?”
Mid-flip, he gestured the glass in my direction before setting it upright. “On your neck.”
My fingers came up to run down the side of my neck, checking for any wet spots. But it’d be dry by now, wouldn’t it? And I’d gotten it all off. Hadn’t I?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, softening my voice to feign as much innocence as I could muster.
His responding silence was deafening, sending my nerves over the edge. I had to force myself not to shake. How the fuck could I explain blood on my skin? It’s not like I could say,Oh, that? It’s just from work. No biggie.
When a minute ticked by and not another word came out, my composure snapped. “If you’re really going to tell a girl she has something on her and not explain better, you’re a dick.”
He set the vodka down harder than necessary. My eyes widened slightly, not knowing where my insult had even come from.
This job was going to make me go insane with guilt and paranoia—if it hadn’t already.
He grabbed the moistened towel by his hand and rounded the island in two big steps, invading my personal space. The sour scent of lemon assaulted my senses as he used his free hand to grab my black hair and move it over my shoulder.
I’d chosen a dark green sweater with a deep V-neck, the tattoos over my collarbones and dipping down into my cleavage on full display. But he didn’t so much as glance at them as he ran the paper towel over the dip under my jaw, right by my earlobe.
Without my consent, my head tilted back slightly,giving him easier access. My breath caught in my throat as every part of my body focused on him touching me.
Seconds felt like minutes as he ran the paper towel over the spot a few more times. I was almost convinced he was lying simply for an excuse to touch me, but when he pulled it back, I noticed it was now tinted red.
I swallowed thickly, blinking at the towel. “I’m not sure how that got there.”
His eyes moved between mine, searching for something, before he stepped away. He went back to what he was doing, like wiping blood off me was the most casual thing. He didn’t evenquestionit.
“Aren’t you going to throw that away?” I asked, nudging my chin in the direction of the towel he had placed beside his workstation.
He looked at me under hooded eyelids, hands still moving, like he didn’t need to pay attention to know what he was doing.
