But she didn’t recoil. He looked beautiful like this. She squeezed his hand and turned her back on Gina and the others, leaving them to sort out their opinions about what had just happened on their own.
Around the corner, Nick stopped long enough to rip a square of fabric from his shirt. “How bad is it? Do I need stitches?”
She peered at the cut. She didn’t have any experience evaluating things like this, but the gash wasn’t gaping. “I don’t think so. Maybe just a butterfly bandage. Does it hurt?”
He shrugged. “Not enough to spend time talking about it.”
“That was... sweet. What you just did.”
He snorted. “Sweet? Bringing you flowers would’ve been sweet.”
“No way. I’d take punching over flowers any day. Or a love letter. Or maybe you holding me down and reading Dostoevsky. That’d work, too.”
Those tilted eyes crinkled at the corners. “You’re the most perfect girl in the world, you know that? Except for one thing.”
She arched a brow. “What’s that?”
“Tolstoy wroteWar and Peace. Not Dostoevsky. I mean, come on.”
She laughed and planted a kiss on his cheek, not minding the hint of salted iron that came with it. “Let’s stop at the pharmacy, then clean you up at my house, okay?”
He hesitated. “Your parents won’t be home?”
“Not yet. It’s only four.”
He nodded. In the car, he pressed his makeshift bandage to his face while she drove the mile-and-a-half to the brick-fronted drug store where she’d bought nickel bubble gum and cream soda as a kid.
She parked along the curb and hopped out. “You stay here.”
To her surprise, he didn’t protest, just leaned back against the headrest and clamped down on the wadded square of T-shirt. “Okay. Thanks.”
She fought a smile as the door jingled on her way in. Nick took care of her. Always. But this marked the first time he’d allowed her to return the favor.
She liked the feeling. A lot.
Inside, she found some butterfly bandages, along with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and nonstick gauze. The whole place smelled of lemons, which made her feel slightly better about the dust blanketing everything she touched.
Up front, Aubrey dumped her haul onto the wheezy conveyor belt. Behind the counter sat Tansy Burroughs, the same girl who’d borne witness to Nick’s first kiss. And Aubrey’s second, considering she’d wasted her first on Julian Byrnes in a game of spin the bottle junior year.
Nick had been her firstrealkiss, though. The first one that mattered.
Tansy began a listless search for price tags. The two months since graduation hadn’t changed her much—she wore her standard loose T-shirt, dark jeans, and combat boots, and apparently felt no need to engage her customers in conversation. Then Aubrey caught sight of the puffy shadows lurking beneath her eyes.
“Hey. Are you okay?”
Tansy glanced up. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. You just look... sad.”
Tansy shrugged. “Yeah, well. I got in a shitty fight with my shitty mom. I’m sure it won’t be the last time.”
“Oh. That sucks. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nope.” Tansy returned to her task, then cut a glance through the grubby front window. Nick sat in the car, silhouetted by afternoon light. “What’s all this for, anyway? Did your boyfriend beat the shit out of someone again?”
Aubrey blinked at Tansy’s frankness. “Um. Maybe.”
“Huh. Did the guy deserve it?”
