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She took a shower last night, but she's done something to her hair—it's shiny and glossy. She's got something on her lips and color on her cheeks.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she says, frowning.
“Because you've got a little divot between your brows when you frown,” I retort.
With a sigh, she steps toward me and nearly topples over. I catch her just in time before she falls. “The fuck happened?”
She looks up, and I realize how close she is—how good she smells, how small she is against me.
She's beautiful. That's a problem.
“You alright?”
Her eyes track mine before she pulls away. “I didn't realize how much my foot hurts,” she says, and her voice catches a little. She clears her throat, then lifts her chin.
“I went to put weight on it, and it hurt a lot. I wasn't expecting it. Made me fall.” She pauses. “Maybe I do need some medicine.”
Her voice is small, like a child's, and it breaks my heart.
Right. I put her in my arms and carry her back to the bed, then settle a pillow under her foot.
I start to say something, then stop myself, remembering what I said earlier that made her shut down. I don't like seeing her like this. I feel like it’s my fault.
“You didn't seem to worry when I was face down over your lap,” she says. Her eyes catch mine, and her cheeks flush pink. She clears her throat and blinks rapidly.
“That was different,” I say. My voice is rough. “What were you doing in there? You look like you got yourself dolled up.”
“Dolled up?” she says with a snort. “What are you, eighty?”
“No, just Irish.”
She laughs. It shakes her shoulders and fills her belly. It fills the whole room.
I haven't heard it before. It's fucking beautiful.
My lips turn up. I made her laugh. Christ, that’s the first time I’ve heard that.
She laughs until she collapses back against the pillow. “Irish,” she says, still grinning. “That was a good one.”
“Well. You going to answer the question?”
“I was in a cell for who knows how long,” she says. “I've been here in this hotel room. Haven't been to the gym. Haven't had my hair done. Haven't done anything. I’m feeling a little rough.” She waves a hand. “So I decided to take an everything shower.”
“The fuck is an everything shower?”
“It's a shower where you use all the things,” she says. “You know—all those nice things you bought me.”
“Aye.” Not that I had any clue what I was buying.
“How did you even know to get those things?”
“I have someone who runs errands for me. I told him to get nice things that a nice girl would like.”
Someone knocks on the door. “Stay right there.”
I give her a sharp look. The girl has the best poker face I've ever seen in my life. I slide my gun into the back of my trousers, go to the door, and check the peephole. Pharmacy delivery. I tip him well and slam the door behind me.
When I turn back, she's staring at me.
