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This isn’t my fault.
I know that.
But why did it seem that lately everything is?
I have been pacing the apartment for twenty minutes, all my calls to the bar and Fergus’s phone going unanswered, when there is a knock on the door.
I rush to it and look outside, using the peephole.
Seeing who is standing there, my heart nearly stops, and after some initial fumbling with the locks, I throw open the door.
Fergus stands there, leaning against the door jamb.
His slicked hair is ruffled, a bruise blooming on his cheek and his mouth bleeding. He doesn’t have a jacket on him, his black shirt torn. He looks like he just got into a fight.
He gives me a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I forgot the soup.”
I open my mouth and closed it.
Taking one step forward, I grab him by the lapels of his shirt and drag him down to slam my mouth against his. It is a swift punishing kiss, and even though my body tingles where his hands brush as he drags me closer, I push him away, glaring. “What the hell is wrong with you? I was so worried!”
The delight in his eyes makes me bite my tongue. “You were worried about me
?”
I step aside to let him in and close the door behind him. “Of course, I was! We were talking, and suddenly there’s shouting, and somebody is hitting someone, and then the phone went dead! You wouldn’t even pick up! I had to call the bar!”
Fergus limps to the couch I had just vacated and sits with a wince. “You called the bar? I was at the restaurant today. I had the meeting with the marketing exec–”
He stops mid-sentence, and then looks at me. “Who did you talk to?”
Had he been wanting to say marketing executive? Isn’t he just a bartender?
However, he is waiting for a response, and I frown. “Some guy. He told me not to worry and that he’d handle it, and then he hung up.”
Fergus blinks and then pats his pockets, cursing. “I dropped my phone.”
I offer him mine, and he accepts it gratefully.
When his fingers graze mine, I realize how cold they are. “You’re freezing. Wait!”
As he makes his calls, I rush around to raise the temperature of the apartment and grab some towels.
When I come back, he is arguing with someone on the phone. “Look, I’m fine. No, I don’t need a hospital. Shut it or I’m going to stick that stupid breadstick up your ass!”
“Is everything okay?” I mouth, handing him a towel.
He rolls his eyes at me and then growls. “Unless you plan to play nursemaid, Ian, get off my ass.”
When he ends the call, I purse my lips. “That sounded bad.”
He looks startled. “Oh, no. He was just ragging on me.”
I watch him towel his hair, and ask hesitantly, “Was it Ian that I talked to on the phone? Does he work with you?”
Fergus tries rolling up his sleeves before making a disgusted sound. Giving up on that, he starts unbuttoning his shirt. “Yeah. He doesn’t work there.”
Then, he glances at me, his hands pausing. “Uh, sorry. My shirt’s wet. I have to take it off.”
