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I let it go and pulled into my drive. We entered the kitchen from the garage, Ronan behind me.
“Bibi, we’re home. I mean…I’m home. With Ronan.”
God, girl…
No answer. I crept down the hall and saw Bibi’s bedroom door was closed, which meant she was taking a nap. By the time I came back to the living room, Ronan was already in the backyard raking a smooth space where he’d torn up all the weeds.
I needed to get my ass to work too and focus on what mattered—my eventual business. But Ronan’s raking was kicking up dust and dirt, and my eyes couldn’t stay off that cut on his arm with its smears of dried blood and its sad little Band-Aids.
“The big dummy didn’t even clean it properly,” I murmured.
Without letting my old guards and protections talk me out of it, I grabbed rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, gauze, medical tape, and antibiotic ointment from my bathroom. In the yard, I dumped the supplies on the patio table.
Ronan stopped and narrowed his eyes at me. “What’s all that for?”
“Your cut’s getting infected.”
“You don’t have to, Shiloh,” he said in a low voice.
“I don’t have to, but why wouldn’t I?”
He didn’t seem to know what to do with that. He set the rake aside and sat down reluctantly, stiffly. I sat beside him and gently peeled off the dinky Band-Aids.
“So what happened?”
“Some shit went down at the party.”
“To put it mildly.” I scooted my chair closer to his and upended the bottle of rubbing alcohol, soaking a cotton ball. “Violet said you got in a knife fight.”
“No knife. Frankie Dowd took a swipe at me with a broken bottle.”
“How did it start?” I shot him a smirk. “Did you insult his ride?”
He almost smiled. Almost. “He was being a dick to Miller. Again.”
I laid one hand on Ronan’s forearm and gently dabbed his wound, trying not to notice the striations of muscle moving under his skin.
“I hope you didn’t kill him,” I said, and he winced. From the sting of the alcohol, I guessed.
“No,” he said in a low voice. “Holden caused a diversion.”
“Holden the billionaire?”
“Holden the crazy motherfucker,” he said, but the affection in his voice was obvious.
“The Lost Boys,” I said, wiping away dried blood. “That’s what Evelyn Gonzalez is calling the three of you.”
Ronan didn’t comment but I thought he didn’t mind the name so much. He was quiet for a minute then said, “I looked for you.”
My hands on his skin jumped and my cheeks heated in an actual blush.
He looked for me?
“I…I didn’t go. I can’t drink, and that’s pretty much the main point of a rager."
“Why can’t you drink?”
“I have some weird allergy to alcohol,” I said. “Even a sip of beer can make me drunk as hell and instantly hungover.”
