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Sean lifted his shoulders in a shrug that said “your call.” She thought about it for a second and a half. “No,” she said quietly. If it came to that, she and Sean could have The Talk.
Tam’s eyes widened. She rummaged in the chest, and pulled out a string of condoms. “You hardly need these, but take them as a reminder not to take advantage of a girl’s romantic feelings.” She flung them.
He caught them one-handed. “I am tired of everyone throwing condoms at me,” he growled. “I’m perfectly capable of getting my own.”
“But not using them, hmm?” Tam’s voice was sugary.
“Mind your own goddamn business, Tam.”
“Oh, but I was. Until I got your phone call. If you want my help, you’ll just have to tolerate my character defects. Now get your own shirt off, big boy. It’s your turn.”
“Me?” he sounded aggrieved. “Why? Nobody bit me. And nothing’s infected. I would know by now if it was. So don’t worry about—”
“Shut up.” Tam’s voice was adamant. “If she gets it, you get it.”
Sean let out a liquid string of words as he yanked his shirt off.
“Insult me any way you like,” Tam said. “But if you ever talk trash about my mother and grandmother again, I will rip your guts out and tie them around your neck in a big, festive bow. Is that understood?”
Sean’s eyes widened with shock. “You speak Latvian?”
Tam’s face was an icy mask as she squeezed the air out of the syringe. “Assumptions get you killed. Filthy, shit-mouthed idiot dog.”
“Uh, sorry,” he said, chastened. “I didn’t mean it personally.”
She swabbed, and stuck him in the arm.
Sean hissed. “Fuck! I take it back. I’m not sorry. Not sorry at all.”
“Crybaby.” She swabbed the other arm, jabbed.
“Hell witch,” he snarled.
She responded with something incomprehensible. Sean shot something back. The insults flew, picking up speed and volume and vicious energy, each in a new language she had never heard.
“Stop it!” Liv yelled.
They stared at her, startled into silence. Liv retrieved her shirt and tugged it on. “Stop showing off,” she snapped. “It’s really irritating.”
“Sorry.” Sean turned to Tam. “You have to teach me the one about the goat-fucking son of a lazy camel, though. What is that, Turkish?”
“Yeah. I liked the Corsican one about the sheep in the bushes,” she said, faint admiration in her tone. “Very obscure. Very dirty.”
Sean gazed at her for a long, thoughtful moment, his smile fading. “Where the fuck are you from, anyway, Tam?”
Her smile was brilliant and empty. “Nowhere,” she said.
Tam opened the door of the vast refrigerator, which had nothing in it other than mineral water and a big box. “Here’s your dinner. Take it up to your suite to eat it. I can’t handle the smell of food tonight.”
Sean frowned. “Not eating, huh? You don’t look so good.”
Her eyes flashed. “Your usual cheap gallantry has deserted you.”
“You’ve lost weight,” Sean persisted. “More than you can afford to lose. And you’ve got circles under your eyes. Have you been sick?”
“How about you mind your own goddamn business, hmm?”
Sean grabbed the box. “Whatever,” he said. “Thanks for dinner.”
