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I look down at her as she gently wipes the blood off my skin. Now I feel calmer, it seems almost funny to think I hit David. I’ve been into a few scuffles in the past, usually aiding Huxley when he’s bitten off more than he can chew helping out some damsel in distress, but it’s always bravado, pushing and shoving and fronting up, with no blood being spilled. But when David said that line about Sidnie, I finally understood what people mean when they say they see red. I didn’t know she was in the room, but the thought that the comment would get back to her sent me over the edge. I had no control over myself at that point. All I wanted was to crush him.
Her cheeks are a little pink now. She knows I’m watching her.
Bending my head, I brush my lips along her cheekbone. She lifts her face, and I kiss her.
“You’re a naughty boy,” she says when I eventually lift my head.
I shrug. “And you love me for it.”
She smiles, then looks over as Jamie pulls up in the Aston. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
We get in the car, and Jamie looks over his shoulder, startled. “Jesus! What happened?”
“Mack got prehistoric,” she says.
“I was fighting for your honor,” I protest.
“That’s more than I ever did.”
I laugh. “That’s from a movie, isn’t it?”
“Groucho Marx inDuck Soup.” She kisses my knuckles. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Would you like some suggestions?”
“What the hell’s going on?” Jamie demands.
We tell him as he drives us back to the apartment. I can see Jamie’s genuinely shocked by the whole story.
“I feel terrible,” Sidnie mumbles when I mention the bit where she spied on me.
“We all do crazy things when our family is in need,” I say, exchanging a look with Jamie in the rear-view mirror. He nods then, and I know he understands what I’m referring to.
Sidnie doesn’t say much, even when we get back and take the elevator up.
“Are you going out again later?” Jamie asks.
“Not sure yet,” I reply. “Can I text you?”
“Of course. I’ll keep Gus for now. Let me know if you want him.”
When the elevator arrives, he goes down to his apartment, and I let us into mine.
It’s close to sunset now, and the place is filled with a deep rose-gold light. I toss my keys and wallet onto the kitchen counter, toe off my shoes, and start unbuttoning my shirt as I walk through to the bathroom. After dumping my shirt into the laundry basket, I run some hot water into the sink and start washing the blood off my hand. “Ouch.” My knuckles are tender, bruised from clashing with David’s face. The memory of the moment makes me smile.
I look up then, and in the reflection of the mirror, see Sidnie leaning against the door jamb, watching me. She’s taken off her sandals, and when I look down I see her sexy pink-painted toenails peeking out from beneath her trousers.
I meet her gaze for a moment. She seems thoughtful. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. I return to cleaning my hand, then take a towel and dry it carefully.
She pushes off the doorframe and goes into the bedroom, and I follow her in. She sits on the bed, cross-legged, while I go into the walk-in wardrobe and hunt for a new shirt. I pull out another dress shirt—this one black with silver patterns that I think she’ll like.
I hang it on the door frame. Then I sit on the bed beside her, flop back, and look up at her.
She picks up my left hand and kisses my sore knuckles. “Southpaw.”
“Yeah. Look, I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
