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“Oh, so you’re ready to discuss tactics now?” He grabs a chair and swings it around to face me, sitting down and swishing a wipe through the solution.
“Yes,” I grate. I’m perfectly aware I’ve either been too pissed or had my head up my arse the past twenty-four hours.
“We should get the others in first.”
“Fine,” I mumble, hissing as he wipes me up with a heavy hand. “Anyone ever tell you that your bedside manner is shit?” I ask, making him smile as he continues, ignoring the fact that I’m pushing myself into the back of the chair, trying in vain to shy away from the biting sting of the alcohol on my open wounds.
“You didn’t mess around, did you?”
I look down and immediately look away. “I’m a dick, I know.”
He hums, concentrating, but doesn’t agree. “What did you make of Lennox Benson?”
“Apart from the fact he obviously fancied my pregnant w—Ouch, you fucker!”
“Pussy,” he mutters. “Yes, apart from that.”
“Take it easy,” I grumble, looking down at his working hand. “What’s your point?”
“He’s a good-looking bloke.” James dumps the red-stained cloth in the bowl and rummages through the box.
My shoulders drop. “It wouldn’t have mattered if Lennox Benson looked like the back end of a bus. She did what she did because she’s a hateful bitch.”
“I assume you’re talking about your pregnant wife.”
“Could I be talking about yours?”
“She’s not my wife and she’s not pregnant.”
I smirk, and he eyes me, knowing I’m about to hit him with some sarcastic wisecrack. So the fucker jabs be in my chest. “Fuck!”
“You were saying?”
“I was saying,” I hiss, looking down at my wounds. “You’re a cunt.”
“Love you too. Are we sticking these cuts together or are you happy with scars wider than they need to be?”
“Whatever. They’ll still be quite pathetic compared to yours.” Another jab, and I cough over a laugh.
“Seriously,” James says. “We need to talk business.”
“Yeah, I know.” I relent, defeated. “So hurry the fuck up and glue me back together.” I glare at him. “Gently, okay?”
“Okay, sweetheart.” I continue to hiss in between holding my breath as he sorts me out. “I need to ask you something,” he says, not looking at me.
“Sounds ominous.”
“I spoke to Chaka earlier about the next shipment.”
“And?”
“Did you tell him Rose is pregnant?” He looks up at me, just as I recoil, which gives him his answer. Not that he really needed to ask. “So how does he know?”
“Good fucking question,” I muse, falling into thought.Trust no one.I’ve made a few exceptions recently, and one of those exceptions is currently sticking me back together. One of those exceptions is now a solid friend and wingman. I trust James with my life, and not many men have that privilege.
“All fixed,” he says, standing and taking the bowl to the sink. “Get a T-shirt on and I’ll clear up the mess before I get the men.”
I rise from the chair, the unfolding of my body pulling at the skin on my chest. I grit my teeth as I swipe up my T-shirt and grit harder as I pull it on over the bandages he’s done a neat job of fixing over the glued wounds. “Meet you in the study,” I say, wandering away, wondering why the fuck everything hurts so badly at the moment.
