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“I got shot.”
That much seems obvious from where I’m standing, though given his demeanor and the lack of blood flowing, I’m guessing it’s just a surface wound.
“One of you is always getting freaking shot or stabbed, or some shit. When will you call me and ask me if I’d like to do anything pleasant, like watch a movie, or buy me dinner or something nice like that?”
“We don’t do nice, Sage,” Fynn says. “You know that by now.”
I scoff. “You do plenty of nice things for other chicks.” I don’t even know why I blurt that out, even if it is true.
Maybe because prior to seeing him at the casino recently, we were supposed to meet for drinks one night, but he never showed up, giving me some lame excuse later. I’ve come to expect it from him, though being unreliable with me was never very Fynn-like.
My eyes meet Fynn’s, wondering if he stood me up for some hot model or up-and-coming actress he’s likely bedding.
Regardless of that, I need to leave my grievances aside because Dante is in need of care.
With the formalities out of the way, and Fynn’s eyes wandering over me in my scrubs, I work at cleaning and patching Dante up as swiftly as possible.
“Oh I can make nice,baby cakes,but you won’t let me. Anyway, I didn’t know you wanted me like that anymore.”
I give him a look. “Trust me, I don’t.”
He taps his chin, playing with me. “You sure? Kinda sounded like you wanted to take me on a date.”
I take a syringe out of my bag, filling it with anesthetic. Thank god it’s a shallow wound. “That’s what you got from that?”
I glance at Dante, who is looking decidedly worried since I’m about to jab him with a needle whilst Fynn and I go back and forth. I kneel down to clean Dante’s wound while I take a poke at Fynn about who he’s dating this week… Miss Venezuela? A wannabe actress? I don’t even know why he’s going on about taking me on a date, he is the most eligible bachelor in Boston after all and could date anyone he wanted.
“So you’re jealous?” he asks.
I try to ignore him while I poke around in Dante’s shoulder.
“Ummm, no, Fynn, this is a look of disdain. Something I’m sure you’re oblivious to.”
It’s then Dante turns his head and tells Fynn in no uncertain terms to quit it.
Fynn ignores him. “Let me take you to the movies?” He continues, probably trying to get back in my good books from standing me up.
“No, thank you.”
“But you just said…”
“I meant Dante, he’s much nicer than you.” I hear Dante faintly chuckle.
“He’s spoken for.” Fynn shrugs.
“Fine, Angelo, then. Or Marco. Or Rocco. Or Enzo. Or Santino. Or Jonas. Or freaking Darko…” I mean none of it, of course. I hardly even know his cousins Santino or Jonas all that well.
“Darko?” Fynn bristles.
I shrug. “He’s got a set of buns on him.”
Fynn makes a face. “I do not need that visual.”
Dante is getting decidedly frustrated with the both of us. “I wish you two would just bang it out,” he says and mutters something about his ears bleeding.
“He started it!” I say to Dante. “Being an asshole, he used to be nice to me.”
“I’m not an asshole!” Fynn counters. “I said you looked lovely, how is that being an asshole?”
