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I put my tools down and try to ignore him, while I dab around Dante’s wound. “What Fynn fails to realize,” I say to Dante, like he isn’t there. “Is that unlike most of the population of Boston, I don’t fall at his feet.”
That earns me a grin and a chuckle from Dante.
Fynn scratches his head like he’s confused. “You’re forgetting my best asset, Sage.”
I do not need to be thinking about his best asset right now, so I mutter that it does all of his thinking for him.
“Is it too late to get him removed?” I flick my eyes to Dante.
“Darko!” Dante yells.
Fynn punches Dante on his good arm playfully. “Don’t do that, I’ll have to beat him up too.”
I rummage around in my bag for a bandage and ask them who else it was they beat up, but then retract it, because really I don’t want to know. And I doubt they’d even tell me.
“There’s no residue from the bullet.” I tell Dante instead. “You got lucky since it didn't penetrate. I want to change the dressing tomorrow, so I’ll come by the casino.”
“Perfect, thanks, Sage. You’re the best.”
I try to remain oblivious to Fynn while I start wrapping the bandage around Dante’s arm. Despite his mood fluctuation between cheeky and annoying, it’s also obvious something is going down, and not just from Dante being shot.
Of course Fynn is as handsome as ever. He has that look about him that screams money in his designer suit and those baby blues I remember so well.
His hair is longer and shaggy, and he’s tan like he spends half the year in the sun. If there was a poster that screamed ‘playboy,’ then Fynn would be it.
Straight away, my core tightens. I don’t know why it still surprises me. It’s been a long time since anything happened between us, but I know deep down, he has always had an effect on me. He always will.
I don’t even want to ask about what they’ve been up to this time… The less I know, the better.
I can’t help but also notice they seem to be acting awfully cavalier, considering some serious shit has gone down. It would not be normal if one of the Medicis or their men weren’t getting either shot at, stabbed, or blown up.
But just lately, these boys seem to be getting into more and more trouble.
I make light work of cleaning Dante up, since it is only a flesh wound. As I listen to them go at it back and forth, I try not to get too involved, but it’s a little hard with Fynn.
He’s joking, like he usually is, but there’s something more.
He’s hiding something.
So is Dante, even though he’s done his best to keep the topic light while I’ve been working on him. Probably because he knows Fynn can be a jerk, and I’m mad at him,andI was holding a needle.
He’s now rabbiting on about taking me to the movies to watch some rom-com and he’ll pick me up at eight in his Porsche.
“The seats roll backward, to give us some extra room,” he goes on.
“Fynn Dominico Alfonso Mario Medici! Keep it in your pants. You were such a nice boy growing up, what happened?”
“What do I have to do to get your attention?” he mumbles. “Get shot as well?”
I shrug. “I guess it’s a start.”
“You don’t mean that.” He shakes his head.
He’s right, I don’t.
Dante’s phone rings when I’m done bandaging him up.
“It’s Mia, I have to take this,” he says, then adds, “Try not to kill each other until I get back.”
