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I purse my lips, narrowing my eyes at him. I can’t be mad with Dante for the life of me, he’s too sweet.
“I’d love to,” I say before Fynn can comment. “Unfortunately, I’m busy.”
“Doing what?” Fynn inquires, pushing off the door, walking toward me. “Washing your hair?”
That’s usually my line, and it’s always funny. But Fynn wants to ruin every moment we have together, trying to get one up on me.
“No, watching reruns of America’s Most Wanted.”
Dante lets out a guffaw, and I can’t help but chuckle too.
Fynn shucks his pants up slightly, sitting down on the coffee table right next to my medical bag. He’s so close that our legs are almost touching.
I don’t miss the skipping of my heartbeat in my chest, and I hate myself for it.
I’m no pushover.
“You’ve found your sense of humor,” Fynn replies. “Albeit at my expense.”
“It was never lost,” I toss back. “And it’s always more fun when it’s at your expense.”
I can feel him watching me.
His eyes burning into my skin like fire.
It’s too hot to handle.
I know exactly what he’s got on his mind…putting babies in me.
I try to not let my hands shake as I smooth over Dante’s dressing, making sure it’s secure.
“Pablo has an amazing lobster chowder on the menu,” Fynn goes on as if I haven’t spoken. “If you’d do me the honor.”
I give him a withering look as Dante chuckles.
“All done,” I say to Dante. “Don’t go getting shot again, please. I’m busy.”
“Thanks, Sage, you’re the best.” He stands, leaning over to kiss me on the cheek, flashing Fynn a sly look as Fynn glares at him.
Brotherly love at its finest form.
“For you, anytime.”
He shrugs his shirt back on and does the buttons up. “See you later.”
“Bye, Dante.”
He shoves Fynn on the way as he leaves the room, causing him to wobble, his hand touching my knee to steady himself.
I look down just as his eyes meet mine, and he removes his hand quickly.
“So?” he prompts, still seated as I swiftly pack all the old gauze and bandage away. “Chowder?”
I look up at him. “I’m not talking to you, remember?”
He runs a hand through his hair.
The Medici men all have this trait, but on Fynn it is quietly broody and says a thousand words with his eyes alone.
