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“No comment?” she asked, eyeing the supplies in his hands.
“You’ve got the essentials.” Brian shrugged. “What’s there to say?” He imagined her pantry and freezer to be the same. Basics only.
He tugged up her pant leg past her knee.
She grimaced. “Ouch.”
Peering closer, he spotted what caused the pain. He yanked out a rather large fragment of wood embedded in her calf. Blood spurted from the wound. He pressed a paper towel to it first. With the saline solution, he flushed the cut, eliciting a hiss of pain from her.
Wincing, she clutched his shoulder.
He poured a bit more solution on the deep gash.
Her grip on him tightened, and she swore. “Sorry. I’m not usually such a big baby.”
“No problem.” He dabbed at the wound with gauze, pleased the bleeding slowed. “Feel free to grab on to me anytime.”
She glanced down at her hand on his shoulder. Her eyes flared wide as though she hadn’t realized she was touching him. Pulling away, she grabbed the glass on the end table and took a healthy sip.
“What’s your poison?” he asked, applying antibiotic ointment.
“Scotch. Twenty-one-year-old Glenfiddich.”
Two things she splurged on, her car and her Scotch. It certainly wasn’t her home decor.
He put a bandage on the cut. “At that price point, I bet it’s pretty smooth. I’m more of a beer drinker myself.”
“Of course, you are,” she said with a slight sneer.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” While he waited for a response, he cleaned the cut on her wrist above her smartwatch.
“It’s the quintessential alcoholic beverage of the USA.”
“And?”
Lowering her gaze, she shook her head as though she wasn’t going to say anything else. But she did. “It’s very on brand for you.” She looked at him. “Fits with your whole Captain America vibe.”
That was nicest thing anyone had ever said to him. At the same time—she had hurled the words at him, sharp, little stones not intended to flatter—it was also the meanest.
Good thing he didn’t have a big ego, but it was better she thought of him as a capable superhero than a dimwitted Dudley Do-Right.
If he searched hard enough, there was always a silver lining.
Rocco had once admitted that although he was the closest person to Charlie, they weren’t exactly close. By her choice.
In that moment, Brian understood why she was alone. Why she had no pictures of family or friends hanging on the walls. It was because she had a knack for pushing people away. The sort of talent that was bred from pain. Or fear.
Perhaps both.
“You’ll come to learn that my brand is more along the lines of Timex,” he said, dabbing gauze saturated in saline solution on the cut on her chin. “I take a licking and keep on ticking.” He winked.
Give it your best shot, Charlie.
She stared at him with an inscrutable expression on her face. Up close, she was even prettier. Mesmerizing eyes. The sultriest mouth. He tried hard not to think how her chin-length hair would feel tickling his bare chest. Then he tried even harder not to think about her lips doing the same thing.
With a gentle fingertip, he applied some ointment on her chin. She let out a shaky breath, her lips parting at contact. His pulse raced. His blood pumped hard through his veins as he took her in. The scent of her making its way deep into his lungs. Feminine musk, grass and smoke. Something passed between them, hot and intangible.
All too soon, she leaned back, pulling her face from his fingers.
