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She sniffs at me, which I assume means fuck off with my bullshit explanation.
Hands digs another piece of gravel out of the wound before dropping it in the bin beside him.
"Son of a bitch," I growl, smacking my palm against the top of the bar. "That shit hurts."
"There's only one more piece in there, brother." He's smiling. The asshole is actually smiling when he says it. "Suck it up. You'll be fine."
"Your bedside manner sucks."
"Then I guess it's a good thing we're in the bar then," he mutters.
"He slid down the hill like he was on a fucking bobsled," Giant says from behind the bar, not helping at all. The asshole. "Or sideways on one anyway."
My wife's face pales.
"His bike is fucked."
"Giant," I growl. "Shut up."
He glances at me and then Catriona and curses beneath his breath. "It wasn't really that bad," he quickly says, but the damage is already done.
"I'm going to get more bandages," my wife mumbles, hurrying from the room with one hand clutching her stomach as if she's going to throw up.
I glare daggers at Giant, who holds up his hands.
"Sorry, brother. I forget the girls still get upset about this shit," he says.
"How the fuck do you forget?" Hands demands. "Bella cried for two days when you ate gravel last year."
"And then didn't talk to him for a week," Bender adds.
"She loves me." Giant beams, flashing his dimples at us.
Bender rolls his eyes, circling around the bar toward the industrial-sized fridge. "Playboy is usually more careful than your dumbass. How long do you think it'll be before Catriona forgives him for this?"
"What year is it?" Giant asks.
I grit my teeth as Hands digs out the last piece of gravel embedded in my flesh. Fuck me. It hurts like a son of a bitch.
"2025," Bender says.
"And how old is she?"
They both look to me for an answer.
"She's twenty-three." Her birthday was two months ago. We spent it locked in a suite in Vegas, fucking like rabbits.
Giant nods, his brows furrowed as if he's thinking hard. "Eighteen years," he finally says.
Bender and I look at him. Even Hands stops torturing me to send him a look.
"I'm almost afraid to ask how the fuck you arrived at that specific answer," Bender mumbles, pulling open the fridge to grab a bottle of water.
Giant shrugs. "Some little fucker in Bella's kindergarten class told her to hit him, so she did. Then he went and snitched. The teacher tried to make her apologize, but she wouldn't because the kid told her to do it, so she stayed in timeout all day. She's still holding a grudge. So if I did my math right, women are capable of being pissed at men for at least eighteen years, starting at age five."
"Jesus Christ." Hands laughs abruptly.
"Your wife is a savage." Bender grins. "No wonder I fucking love her."
