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It must be the lack of sleep. Because he had the weird urge to pull her onto his lap and hug her tight? And at the same time, he wanted to scold her for hurting herself.
It was peculiar.
Yes, he definitely needed to go home and get some sleep.
“Did you just stick your tongue out at me?” Ian barked, crossing his arms over his chest.
Jack started whistling. Jameson glanced up to see the other man staring hard at Maggie. Generally, Jack didn’t find much interesting. But the way he was looking at Maggie . . . hmm, that was unusual.
“I think there might be a problem with his voice too,” she whispered to Jameson. “He’s always barking. Like a dog. Or growling. Like a bear. Ooh, maybe he’s a shapeshifter.” She stared at Ian like she thought that was an actual possibility.
Ian groaned, rubbing his hand over his face.
Jack reached over to pat his back.
“Sweetheart, you might want to ease up before you give Ian a stroke,” Jameson warned.
“Oh dear, I guess that is a possibility at his age.” She chewed her lip adorably.
Trouble. Pure trouble.
“I’ll try to be nicer.” Leaning over, she patted Ian’s arm. “Why don’t you sit down? Take a load off. Let me make you a cup of tea.” She tried to stand, but both he and Ian reached for her, holding her to the chair.
“Stay seated. You’re bleeding,” Ian barked.
She gave Jameson a ‘see what I mean?’ look. He had to bite back a smile.
Lord. She was running rings around Ian. The poor guy looked like he was about to blow.
“And I’m not bleeding. All I need is a Band-Aid.”
Jameson picked up her foot and noted that there was now a streak of blood running down it. “Ahh, Shortcake, this will need more than just a Band-Aid.”
Hell’s bells. Had he called her that?
Her eyes were wide and her mouth had parted.
Fuck. What was he thinking?
But there was just something about the way she stared at him that made him feel good.
Like he was special.
Which you’re not. Asshole.
“Why does everyone keep calling me short?” she asked. “I’m not little.”
Ian snorted. “You’re tiny. You barely even reach the middle of my chest.”
“Maybe I’m not tiny. Perhaps you’re just a giant. It’s all about perspective.”
Jameson placed a soft pad on the cut on her foot, then wrapped a bandage around it.
“And I might be short, but I have muscle.”
“Show us these muscles,” Jack requested.
She went to push up the sweatshirt sleeve for her right arm, then paused. Instead, she pushed back her left sleeve. Then she lifted her arm, flexing. “See? Look at my guns.”
