Chapter 9
Cheryl washed the few dishes she’d used and scrambled to come up with another plan. All those months of squirreling away that money and now it was gone. At least she had a place to stay and some of her clothes from the back pack.
She startled when the door open. Expecting Eddie, she did a mental eye roll when she saw Jonny. The light from the room cast a shadow over him as he stood at an odd angle, cradling his left arm. His expression was tense, or maybe pained.
“Are you all right?” She moved closer, zeroing in on the deep red stain on the sleeve of his shirt.
“I ran into a little trouble tonight.”
“Looks like more than a little.” The slice in his shirt definitely came from a knife.
“It’s just a cut.” He swayed and grimaced.
It was way more than a cut but arguing with someone as stubborn as him was a waste of time. “You better sit down before you fall down.”
He looked skeptical, probably surprised she wasn’t freaked out by all the blood.
“Do you at least have a first aid kit?” She couldn’t let the guy bleed all over his polished hardwood floors.
“There’s one under the bathroom sink.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the hall, then headed for the couch.
She returned to the living room with the first aid kit, a towel from the bathroom, and stopped.
He’d removed the torn, bloody shirt, and rested against the couch with his eyes closed. His bare, broad chest was taut with lean muscles cut across the impressive abs she’d admired the night before. A tattoo of barbwire encircled the muscled bicep of his good arm, and the light from the lamp cast a silvery shadow over another tattoo covering the left side of his ribs, a heart inside a cross inked over a jagged scar. She moved closer, but his eyes fluttered open, and she glanced away. The edges of his lips curved up, but it wasn’t taunting like the other night.
Moving behind the bar, she assessed the selection, returned with a bottle of tequila, and answered his questioning expression. “This should dull the pain a little.” She carefully peeled away the blood-soaked napkins from his inflamed bicep.
He slugged a few healthy gulps straight from the bottle and handed it back to her. “Eddie said you’re from Brooklyn, too.”
Interesting. They talked about me.
She focused on his wound, being careful not to hurt him, but when she placed the towel under his arm, she couldn’t help noticing the way his muscle contracted beneath his smooth, bronze skin.
“This is going to sting,” she warned, then poured the alcohol over the wound.
“Shit!” He clenched his jaw. “What a waste of a two-hundred-dollar bottle of tequila.”
“You’re pretty casual about a six-inch gash and losing a boatload of blood.” She dabbed at the wound with the sterile pad, cleaned it, then wrapped the gauze around his arm a few times before she taped it into place.
“I’ve had worse,” he mumbled.
Like the scar he almost camouflaged on his chest. Maybe she wasn't the only one with secrets.
He looked at the bandage job. “Not bad.” The slow, lazy grin caught her by surprise.
“I’ve had some practice patching people up.” Her heart flip-flopped at the memory of Dylan and all his smash-ups. “That could get infected.” She busied herself putting the first aid kit back together. “And I’m sure you need stitches.”
“It’ll be fine.”
An uncomfortable silence passed between them until he motioned for her to sit. “Eddie says you’re staying here for a few days.”
She nodded and perched on the edge of the leather cushion. Life taught her revealing too much could be deadly.
“He also said you’re not with Nicky anymore.”
“Right, again.”
“Good move, the guy’s a loser.” He scrubbed his hand over his jaw. “I shouldn’t have made that crack about the money.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” Wow, was that an apology? “Did he really owe you ten thousand dollars?”
“Not me directly.”
His eyes locked with hers. She swallowed hard and tempered her expression.
She glanced at his arm. “Does that cut have something to do with collecting money too?”
His jaw tightened, and she braced for a scathing comeback, but he reached for the tequila with his good arm instead. “Why don’t you get some glasses so we can enjoy this the right way?”
The slight tremor in his hand when he pointed to the bar told her she’d hit a nerve. Retrieving two glasses, she placed them in front of them and he poured the silvery liquid. Jonny downed his immediately.
His fingertips brushed against her arm. “Drink up.” He pointed to her untouched shot glass, then motioned to his arm. “You did good.”
For a split second, the sarcastic player disappeared, his black eyes melted a bit, and she saw some compassion. The same caring that intrigued her the other night at the Oasis. A soothing warmth flowed over her along with an instinct to run.
She pushed the shot glass aside and stood. “I told Eddie I’d meet him downstairs.”
His eyes tracked her as she moved around the coffee table, and when she turned toward the door she willed herself not to look back.
Another bad boy was not in her future plans.