“It’s . . .” I quickly wrapped up her left hand. “It’s going to take a while to heal, that’s all.”
“How am I supposed to do any normal human activity if I can’t even pick up stuff off the floor or take a shower or—” Her eyes went wide. “I can’t just go thirty days without washing my hair!”
“Careful, your rich girl is showing,” I said in a singsong voice, earning a glare from her. “And we aren’t stuck here thirty days. A few days at most.”
“Since I’m injured, that means I go back into the city and give you what you finally want.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What’s that?”
“The cabin all to yourself.” She sounded defeated.
“I’m not the one who fought with an elk and lived to tell about it. Think about all your Instagram stories!” I crossed my arms and searched her eyes. “Social media gold, right?”
She wasn’t laughing.
“Look . . .” My fingertips slid across the leather couch and pressed into her thigh. “Let’s just get through today, tomorrow will have its own worries.”
She stared down at my hand and whispered, “He used to say that.”
Of course the bastard did. “So you’re saying he was wise like me?”
“Yeah, but you have him beat in arrogance.”
“At least I’m winning at something.”
“Is that winning, though?” She snorted out a laugh, and then pointed at the booze. “I want my prize now.”
“Do you want me to just pour it into your gaping mouth since you can’t hold a shot glass very well?” I teased.
“No, because with my luck you’d just keep pouring.” Her eyes narrowed.
“What would be my purpose in getting you drunk?” I unscrewed the cap. “Besides, you seem to be one of those people who’d be chatty when drunk, who don’t shut up and decide everyone needs a hug, then after one more shot of tequila and two more rounds of karaoke decide they’re going to join the Peace Corps.” I sighed.
“Wow.” Her lips spread into a thin smile. “That was both insulting and alarmingly detailed.”
I lifted the bottle into the air. “I doubt I’m wrong.”
She opened her mouth and tilted her head back. I studied her chin of all things. It was smooth just like the rest of her. Her snowy white skin was flawless, her lips plump enough to probably give life during a kiss, and yet her chin is what distracted me, maybe it was the angle or just the fact that she was teasing me. I liked it.
I liked her.
And I realized I hadn’t had this feeling in a really long time.
I, Julian Tennyson, had a fucking crush.
I took a long drag of the whiskey, wiped my mouth, then quickly poured some into her mouth.
She choked a solid minute before glaring at me with watery eyes and then kicking me in the shin.
“What the hell!” I roared. “I gave you your shot!”
“You didn’t even warn me! I couldn’t see you. I was tilting my head back then suddenly fire-burning whiskey from hell cascades down my throat like a lava waterfall!”
I made a face. “Okay, first off, it was maybe half a shot, second, you looked prepared, third . . .” I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “If you must know, I was distracted.”
“By what?”
“Your mouth was open, I was imagining—”
“I will feed you to the elk outside if you finish that with what I think you were going to say!”
I smirked and leaned in. “Dirty mind, rich girl. I was going to say I was imagining touching the skin just below your lips.”
She squinted at me. “So you’re saying you have a chin fetish.”
“A fetish would mean I have a thing with everyone’s chins, and I can honestly say I’ve never given them much notice, but I noticed yours, and your skin, and the way you look like you want to strangle me regardless of how much I’m already helping you.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s because I know guys like you, guys who rule the world one hospital donation at a time.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat because, yes, I did do that. I donated so I didn’t feel guilty for not doing more.
“Let me guess, shark in the boardroom, shakes hands at events, takes nice pictures, loves a good tailored suit, and sends food back when it’s cooked wrong.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then glared. “Okay, first off, if you’re paying for a good meal—”
“I knew it!” She thrust one of her bandaged hands in my face. “I know your type, I used to date your type. If you tell me you order the most expensive wine on the menu we can no longer have a working relationship.” She crossed her arms while I lazily eyed her up and down then tilted my head back and took another swig.
“Whiskey over expensive wine any day.”