“Claire, it’s fine.”
“Do you want it to scar weird? Or get infected?”
“No, but I cleaned it out when we got back to the car. Firefighters are also EMTs, you know.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a nurse practitioner. NP trumps EMT. Let’s go.”
Just two weeks ago he could have argued, but she’d proudly displayed her license on the kitchen table for three whole days when the thing arrived in the mail.
He dropped his hands, frowning at the loss of her body beneath his skin, and sighed. “I’m coming.”
5
After checking in with Reagan, who said she’d get a ride home, Claire and Graham grabbed an Uber back to the condo.
“How many did you have?” Graham asked, closing the front door and flipping on the light.
She stopped and faced him. “I’m sober enough to stitch you up.”
He slid long fingers across his chin. “I’m afraid I need more convincing. This beautiful face is important to me and I don’t want you to mess it up. How many live patients have you practiced on?”
“Six.” Yeah, she’d been terrified for the first three. But by the fourth, she’d gained a decent measure of confidence. “And I’m not even drunk enough to kiss you again. How’s that?”
“Wow, okay. Noted.” He made a beeline for the fridge. “Totally unrelated, do you want a beer?”
Claire ignored him and pulled out a kitchen chair, then flipped on the fixture immediately overhead. “Sit down so I can get a good look.”
He came back with two bottles and a hopeful gleam in his eye. He sat as instructed and tilted his head back.
She leaned down to inspect the wound, which bisected the outer edge of his right eyebrow, the one he often arched at her in consternation. Eyebrows were tricky. At least it wasn’t his lips; lacerations there hardly ever lined up right when they healed. And also, for no other reason at all, at least it wasn’t his lips.
“You cleaned it well,” she admitted.
“Not my first injury.”
She pressed her mouth together and inhaled deeply through her nose. “I could stitch it, or I think some Dermabond with a couple Steri Strips would be fine, too.”
“Great. Glue me back together, nurse.”
He stayed put while she went to the bathroom to get the supplies and wash her hands. When she returned, he popped the top off his beer and took a swig while she got everything set up and sidled up next to him.
They remained silent for a few moments while she worked.
Then, he said, “You look nice.”
She paused, ignoring the single butterfly that had the nerve to take flight behind her bellybutton. “What?”
“It was too quiet so I thought I’d tell you that you looked really nice tonight.”
With a sigh, she resumed her ministrations on his cut. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s the kiss, isn’t it? It made things weird.”
“A little.”
“Make it go back.”
“I can’t right now. Not with your chest, like, two inches from my face.”
“You’re such a dick,” she said with a laugh. She might have been angry at his comment, but she’d worn a low-cut shirt to the club and with the way she stood over him, her breasts were indeed invading his personal space. He literally couldn’t look anywhere else unless he moved his head, which wasn’t advisable.
“Sorry. I’ll close my eyes.” And he did, but kept speaking. “But I have to admit I’m feeling self-conscious about that kiss now. Have you not been thinking about it?”
She went with a half-truth. “I’ve thought about it once or twice.”
“Thank fuck. I thought maybe I’d had an off night.”
“Regardless, it can’t happen again.”
“Why not?”
“The obvious is because we’re roommates and it’s a terrible idea. But also because I’m not ready to give up on the idea of finding a real relationship. Do you and I have chemistry? Yeah. With the way we argue, it’s no surprise we’d be good together in bed. But I want something more than physical.”
“Until the time comes for the pact to kick in, you mean.”
“If, in four years, I’m still single, I’ll probably be lonely enough to discuss it.” She finished up and inspected her handiwork. “Done.”
“That was fast.”
“I know. I’m good.”