As soon as I’m finished, I hand him the standardized list of all the post-care shit he needs to do. Give it air, clean the wound, blah blah blah. I run over the highlights as quickly as possible, inching back toward the door the entire time.
“There’s a party at my house this weekend,” he randomly interrupts. “A few kegs, good music, that sort of thing.”
“Try not to get stabbed again,” I say with a saccharine sweet smile and heavily batted lashes.
He snorts derisively.
“Come hang out with me. Make sure your patient is being well taken care of,” he says, smirking at me.
Walking toward him, I steel myself, ready to do what needs to be done. I pat his cheek, smile at him, then roll my eyes.
“Not a chance in hell,” I tell him.
I turn around, putting my back to him, ignoring the sting just of just that touch. Should have kept my gloves on and left his skin alone.
At least I’ll have a pretty image and sexy sound in mind when I fire up my Magic Wand tonight. At least in my fantasies the bad boys are safe.
“Don’t act like you don’t want to,” he drawls. “Your eyes have been undressing me since you got in here.”
I laugh while rolling the traitorous eyes.
“No need to undress you when you’re showing me the goods for free. Besides, I grew out of keg parties in college.”
“I can promise I’d make it worth your while,” he goes on.
I hate my body. Really, I do. Especially when it fires up in response to the threat—or sensual promise. Coming from his lips, it almost sounds like a threat.
Turning to face him, I prop a hip against the counter and cross my arms over my chest. Mostly to hide my girls’ reaction to his offer, since I wore a thin bra today.
“You may not hear this often, but you’re not my type. Sorry, player. Looks like you’ll have to find someone else to stab you with a broken beer bottle this weekend.”
He smiles bigger, much to my dissatisfaction. That was not supposed to make him smile.
“It’s Ethan. Not player,” he points out, mocking my comment from earlier. “And you’re a shameless liar, Bella.”