“You’re not.” I roll my eyes at him, then grab an alcohol pad and some Neosporin from the kit. “At least let me take care of your lip so it doesn’t get infected.” He stands and takes off his jacket and probably thinks I don’t notice the way he holds his breath, but I do. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“I’m—”
“If you say you’re fine one more time, I’m going to scream,” I hiss, and he grins like he thinks I’m cute, then takes a seat and reaches for my hand.
“Come here, Ms.—” His brows drag together. “Fuck, I don’t know your last name.”
“Mayson.” I touch the alcohol wipe to his lip, and his jaw twitches.
“Are you related to anyone from Mayson Construction?”
“That’s my family’s company,” I tell him as I place some Neosporin on my finger and dab it on the cut.
“You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not.” I lift my eyes to his. “Why?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, then grabs my hand. “We should head out for dinner.”
“We’re not going to dinner.” I pick up the ice pack and place it back against the bruise on his face, and step back.
“Doll—”
“Do not tell me you’re fine. I’m changing, then making us something to eat.” I head for my room without another word, and while I’m changing, I realize that feeling in my chest is back.