Page 34 of The Heartbreak List

“I… uh…” Her brows squish together. The metal around her ring finger clinks on the ceramic as she lifts it to her lips. Her gaze stays glued to my jaw as the color heightens in her cheeks. “Maybe. I’m not sure.” She takes a sip without lowering her gaze from my puffy jawline. “Does that hurt?”

“Not much.” I grimace at the taste of Jameson and black coffee. It’s not the worst, but I’m not drinking enough for it to be great either. About half what I normally would. My opponent packed some serious strength in his hits tonight. My head throbs and my ear is ringing and if I was wise, I’d be home, choking down Tylenol and passing out in my bed. Only then I wouldn’t be across the table from Indy. And her company…I don’t know…I look forward to it. “I should have weaved.”

“Is this what Harlan was talking about? Did you fight?” She swallows. “Were you drunk?”

“Yes. Yes. And no.” I shut my eyes and lean my head against the top of the vinyl bench. “I’m sober when I fight. Otherwise I would get my ass handed to me. I drink after. And I’m not drunk. Just taking the edge off the adrenaline.”

“Why?”

“Because it helps me sleep.”

The server puts two heavily laden plates down on the table in front of us. Drinking helps me keep my anger and guilt from leeching into my bones and sending me down a path I barely made it back from the first time.

“Thank you,” Indy tells the server as she picks up her knife and fork. She’s practically drooling, and her eyes are wide as she takes in the syrup soaked sweet. “I meant why do you fight?”

“To sleep.” I’m not joking.

“I thought that was the drinking.” Her mouth purses into a cute little heart as she chews on a bite.

There’s that thought again. Cute. Except that word isn’t in my vocabulary anymore. And it’s not something I’m after. What I like about Indy…what I like the most about her…is that we can hang out without it getting complicated. And without having to go into all the details that make me the kind of guy she would want to stay away from. Indy has an expiration date and therefore this friendship has a natural expiry date too.

“There’s a method to my madness.” I wink at her as I pour the rest of the Jameson into the syrup moat around my pancakes.

She shakes her head. “I don’t get you.”

“I’m living my best life,” I say dryly.

“That I understand.” She wraps her lips around another mouthful and tugs it free of the fork. Her jacket sleeve falls back from her hand, and I sit up straighter as I take in the dark smudges there. Considering how I spend my time in the cage…I know bruises when I see them.

She pushes her sleeve up when it falls back down, to keep it away from her food while she’s cutting. I count the ovals on the inside of her wrist. Four on one side and one on the other. Neat fingerprints all in a row. Kinky bondage fun? Or something else?

I’m about ready to punch her fiancé in the face as I lean over and gently secure her wrist in my hand. The uptight prick doesn’t seem like he’d be into anything fun. He has to be the reason she’s wearing more bruises than I am tonight. “Tell me about these.”

She pales when I turn her wrist over and brush my thumb along the row. She must realize it’s too late to hide them in the sleeve of her jacket.

“Did he do this to you? Did he hurt you?” I really hope he didn’t. I don’t want another reason for why he isn’t good enough for her. It would be such a shame if she wasted her love on a guy who didn’t deserve it.

“No. It was nothing like that.” She takes her hand back and puts it in her lap.

“You have bruises.”So don’t tell me it’s nothing.

“I’m on medication,” she reminds me. “That can cause me to bleed more. To bruise easier. Gray didn’t hurt me. He was upset.”

“You know what that sounds like.” My voice has grown deeper. Far more than I wanted it to. I try to smooth the growl from it. “Don’t you?”

“I promise that’s not it at all.” She flinches though. She tries to hide it. Almost succeeds, but her eyes flare. They don’t lie.

So maybe she believes it, but I don’t. If he’s so concerned with her welfare, he should be more careful. My dislike for the man is becoming more concrete every time we hang out. I’m starting to feel inclined to do something about it. “What was he upset about?”

“My tattoo.” She goes back to paying more attention to her food than to me.

I don’t think that she wants to tell me about it. I think she would argue if I suggested her fiancé was a bit of douche. “He didn’t like your cute little kitten in a teacup?”

“He thought it was real.” She chews on a mouthful. “He thought it was risky. I explained that it’s temporary. Everything will be fine when he wakes up and sees my message.”

“He left?” Who the fuck is this guy? He’s overprotective, but he hurts her. He berates her for her behavior without having all the answers. Then he leaves?

“For work. He didn’t have a choice.” She blows out a heavy breath through her nose. “Can we talk about something else?”

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