Page 11 of Bronx

"How is Kingston?" she asked. She pointed at my mug of beer. "May I? I feel like I need to get that pink syrupy drink off my tongue."

"Yeah, of course." I handed her my mug.

Her long fingers gently grazed mine as she took hold of the beer. I had no right to, but I couldn't stop myself from staring at her lush lips as they curled around the rim of my beer. She sipped the drink and finished off with a pinky wipe of the corners of her mouth. "Thanks," she handed me back my drink. Fingers touched again. I could still feel them once she'd pulled her hand away.

"Did the lodge send a trained medic to see him?" she asked. I was still reeling from watching her sexy mouth on my glass, but I dragged myself back to the topic.

"No, should we have requested one?" I asked.

"They generally have someone who is at least trained in first aid for some of the more common skiing injuries. I would have come over myself but Adam—" Her words trailed off and she pulled her gaze away. "Anyhow, I can still go if you want me to look at him."

"No, that's all right. I think he'll be fine. If not, we'll get him to a doctor tomorrow."

She laughed lightly behind her hand. "Sorry, ill-timed laugh but Topper was describing the whole incident. He said Kingston zigged but his knee zagged."

I laughed. "Topper does have a way with words, and I think he pretty much nailed it with that assessment."

"It's sort of ironic, isn't it?" she said, and all I could think was that it was ironic standing one foot away from the woman I loved knowing I could never have her. Or was that irony? Maybe it was just good old fashioned torture.

"What's ironic?" I asked once I got my thoughts sorted.

"Kingston parachutes into forest fires and hikes the roughest, most rugged terrain, but he hits the ski slope and wrenches his knee trying to avoid a tumbling teenager."

I laughed. "That's the way of it, I'm afraid. Vick broke some of the toughest, wildest colts for thirty years, then he steps out of his golf cart onto a neatly manicured hillside and breaks his ankle. Had to have pins and everything."

She covered her mouth. "Oh my gosh. Poor guy. But yes, that doesn't make much sense considering his day job. What about you?" Without warning, she lightly touched the scar on my jaw. I held my breath until her finger finished its trail along the one and a half inch scar. "Was that from breaking colts or something far less cool, like riding your bike into a fence?" She held up her hand. "Did that one when I was ten. I had to have stitches on my arm and leg." I was momentarily dragged into a fantasy about those scars and how badly I wanted to run my tongue over them. I had to lose the fantasy fast, or everyone in the room would soon be aware of my feelings for Layla.

I reached up and touched my jaw. "No bicycle. A mare bucked me right into barbed wire. Tore a nice gash in my jaw. Eighteen stitches. I kept the horse and named her Barbie."

She winced as I spoke. "Bad Barbie. My Barbies only drove in their pink Corvette and strutted around in one shoe, because it was impossible not to lose the second shoe. And yes, I did give my dolls their obligatory haircuts. Not sure why every little girl suddenly wakes up one morning deciding they were a trained stylist. Needless to say, the haircuts were terrible. But still I managed to stay out of barbed wire."

We both laughed. I sensed we were attracting attention, but I didn't give a damn. We were just two people talking and laughing.

I took another drink of beer, mostly to cool off the heat stirring inside of me. I could count the number of minutes I'd spent with Layla on my hands and feet, yet it felt as if we'd known each other forever.

"King and I will probably leave early tomorrow. I don't want to make him sit in that room, waiting for me to shred the slopes without him."

"You're a good friend." She smiled again. I was trying to absorb everything, her smiles, her words, the sound of her voice, the smell of her perfume. I never knew when I might see her again. She leaned her head in Mystic's direction. "I don't know"—she cast a puzzled expression my way—"I guess you guys call her Mystic, but what's her real name?"

I glanced across to where Angus was now engaged in a conversation with Mystic and her sunburned date. "Kat, Kat Coltrane. I think her actual name is Katherine, but people call her Kat."

She laughed lightly. Another sound to be recorded in my brain. "So, she has an actual nickname, Kat, nice, short, easy to remember and spell, but you guys decided you needed to muck things up by calling Katherine, the girl with the nickname Kat, Mystic?" She bunched her perfectly smooth brow. "Why Mystic?"

"Not even sure who came up with it, but Kat likes to meditate on her way to a jump site. She says it gives her clarity and focus."

"Smart lady." Layla took hold of my beer again and took another sip. I could have watched her sip that beer all damn night. "Her date seems—seems—"

"Unusual?" I asked.

Another lyrical laugh. "I suppose that's the word. Did you know he's an undertaker? I wonder if it's a prerequisite for that job, being unusual, I mean?"

This time we both laughed. We were in the center of our comical moment together when heavy footsteps sounded on the floor behind us. We spun around in unison. All the energy in the room seemed to be focused on Bulldozer.

He wasted no time being an asshole. "How is it, Devlin, that every time I see you, I find you talking to my wife?" I hated hearing the wordsmy wifefrom his mouth. It made me want to punch him solely because he didn't deserve to be calling Layla his wife.

"Adam, I walked over to him," Layla said dryly. There was no anger or emotion. She was just telling him a fact. She turned back to me with a forced smile, and my urge to punch Bulldozer increased. "Jack, tell Kingston if he needs me, I'd be happy to look at his knee."

That kind offer didn't sit well with her husband. "It's the weekend. You have it off. Kingston is a big boy. He'll be fine. Come on, I haven't eaten yet." Then the moment, tense as it was, grew worse. Bulldozer's big hand wrapped around her wrist, tightly.

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