Page 55 of Even Beneath the Stars

I clean the cut carefully, trying to ignore how his breath fans across my wrist. I can feel his eyes on me, watching with an intensity that makes my fingers tremble slightly against his skin. He flinches at the sudden sting, just barely—a tiny movement I wouldn't have noticed if we weren't so close.

"Sorry," I mutter, then press my lips together, focusing on the task instead of the way my heart is doing weird things in my chest or how the scent of him seems to fill all the space between us.

I swap out the bloody wipe for a clean one then move to the split lip. This close, I can see the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, smell the faint metallic tang of blood. I clear my throat. "This is probably going to hurt worse than the eyebrow."

"It's fine." He swipes his tongue lazily along his lower lip, and how the hell am I supposed tonottrack its movement when I'm so close I could give the guy mouth-to-mouth?

I dab at the cut and this time, he doesn't flinch. Doesn't even blink. His eyes remain steadfast on my face. It's unnerving. But not entirely in a bad way.

"So do you get into fights often?" I ask, trying to distract myself from the warmth radiating off his bare skin.

"No." He finally blinks when I remove the antiseptic. "Second time."

I nod, leaning back. "So, what happened with Dylan? Is the other guy pressing charges? Does anyone know yet, or is he still in hospital?"

"He's gonna be in overnight. Broken jaw."

"Ouch."

"Asshole brought it on himself." Xavier shifts, glancing down at the ice pack he's holding against his bare torso. "Shit, this thing is cold."

I laugh. "That's kind of the idea… You know—withice."

Xavier ignores me. "Dylan's lawyer was still sorting stuff out when they let me leave, but I doubt they'll keep him overnight. They know Dylan's past—and his shrink dialed in and stuff… so they'll probably let him go, even if there's a hearing or whatever."

"He's still pretty messed up, huh? From living with that guy… The serial killer?"

"Yeah." Xavier leans in and inspects his ribs again, wincing as he shifts. "He's a good guy, though." His gaze lifts to meet mine, almost like he's pressing a point. It's obvious he's hardcore Team Dylan… And that when it comes to loyalty, he doesn’t just draw a line—he carves it in stone. I think back to Scarlett’s words the other night, that when you’re ‘in’ with Xavier, you’rein.He will literally fight for those few people he lets into his limited inner circle.

It makes me like him more.

I rustle through the first aid kit and remove a tube of antibiotic ointment, then unscrew the cap and squeeze a small amount onto my finger. When I glance back at Xavier, his eyes are half-closed, head tipped back against the couch cushions. The unguarded expression makes my chest tight with an emotionI refuse to name. I'm suddenly desperate to step away, to put some distance between us. The intimate act of tending to his wounds feels dangerous, like playing with matches near a vat of gasoline. But I force myself to stay focused, to keep my movements clinical and efficient.

His eyes flutter open as I lean in, and he lifts his head from the cushions. I dab ointment on his split lip first, careful not to press too hard against the swollen flesh. His breath catches slightly at the contact, warm against my fingertip, making my own breath stutter for a heartbeat.

"Almost done," I mutter, more to myself than him. My knuckles brush his jaw as I apply a final dab, and electricity shoots through my fingertips. I snatch my hand away and lean back, twisting my body a little to grab the tube of ointment. Once I've squeezed more onto my finger, I turn to face him again just as he shifts the ice pack, his abs flexing with the movement. I lean in, pretending I didn't notice.

"Hold still," I order, applying it to his eyebrow with trembling fingers.

He complies, but I catch the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. Like maybe he does know exactly what effect he's having on me and finds it amusing.

I should hate that smirk. Those lips. Full and inviting, the kind you could write poetry or bad decisions about.

But clearly, Idon'thate it, since the word 'poetry' came to mind at the thought of those lips.Poetry and lips?God, what is happening to me?

"There." I cap the ointment and start shoving supplies back into the first aid kit, needing something to do with my hands. "Try not to get into any more fights this week."

"This where you lecture me about using my words instead of fists?" His voice is low, almost husky with exhaustion, and it hurts a little that he thinks I judge every one of his actions so negatively.

I close the first-aid box and look back at him. "Actually, I think it was really cool that you jumped in and defended Dylan like that."

Xavier's eyes widen. Well, the one that isn't practically swollen shut. "You think it's cool I got into a fistfight?"

I shrug. "I wouldn't say I think it's cool that you were in a fistfight. But I respect you for defending a friend who was being bullied by a couple of assholes."

I expect him to smirk or make some smart-ass sarcastic comment, but instead he studies me for a second, then nods once. "Huh."

His cell rings just then and he tosses the ice pack onto the coffee table, then answers as I stand.

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