He sighed. She heard a door open and close and when he spoke next, his voice echoed hollowly. He’d ducked into a bathroom or locker room. “Okay. Lot of shit to unpack there. One, Pongo didn’t getarrested. Guys get picked up and the cops try to get them to flip on the club all the time. It’s practically standard op.”
“What about Sig?”
“What about him?”
“Did you beat him up?”
Something squealed. A locker door, she thought. “What the hell kind of name is Sig?”
“That’s lovely. Avoid the question.”
“Maybe he should go with ‘Stick.’ Have you seen his arms? What’s the opposite of gains?”
“Shepherd.”
“Yeah, okay! Okay.”
She waited.
And waited some more.
“Shep—”
His voice was low and tight andnervous, she thought, when he said, “Did you really think that could happen to you and Iwouldn’tsend a message?”
She…
Oh.
Did he…?
He did thatfor her?
“Where are you?” he cut in. “Do nottell me you’re hanging out with that guy again.”
“No. I’m…” she hesitated, because she hadn’t expected to explain any of this to him over the phone. “I’m at the hospital.”
“What?”
His panic was flattering. It felt good. She wanted to wallow in it.
But Shep said, “Cass, what the fuck? The hospital?” And leaving him hanging with that level of anxiety in his voice would be cruel.
She sighed, and rolled her eyes though he couldn’t see her—and though her stomach was doing pleasant, fluttery things over the idea that he was so worried. “Not for me. For my roommate, Jamie.”
“Oh.” The shift in his tone, the sudden drop from frenzied worry to cool relief, was a subtle shift, but Cass knew him well enough to detect it. The way his voice flattened out with seeming disinterest, but which actually meant the big veins in the side of his strong throat were still throbbing wildly. “’Kay.”
“Aren’t you going to ask what’s wrong with her?”
“Meh.”
“You’re a pig.”
“Never said I wasn’t.” A rustling came from his end. “Was that it? I need to hit the showers.”
Her mind supplied her with an image of him naked, wet, and soaped-up that absolutely flattened her. Just steamrolled her right there on the cold hospital tile. She knew what his body wash smelled like, because she’d smelled it often on the collars of the hoodies she borrowed and stole from him. She knew the breadth of his shoulders, and the trimness of his waist, but she wondered about the texture of his skin. Was there hair on his chest? Little dimples on his back just above his ass?
Oh God, she was lightheaded.
