He stared at the floor. “It never does.”
“So, you should take a shower,” I said. “And I think I might even have a shirt big enough for you.”
“I’ve got clothes,” he said. “I brought a pack. It’s in the living room.”
“Okay, great.”
“I don’t want to impose,” he said. “It’s obvious that you don’t want me around. I can watch over you from outdoors. I can crash in the car or something.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “I’m being a brat. You saved my life. I’m grateful.”
He shrugged self-consciously. “Look, I hate Op Wraith. I’d probably have killed that guy anyway.”
“But you did it for me,” I said. I looked into his gray eyes. “Thank you.”
He blushed.
Seriously. Mr. Big, Bad Muscle guy blushed. I looked away, feeling my cheeks heat up too. Why were we both blushing? “The, um, bathroom’s over there.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
He closed himself in.
And I realized he didn’t have a towel. I went to my linen closet and got him one. I knocked on the door. “I’ve got a towel.”
He opened the door. He wasn’t wearing a shirt anymore. I gazed at his bare chest, which was rippling and taut and tan and... whoa. He was too good looking. It was distracting. My gaze swept over his shoulders and followed down over his pecks and belly...
He had a crudely drawn tattoo on his stomach. It was a circle with a cross in the middle of it.
I gaped at it. “You’re tattoo, um... what is it?”
He snatched the towel from me, covering it.
“Is that a prison tattoo?” I said.
He closed the bathroom door in my face.
* * *
He took a quick shower, but I felt bad about it the whole time. Here he was, this guy who’d risked his life to save me, who didn’t owe me anything but still wanted to keep me safe. And I was prying, making him feel uncomfortable.
When he came out, he wandered into the living room without looking at me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not judging or anything . You just poured out my coke, so, obviously, I don’t exactly live by the letter of the law. I figure that the only reason I’ve never been locked up is luck.”
He turned to me. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s open minded of you.” He sat down on my couch. “But, you know, they don’t usually lock people up for possession. Unless you’re possessing a lot, and they can get intent to distribute.”
“Oh,” I said.
He sighed. “Sorry. You were trying to apologize, and I just stomped all over it, didn’t I?”
“You didn’t.”
“I might have a little bit of a chip on my shoulder about the jail stuff.” He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I got locked up in an adult facility when I was sixteen years old, and those guys ate me alive. I had to survive. The tattoo was just part of it.”
“It’s okay,” I said. He had been in jail. “You don’t have to explain.”
“No,” he said. “I do. Because there’s no other way you’re going to trust me. You’re going to be afraid of me. You’ll think I’m a dangerous convict.”
Man. Dangerous or not, he was really nice to look at. He was still a little bit wet from the shower. There was a droplet of water running down his neck. I bit my lip. “Uh, it’s okay. Seriously. It’s not my business.”
He seemed interested in the armrest of my sofa. “I did a stupid thing when I was a kid. I robbed a store with a toy gun. I didn’t think I’d get any money, but I tried it anyway.” He shrugged. “It worked.”
I had to admit it sounded like something a sixteen-year-old boy would try.
“That was armed robbery as far as the state was concerned,” he said. “I got tried as an adult.”
“Geez,” I said. It seemed extreme.
“Well, I was the idiot who did it,” he said. “I’d still be in jail if it weren’t for Op Wraith and the serum. I got beaten up real bad once—well, I got beaten up a lot on the inside. But this time it was over-the-top bad. I might not have made it. I was dying in the hospital, and Op Wraith took me and doped me up.”