of air and bent over, hands on his knees, head down.
Good going, Pru. Since you didn’t kill him the other night, you went for unmanning him and finishing the job. She quickly set the box down and hovered close, hands raised but not touching him, not sure where to touch him. Which was ridiculous. She’d had her tongue halfway down his throat. He’d seen her lose her collective shit over the photograph of her mom and dad . . . “Finn?” she asked tentatively. “Are you okay? Say something.”
Head still down, he lifted a finger, signaling he needed a moment.
Going gonzo with all the agitation in the air, Thor was on a yipping spree, running in circles around them both, panting in exertion.
“Thor, hush!” she said, eyes on Finn.
Thor didn’t hush, but she couldn’t concentrate on the dog. “I’m so sorry,” she said again, finally giving in to the urge to touch Finn, running her hand up and down his back, trying not to notice that under her fingers he was solid muscle. And thanks to his low-riding jeans having slid down his hips when he’d bent over, she could see an inch of smooth, sleek skin and it made her stupid. “I didn’t mean to crush your . . . er, twig and berries.”
He stilled and then lifted his head. He was pale. No, scratch that, he was green, and maybe sweating a little bit to boot. But he had a funny expression on his face.
Thor was still losing his mind, barking so hard that his upright ear bounced up and down and his floppy ear kept covering his eyes, freaking him out all the more.
“Shh,” Finn said to him firmly but not unkindly.
Shockingly, Thor “shh’d.”
Finn straightened up a little bit more, but not, Pru couldn’t but notice, all the way.
“Twig and berries?” Finn repeated.
“Yeah, um . . .” Pru strained for another reference so that she didn’t have to spell it out. “You know, your . . . kibbles and bits.”
The corners of his mouth quirked but she wasn’t sure if he was mad or amused. “Frank and beans?” she tried.
At that, he out-and-out smiled. “I’m torn between giving you a break and stopping you, or making you go on.”
Oh for God’s sake. She crossed her arms. “I suppose you have better words.”
“Hell yes,” he said. “And when you’re ready, I’ll teach them to you.”
Breaking eye contact, she—completely inadvertently, she’d swear it on a stack of waffles!—slid her gaze to where she’d hit him. Did it seem . . . swollen? “I’ve got an icepack if you—”
He choked. “Not necessary.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “Because I really am a good medic, I promise, and—”
He choked off another laugh. “And you’re offering to do what, exactly?”
Uh . . . She bit her lower lip.
“Kiss it better?” he suggested in a voice that made her get a little overheated.
Note to self: not quite ready for prime time with Finn O’Riley.
He gave her a knowing smirk and moved to the door. Definitely with a slight limp. “You should take Elle up on her offer for a new frame,” he said. “That picture clearly means a lot to you and she’s got some beautiful things in storage.”
And then he was gone.
It was a matter of pride that Finn managed to walk across the courtyard without a limp. Or too much of one anyway. He’d thought about going up instead of down, heading to the roof, the only place in the building that he could go and probably be alone, but he didn’t want or need alone time.
Or so he told himself.
“What’s up with you, someone knee you in the ’nads?”
He turned his head and found Eddie in his usual place, sitting on a box in the alley. It was a good spot because from there the old man could see both the courtyard and the street.
“Isn’t it early for you to be up?” Finn asked him.
“It’s trash day.”
Finn went through his pockets for extra change. Coming up with a five, he handed it over.
Eddie smiled his gratitude.
When a shadow joined theirs, Finn turned just as Archer appeared silently at his side.
Archer had some serious stealth skills, earned mostly the hard way. He’d lost none of his sharp edges, which considering what he did for a living and the danger he still occasionally faced, was a good thing.
“What happened to your boys?” Archer asked.
Finn resisted the urge to cup his “boys” because they still ached like a son of a bitch from his