Crazy Eights (Stacked Deck #8) - Emilia Finn Page 0,110

last night, and tossing bandages and antiseptic creams into the blue basket I grabbed from the front entrance, I check the time and decide I need to hurry. It’s early, but considering today’s the day we’ll be driving back to the town I spent two consecutive Christmas weeks in, we have to get on the road soon.

Today’s the day I’ll be seeing a bunch of people who may or may not hate me.

In their eyes, my brother is a murderer. And possibly worse, I ran out on their son/brother/nephew/cousin, and left him to nurse his broken heart all on his own.

It wouldn’t surprise me if I receive nothing more than the cold shoulder when we arrive. Or a punch to the face, seeing as both his mother and his sister are champion fighters.

I stop by a small display of candy near the cash registers, and because I’m a sucker for nostalgia, I snag a sucker and tear off the wrapping while I wait for the clerk to call me forward.

“Next please.”

Smiling, I make my way to the counter and drop my things in front of the scanner. Bandages for my hand. Dressing for Jamie’s back. Antiseptic for us both, because I don’t want to die from gangrene. A lance of guilt slashes across my stomach when I take Jamie’s wallet from my pocket and pass the clerk the credit card, but I don’t have enough money for this. I don’t have disposable income, so I act like everything is fine, tap the card, since I don’t know the pin code, then I accept the bag with a smile and head outside onto the sidewalk.

It’s hot out already, so I snagged a pair of cutoffs from my bag before leaving our room, and donned the same tank I wore last night. There are only a couple of blood spatters – an impressive feat, considering the chaos I caused.

I stop in at a bakery on a whim, since I was walking right past, grab a couple of croissants with sliced ham and cheese, then heading back to the hotel on foot, I step across the street no more than an hour after I left.

“Quinn!”

I jump when our room door slams open and Jamie races outside in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. His hair is wild, his chest pumped full of adrenaline, and his face marred by rage. But then our eyes meet as I step up onto the curb, and his gaze shoots along my body. He looks at my feet, my legs, the bag I hold in my right hand, and then up to my chest.

Then he stops on my face.

Frowning, I continue walking forward. “What are you doing?” I move past him when he continues to scowl. “Why are you outside in your underwear?”

“Um…” He follows me back in with confusion plastered all over his face. Shutting the door, he stands in place and tries to shake a little sense into his head. “Uh…”

“Jamie?” I sit on the end of the bed and start rifling through my bag of goodies. “Why—?”

And then it hits me.

“You thought I ran?”

Once I set my things out ready for use, I finally spare a glance for this man who holds my heart. His black boxer shorts have me forgetting his injured back, and instead thinking about all the things we could do before checking out of this shitty room. His legs are thick, muscled, and his waist is narrowed down to a V. His upper torso flares out – he’s fond of chest day, I suppose – and then up to muscular shoulders, though his left sits lower than his right.

“Jamie?” I prod. “You thought I ran?”

“I expected to wake up next to you,” he rasps out and remains in place by the door. “I went to sleep with you half on me. But I woke up, and you were gone.”

“I went to the drugstore.” I pick up the bottle of antiseptic and lift my chin. “Come over here so I can make sure your cuts don’t get infected.”

“You went to the drugstore?” Suspicious, he takes a step closer. Then another. “I woke up alone, my wallet and watch were gone, car keys were gone, and you…” He frowns. “You didn’t ditch?”

I shake my head and snag his hand when he’s close enough. Pushing up to my knees, I pull him down to sit in front of me so I can work. “I have your wallet and watch. I… uh…” I thank