“I like this version of you better,” Angel said, shaking his head with reluctant humor. “Now go clean up. Room 20 — oh, key cards. Sally?” He looked around ’til his eyes found the orange-haired woman.
She pushed off the wall and came over to them, fishing in the bib pocket of her overalls as she walked. “Got them right here.” She drew out a packet of key cards and thumbed through them until she found the ones she wanted. “A key card for you, and a key card for you…” She grinned and gave them a big Oprah gesture. “Everybody gets a key card. Nice to meet you, Nell. I’m Sally.” She turned to Eamonn, then, shaking her head with an amused twist to her mouth. “Sorry, Easy — Harrison Ford did it better.” Everybody laughed.
“I’ll talk to Blade,” Angel said, “see if I can get him to sit down with you.” He turned to walk away, then looked back for a moment. “Is that lip going to want stitches?”
“Just one more,” said the man in the skull-patterned bandana as he guided the needle in and out of Eamonn’s lip. He tied a neat surgeon’s knot and cut the suture. “All done.”
“Thanks, Jed.” Eamonn got up from the desk chair where he’d been sitting for the procedure.
Jed packed up his medical kit and straightened to his full height, stretching and rolling his shoulders as he peeled off his latex gloves. “Better to have the stitches and make sure your pretty smile isn’t spoiled. I can’t promise no scarring, but I’ve done my best to minimize it.”
“I don’t mind a man with scars,” Nell said. She sat cross-legged on the king-sized bed, a position which had provided a good view of the stitching procedure.
Eamonn smirked at that, but Jed nodded. “Sure. It’s less attractive if the vermillion border — the lip line — heals unevenly, though. A few stitches can make all the difference.” He took an instant cold pack out of his kit and gave it a squeeze and shake to activate it before tossing it to Eamonn. “You’ll want to ice that eye, Easy. You’re going to have a spectacular shiner either way, but try to keep the swelling down as much as you can. Nice to meet you, Nell.” And then he was gone, gently closing the door behind him.
Eamonn flopped onto the bed next to Nell with a groan, holding the cold pack against his left eye.
“You need to learn how to duck,” she told him.
He gave her a rueful chuckle for that but shook his head. “Maybe he needed to hit me. I deserved it. So, I’m wearing my apology on my face for a few days.”
“Nope. No way. You may deserve a lot of things, but never stay still and let someone hit you. Promise?” She put every bit of serious concern she had into her voice and expression, wanting him to see how important it was, but he had the cold pack obscuring his face so she couldn’t look him in the eyes.
“I’m tough enough to handle it.”
“That’s not the point.” Nell had seen plenty of black eyes and stitches, and gotten a few herself without complaining — it wasn’t a question of toughness. “You take an accidental hit or you don’t get out of the way fast enough, whatever. But the instinct to evade should be automatic.”
“Right.” He tossed the cold pack toward her and sat up. “Babe, I’m going to take a quick shower. I was sweating a little on the way in.” With something that was sort of a shrug, he peeled himself the rest of the way off the bed and vanished into the bathroom.
She felt somehow rebuked. It had been hard for him to come here at all, and now she’d criticized him for not managing to dodge Blade’s furious onslaught, when he’d had no training and everything had happened so fast. She crossed the room to the bathroom door, intending to knock and see if she could join him, but then she hesitated. Wouldn’t he have asked me, if he wanted company? Inside the bathroom, the shower came on with a gush and then splashing sounds as Eamonn stepped under the spray — the water would be darkening the gold of his hair and running over the ink on his torso and arms.
Nell sighed and sat down on the floor to stretch out her back. Only minor twinges still reminded her that she’d pulled a muscle earlier in the week.
A knock on the door startled her. The security guy had already brought their bags and Jed had fixed up Eamonn’s face. Could Blade be ready to talk so soon?
When she opened the door, the man waiting there pushed past her into the room like he had every right to do so. She felt a prickle of apprehension, but he wore a Smidge crew t-shirt, so she held out a hand to him, saying, “Hi, I’m Nell. Nice to meet you.”
The man took her hand but didn’t shake it. Instead, he held it in a rather too intimate grip, his thumb caressing her knuckles. “I’m Donnie,” he said, “but you can call me Big D.” He snickered at his own words, seeming pleased with himself. He was not a big man, being of average height and somewhat weedy in build, so the nickname — probably self-bestowed — was doubtless intended to imply intimate size. “I guess you’re one of Easy’s groupies? You’ve got sexy titties, baby, and he never minds sharing.”
Nell tried to pull her hand away without making an issue of it, but Donnie tightened his hold slightly, just enough that her fingers wouldn’t easily slide out. He seemed intent on raising her fingers toward his mouth, making her shudder at the thought of contact with his scraggly goatee and potentially germy lips. She jerked her hand downward in a sharp motion, breaking his grip, and took a step backward to put
