“No, she got it wrong,” I said, and his aggressive posture relaxed a little. “We told him it was a torrid love affair,” I said smugly, and his whole body tensed again, his nostrils flaring like a fire-breathing dragon. I was surprised there wasn’t smoke coming out of his nose.

“What the fuck, Blaire. You said you weren’t seeing anyone.”

“And I’m not. If you had asked me in a reasonable tone instead of acting like an overbearing gorilla, I would have told you that we were just fucking around with Beau one night to get a rise out of him. It’s pretty easy to wind him up, and it’s apparently the same with you,” I said, poking him in the chest. Poking an angry bear wasn’t usually a good idea, but what the hell. I was tired and out of patience.

“So, you’re not fucking him?”

“No, Axel. I don’t whore around. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m not the one that has spent the last five years fucking anything that moved.”

“That’s a low blow, Blaire. And it was only four years.”

“Oh, excuse the hell outta me. And I’ll tell you what’s a low blow. You coming up and getting in my face when I need to go do my job.”

“You went out with him last night.”

“Yes, for dinner. It’s not like he threw me on the table and banged me in the middle of Applebee’s.” Axel looked like his head was going to explode. “Ax, I often have dinner with one of my brothers. It’s no big deal.”

“Well, I don’t fucking like it,” he growled.

Going nose-to-nose with him, I said, “Well, I don’t fucking care. I don’t have the damned energy to care what you like right now, Broxton.”

His face softened as he ran a finger under the dark circles I knew rimmed my bottom eyelids. “You’re so tired,” he murmured. “When was the last time you slept?”

“I slept for a couple of hours when I got home from the hospital,” I replied irritably.

“And before that?”

I rubbed my forehead with my fingertips. “Uh, Tuesday night, I think?”

“Did you have breakfast this morning?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What’s with the sudden concern about my sleeping habits and dietary needs?”

“Blaire…” he said, a warning in his tone.

“I had a granola bar and some rocket fuel coffee on the drive over here,” I admitted.

“Baby, you need to eat something. Some real food. And you need sleep.”