“Seriously,” I said, beginning to wipe up the mess. “I don’t care.”

chapter eight

clean

Zeke

N

aomi went to get a new bucket of water because the one we had been using was full of Darby’s vomit and God-knows-what-else that had already saturated the bar’s tightly-woven carpet over the years. I tried not to think about the fact that my hands were dark and sticky, thankful the lights were dim so I couldn’t see exactly why. I scratched my nose with my forearm, then swore under my breath when my hand brushed across my jeans, but my knees were already wet so it didn’t really matter.

“Hey,” Watts said, kneeling next to me. “You know she’s married, right? She wears her ring on the middle finger.”

“Why the middle finger?” I asked.

“I’m not sure, but imagine what kind of man she married. That’s a hard pass, brother. I don’t want you getting assassinated.”

I nodded, not really paying attention.

“How did it go tonight with Darby?” he asked.

“About as well as it ended,” I said. “She was tired, wasn’t feeling great, but she insisted on going anyway.”

“What was that?” Naomi asked, setting down the bucket of fresh water. “You tried to take her home?”

“A dozen times, but she insisted she was fine.”

Naomi made a face.

Watts interjected. “He tried to take her to her home. To rest.”

I frowned at Watts, confused at why he’d elaborated on something so obvious. It occurred to me that Naomi didn’t know I had sisters and a foster mom who I’d take a bullet for, and she didn’t know I’d tried to protect my mother from guys like that for the better part of my childhood.

I turned to Naomi. She seemed to believe Watts, but she didn’t deny needing an explanation in the first place. She thought I’d meant I was trying to take Darby to my place when she was sick.

“You think I’d try to take advantage of an ill woman? Wow,” I said, scrubbing harder. My forearms were burning, my wrists aching from being on all fours, but I was used to it. I was not, however, used to a woman thinking I was a douchebag.

“For half a second,” she said, defensive. She took a swig of her beer.

“Half a second too long for anyone to think I’d do something like that.” For Naomi to think I’m exactly the kind of man I hate.

“It was the way you worded it,” she snapped. “How the hell was I supposed to know?”

“How are we full-blown fightin’? I barely know you.”

“I have that effect on people,” she grumbled.

I’d missed something. The conversation rolled backward in my mind. That look on her face before … it wasn’t disgust. Wait a second…