Page 46 of Malicious Intentions

She huffs and tries to move away, but I won’t let her. “Lexi, stop being a brat.”

Her anger fades as she gets a good look at my face. “Oh my God.” Her fingers fly up, gingerly touching the cut above my eye and the bruise on my cheek. “What happened?”

“Trent’s fist.” I grab her hand, kissing her fingers. “I’m fine.”

“Evan, you’re bruised and cut. And this is swollen.” Her fingers lightly touch the skin around my eye.

“I’m fine.”

She glares at me. “You’re not fine. Lemme get the first aid kit and clean you up.” She scoots away, hurrying from the kitchen.

What the hell just happened?

No one in my life has wanted to take care of me. Not since….

I cut the thought off and move to the stove to drain the pasta. Then, I mix the broccoli, sauce, and fettuccine together.

I hear Lexi’s bare feet padding across the floor behind me as I slide the plates onto the island.

She presses a wet washcloth against the cut before I can move. “What do you mean, Trent’s fist? Isn’t he your friend? Why did he hit you?”

My arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer. I love the worry lines on her forehead and the way her eyebrows are drawn together. Her eyes dart to mine before returning to my cut, which she gently cleans with the antiseptic she put on the washcloth. I wince from the slight sting, a hiss of pain escaping me.

“We are friends. Just not when we’re inside the ring.”

Her lips purse together as she cocks her head. “What do you mean by inside the ring?”

I shrug. “Trent does some underground fighting. I was helping him prepare.”

She stops moving and stares at me with raised brows. “Seriously? He fights…” she swallows hard, her gaze roaming over my face. “And you were fighting tonight.” Her hyper-focus on me makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her to my bedroom.

Christ, Evan. Get your shit together.I never fuck anyone in my bed. And I sure as hell don’t allow them to sleep over.You also don’t kiss women… until Lexi.

Fucking traitorous thoughts. I don’t need this shit right now.

“It’s no big deal. It’s not like it was an actual fight. It was just practice.”

“Evan, it’s dangerous.” She grabs some antibiotic ointment and applies it to the cut. “I don’t think you need stitches, but you need to ensure it doesn’t get infected.”

“I’m fine. Stop worrying about me. I’m not your concern.” I’m irrationally angry right now, and my thoughts are conflicted.

She jolts, stepping back like I slapped her. Dropping the antibiotic cream into the first aid kit, she moves to the kitchen sink.

I blow out a breath, taking in her stiff posture. The hurt look on her face makes me feel like an asshole. “Lexi, I’m sorry.”

She frantically washes her hands. “It’s fine.”

Drying them, she keeps her back to me. She heads to the fridge and grabs a bottle of water. Without looking at me, she grabs her plate and a fork before whirling around and stomping out of the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” I yell after her.

“To my room. I’d rather eat alone than deal with you.”

Her door slams behind her.

I stare at my plate, enraged. I know her attitude is all my fault. But her actions threw me for a loop. I’m not used to people being concerned about me, let alone treating my injuries.

Damn it, Evan. You fucked up.

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