Page 89 of Caught Stealing

“I really am gonna make it up to you with an equally-as-awesome second date, though.”

The smile he gives me makes my heart lurch. “You’re taking this seriously, I see.”

Hell yeah, I am. If this thing between us isn’t going to work, it’s not gonna be for my lack of effort or dedication to trying. I’ll do everything in my power to keep this guy exactly where I have him.

“I told you I would. You’re not the only one who can be true to their word, you know,” I whisper as my hand drops back to my lap. My eyes shift down to where he’s holding his iced hand. “How’s it feeling?”

“Like I decked someone,” he mutters dryly, even though there’s a small smirk still on his face that ties my stomach in knots. I’m still getting used to him looking at me like that.

With affection, rather than animosity. Like he actually…likes me.

“Understandably so,” I say with a low chuckle. “Weird way for me to find out you’re left-handed, though.”

He blinks. “Playing an entire game of beach volleyball—where I served and hit with my left hand—didn’t do that?”

“You were the one who told me to stop looking at you,” I remind him.

A sigh leaves him. “Okay, fair enough.”

I smirk while wrapping my fingers around his wrist to gently lift his hand. As carefully as possible, I remove the ice, noting the busted-up skin hidden beneath. “I thought bloody knuckles only happened in movies.”

“Must’ve not landed the punch right,” he says, wincing as he flexes it again in my hold.

“Oh, since you have so much experience with it, right?” I utter sarcastically, rolling my eyes for good measure. “But you definitely need to get this cleaned up.”

He doesn’t say anything; he just nods, bites his lip, and steps out of my space. Except something about his facial expression snags my focus, and I follow him as he heads to the bathroom down the hall.

“Wait.Doyou have experience with punching people?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.

Phoenix remains silent and focuses on rooting through the linen closet for a washcloth before pulling one free. Which only makes my spidey senses tingle more.

“Nix.”

His eyes flash to me as he wets it in the sink. “Yeah, okay? I’ve been in fights before.”

I’m floored by this information. Totally fucking bamboozled. Phoenix is no pacifist like Oakley claims to be, but I’d never take him for the knock-down-drag-out type, either. He seems more the type to fight with words over fists.

“Seriously? Why?”

His eyes stay fixed on the rag, wringing the excess water out before muttering, “Kason.”

What?

“You’ve punched Kason?”

“What? No.” He glances up from what he’s doing, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “I punched peopleforKason.”

“We’re talking about the same guy who looks like he could snap both of us like a twig?” I ask, not bothering to hide the incredulity in my tone.

Phoenix rolls his eyes, not at all amused with my antics. “All through middle school, he was actually a lot smaller than me, and that made him a target. He was still sort of new, too—having just moved to Nashville in sixth grade—and he wasn’t exactly making friends. I was pretty much it, and I was the only person who’d stand up for him.”

“So what changed?”

“The summer between eighth grade and freshman year, he grew four inches and bulked up overnight, making me look like a pipsqueak.” He lets out a soft laugh. “Then he joined the football team after and ended up being really good at it. Between all that, no one even bothered messing with him again. At school, or at home, though he didn’t spend much time around his parents by then as it was.”

A wave of understanding crashes into me, and though Phoenix is clearly leaving out some details, it doesn’t take a genius to fill them in on my own.

The words leave my mouth before I realize they slip free. “So you were his protector.”

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