The Long Game by J. L. Fynn Page A

fingers again to keep it from
dripping onto the floor. “Kind of like that.”
    Spencer grabbed a towel from the counter and
took my hand. She wrapped it tightly with the towel and tucked in
the end. “Keep it up like this.” She pushed my arm toward me so it
bent at the elbow.
    She stood to search for a first aid kit,
found one in the back of a drawer next to the sink, and carried it
to the table. Then she pointed to one of the chairs. I cradled my
injured hand against my chest, obeying her silent orders. Spencer
pulled the second chair closer and sat across from me. She took my
hand and rested it on her knees, then unwrapped the towel to
inspect the cut again. It was deep but wouldn’t need stitches as
far as I could tell. I watched her as she tore open a small packet
with her teeth and pulled out an alcohol swab. She swiped it across
my palm, and I hissed through my teeth.
     
    Spencer grinned. “Now who’s six?”
    She lifted my hand and blew on it to take
away the sting. I would’ve been happy to recover with her cool
breath on my open palm, but she produced gauze and tape from the
kit to finish the job. When she finished wrapping and taping it,
she turned my hand from side to side to look over the dressing.
Satisfied, she bent her head and kissed my palm. “There. All
better.”
    “Nicely done.” I wiggled my fingers as if
she’d reattached a limb rather than bandaged a cut. “I’m lucky you
were here, or I may have bled to death.”
    Spencer chuckled. “Yeah, well, I think you
would have pulled through, but you can thank my dad for the
first-aid skills. I was constantly hurting myself as a kid, so he
had lots of opportunities to demonstrate his technique.”
    “Same here, although I’m not qualified for
much more than a Band-Aid. I was usually too busy fussing over my
injury to notice what Maggie was doing.”
    “Worst childhood injury?” Spencer asked.
    “Broken nose when I was twelve, courtesy of
my brother. But I totally deserved it.”
    “Yeah?”
    “I was annoyed he wouldn’t
let me skip school to go with him on a trip, so I told Maggie about
the Playboys he had
hidden in his dresser.”
    Spencer laughed. “You ratted out your own
brother?”
    “I know, I know.” I hung my head. “I’m the
worst.”
    The teakettle whistled, and I hopped out of
my chair to answer it. I poured the boiling water into one mug, got
another from the cupboard, and filled that too. “Here you go.” I
brought them to the table. “Just let it sit for a few minutes
before you try it.”
    “Honey?”
    I scowled at her with feigned horror. “Honey?
Normal tea needs honey. Maggie’s tea doesn’t need anything but a
mug. Trust me.”
    Spencer put up her hands in surrender. “So
sorry. I didn’t realize I was dealing with a tea sommelier.”
    I grinned at her as I retook my seat. Her
chair was still pulled close, and our knees brushed together as I
settled into mine. “What about you. What was your worst injury as a
kid?”
    “Couple broken bones, lots of cuts and
scrapes.” She thought for a second. “Oh, maybe it’s not the worst,
but this one is the grossest.” She held out her left hand to me,
palm flat. She pointed to the silvery outline of a jagged
circle.
    “What’s it from?”
    “I was eight, just learning to ride a bike on
my own, and I was lucky enough to fall straight onto a bottle cap.
It went so far in it had to be removed in the ER.”
    I winced, imagining the metal cap where the
scar now marked her palm. “Nasty.”
    She smiled, probably glad her story had had
the desired effect. “Yeah, but the worst part was the tetanus shot.
Right in the ass, and those things hurt.”
    “Aww, want me to kiss it?”
    She smacked her scarred palm against my
chest. “Shane!”
    I laughed. “Oh, come on, you walked into
that.” I caught her hand and kissed her palm as she’d done for
me.
    She didn’t pull her hand from mine. “Okay.
Favorite book?”
    “To Kill a
Mockingbird .”
    “I love that