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He meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. “We’re in the middle of traffic.”

“Unlock the doors then. She’s going to be sick.”

The click of the doors being unlocked sounds and within seconds, I’m ushering Sinclair out of the vehicle, pulling her through the congested traffic, panic making my heart race. We’re just about to hit the sidewalk when she bends over and pukes in the gutter, making these horrible noises that sound like she’s dying.

My panic increases and instead of leaving her alone like I would do for anyone else who’s throwing their guts up in the middle of the city, I remain by her side. Gather her hair up in one hand and hold it away from her face while I rub her back with the other. Murmuring reassuring words to her while she gags and spits and nearly hits my shoes with her vomit.

It's disgusting. It’s downright horrific but something keeps me by her side. I want to take care of her and make sure she’s okay. This has never happened to me before.

Ever.

“Oh my God.” Her voice shakes and she sounds absolutely miserable. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

“It was the spritzes.” I’m rubbing circles on her lower back, wishing I had something to wipe her mouth with. A piece of gum. Anything to help.

“And all that rich food.” She clutches her stomach, her entire body shuddering, and I worry she’s going to throw up again. “I need some water.”

She rises to her full height and my hands drop away from her as she turns to look at me. Her eyes are bloodshot, and her face is streaked with tears. She looks traumatized. “You must think I’m so gross.”

“I don’t.” My voice is soft and rings with sincerity. I mean it. I’m not disgusted by her whatsoever and normally I would be. “It’s not like you meant to puke your guts out on the street.”

“Oh shit.” She looks around, brushing her hair away from her face before she glances down at herself, the relief on her face obvious. “At least I didn’t throw up on the dress.”

“Fuck the dress.” I grab her hand and tug her close. But not too close because she kind of smells. “Are you all right?”

Sin nods, tipping her head back to look at me. Her eyes shine with not just unshed tears but also gratefulness. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Something tugs at my chest when she says that, and how she looks at me. I squeeze her hand. “I didn’t take that good of care of you.”

“You held my hair back.” Her smile is small. “That was so…nice.”

She sounds amazed that I would do something so simple. And rather logical if you ask me. Why wouldn’t I hold her hair away from her face? She was retching and puking on the side of the damn street. I’m not that heartless.

What the fuck? Iamthat heartless. I’ve always been that heartless.

“Come on.” I tug on her hand and lead her back to the car. “Let’s get out of here.”

We arrive at my apartment about thirty minutes later. I was able to clean up Sinclair pretty well in the back of the car, but when we arrive at my place, she’s immediately asking where the bathroom is so she can take a shower.

“I feel disgusting.” She dips her head, scanning the front of her dress yet again. “I’m worried I ruined the dress.”

She’s too fucking hung up on the dress. For someone who comes from money, she worries about it constantly. “I’ll have it dry cleaned.”

“I can do?—”

I interrupt her. “I said I’ll take care of it.” She flinches at my sharp tone and I take a deep breath, reminding myself she’s in adelicate state and needs to be handled with extra care. “Let me show you the bathroom.”

We move through the apartment, me turning on the lights here and there, hoping for some sort of response from Sinclair but she says nothing. Considering she’s most likely not feeling well, I remind myself I shouldn’t be surprised. But I am a little disappointed. I’ve never cared about impressing someone before.

Until Sinclair.

“Here are some towels.” I grab a stack of thick cream-colored towels out of the cabinet, setting them on top of the marble counter. Sin just stands there, rubbing her hands up and down her exposed arms as if she caught a chill, staring off into space. “Do you need help with the shower?”

“I can manage it,” she mumbles, not looking at me.

I find that hard to believe, so I stalk toward the shower and turn it on, checking the temperature and only stepping away when I deem it warm enough. When I glance over my shoulder to check on her, she’s still standing in the same exact spot.

“Take off the dress,” I snap, making her startle.