Page 65 of Pretty Broken Wings

I don’t know how to answer without picking a fight. I notice his thighs have started pressing against mine again, and it’s sending warmth through my whole body.

“My mom used to love to get her nails done,” Axel says softly. “We couldn’t afford it for the longest time, but when R—when things changed, she’d get them done every three weeks and would always make us admire the designs she got.”

I stare at him. I wouldn't have guessed he grew up in a low-income household from the way he and his brother live now, but things can change.

Axel trims my nails to the length I normally get them with a rounded point at the end. Either he has a really good intuition, or he’s been watching me.

Goosebumps run down my arms.

Axel grabs the powder, applying it to a few of my nails before he puts my hand down, laughing slightly. “Oh yeah, the other hand.” He motions for it.

I don’t want to give it over. It hurts.

Axel makes an impatient motion with his hand.

He hasn’t hurt me so far, but I’ve also just given in to him with no fight.

“Say please,” I say, intending for it to come out mean, but my voice is dry, and it comes out husky.

Axel’s gaze snaps to mine, and my face flushes, realizing it sounded like I was flirting with him. I almost back down, but his pupils dilate. Axel’s eyes bounce between mine, and then he huffs out a laugh, looking down at my hand. That gaze flicks back up at me, arresting me from behind his glasses. “Please?”

Axel’s gaze pulls me in like a magnetic force. He looks at me like he sees me with more than his eyes. He’s also unfairly attractive. If I didn’t realize what an ass he is, in another life, I’d actually flirt with him.

Slowly, I give Axel my hand.

When he touches it, electricity buzzes up my skin. Then, he brushes my thumb, and the slight motion makes a bolt of pain hit me. I hiss, pulling my hand back.

Axel lets my hand slide out of his. “What?”

It’s too late, and I realize that I’ve shown weakness. “Uh, sorry.” I give my hand back. “You shocked me.”

Axel narrows his eyes at me, sliding his hand down mine and grasping my wrist. He pulls me closer to him, his grip gentle but firm, and his legs tighten around me. I try to pull away, but it’s like pulling against a wall.

“You’re hurt.” He flips my hand over, looking at it. “What happened?”

“It’s fine.” I try to yank back again, but Axel holds me firm.

“It’s swollen.”

“It’s seriously fine.” The attention makes me uncomfortable. Why the hell is he pretending to care? Does it make him feel better about himself?

“It’s not fine; it looks pretty bad.” Axel frowns. “Was this from the dresser?”

I didn’t tell him I punched the window. “Yeah,” I say.

“Jesus, did you get your thumb caught in it?”

I just shrug.

“We need to put ice on it.” I watch him for signs of dishonesty, but I don’t see any. There’s no slight smirk or excited glint in his eye.

Dad only cared if I got visibly hurt because he was afraid he’d get caught. That must be why Axel’s upset.

But ice does sound nice. The skin is swollen and throbbing.

Axel moves to the fridge, and immediately, I feel the loss of his warmth. He comes back with a pack and holds it to my skin.

Axel runs his hand through his hair. “Fuck. I didn’t know you were hurt.”