“So, uh,” Jack starts hesitantly, turning to Jacobs. “I’m real sorry ‘bout all that.”
“Uh huh,” Jacobs says, looking supremely unimpressed. “Sure.”
“No, honest,” Jack insists. “It was about time someone knocked that smug look of his face. Do you, uh,” he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, not sure what to do with himself. “Do you want some ice for your hand? That was a mean left hook—“
“I am just fine,” Jacobs interrupts, his tone biting. “So feel free to spare me the All-American, Boy Scout routine. If you really want to help—” the look on his face makes his opinion on the quality of Jack’s help perfectly clear, “—then you can make sure assholes like Oscar DeLancey stay the hell away from my squad. And if he comes within spitting distance of one of my girls again, I’ll have his dick in a vice.”
A razor sharp smile. “So glad we had this talk.”
And with that, he marches away.
“Oh, fuck me,” Jack murmurs to himself, utterly enraptured as he watches him go. He’s real pretty and he’s real mean: Jack’s heart is already doing loop-de-loops around his chest. “‘M so fucked.”