Jimmy Simmons wheeled over to Tiffany, gently taking her hand. "Tiffany, people like her are not worth speaking for. This was originally yours," he said, "and you shouldn't feel guilty about it. Women like her, ha..."
The man let out a cold laugh. Though he didn't continue, the chill and disgust in his eyes said it all.
Tiffany Lynch lowered her gaze, revealing a satisfied smile, her voice delicate, "I just didn't want to disturb you, actually. You've been so busy with work recently, and it pains me to see it."
"Tiffany," Jimmy frowned, his gaze on the woman softening, "if it hadn't been for you saving me back then, I might have been left dead on the roadside, so nothing is more important than you."
The man's gaze was steadfast as he spoke the touching sweet nothings, but Tiffany's body tensed almost imperceptibly.
Her eyes drifted toward the man's injured legs, panic briefly crossing her gaze before she forced it down, yet her palms began to sweat.
