"I thought about that," Murphy told her. He kicked off his shoes, hopped on one leg then the other so he could pull off the socks. He bent over and rolled up his pants legs then sat on the edge of the jacuzzi and stuck his feet in the water. "But if you end up face down, I don't want to get blamed for your murder.'
Alcohol might have been a better peace offering. Was that what he was doing? Fuck if he knew. He just figured she was exhausted, more than just the physical aspect. And maybe she wouldn't want to fight.
Even though he lived to antagonise her, he thought maybe this once he'd give her a break. Maybe he'd see how it felt to do something nice for someone out of a genuine sense of concern. Not that he'd ever admit he was a little bit worried about her. She'd be pissed.
If he knew one thing about her, he knew she didn't want pity. He didn't pity her. But not pitying her didn't mean he was going to get all emotional and tell her he was proud of her for running the race. He wasn't even ready to admit that shit to himself.