“Well, I’m fine. The hand works great. See?” I waved with all fingers and my thumb. “I’m lucky I had such a kick ass surgeon who could stitch me back together.”
Her lips puckered together. “I don’t buy it. What are you not telling me?”
“Let it go, Lennon.” I stirred the pasta in the pot. I miscalculated this conversation.
She walked around the kitchen island. “I can’t. I know you took something. You did something. Who helped you? Where did you get it?”
I shook my head. “Stop. Stop.”
“How could you do this? How could you jeopardize your career like this? Your health? Do you even know what you took? The side effects?”
“It’s none of your damn business. You’re not my doctor, you made sure of that.”
“Yeah, because you wanted to date me.” She stormed out of the kitchen.
“Where are you going?”
“To take a shower.” She slammed my bedroom door in my face, but I walked in after her.
“Take a breath, and calm the fuck down.” It was the wrong thing to say. I knew it when she pivoted toward me, blue eyes blazing.
“I’m trying to get some space. I’m trying to calm down, but you’re following me. I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”
“How about that you’re happy my hand works?”
She scowled. “If the AFA finds out that your medical miracle is really medical intervention, are you still going to have that smug look on your face?”
“It is a medical miracle. I had an excellent surgeon.”
“You’re sticking to that ludicrous story? Really?” She walked into the bathroom, throwing her top on the floor and wiggling out of her pants. She turned on the water.
“It’s what happened. I’m playing Sunday and I want you to be there.”
She opened the glass shower door, closing it so there was a barrier between us.
“I might have to pick up a shift on Sunday.”
I studied her in the shower. Her beautiful skin glistening under the running water. Her breasts dripping. My favorite slice of heaven between her thighs guiding the water down her legs. I licked my lips.
I reached for the handle, but she stopped me. “No. You’re not coming in here.”
“Come on, Doc. Stop being so pissed. I just asked you to sit in my box on Sunday. Aren’t you going to give me an answer?”
“Right now, I am going to wash my day off of me, and that includes your insane idea to pretend that I don’t know the real story behind your recovery. I don’t know if I’m more angry that you did it, or more angry that you’re lying to my face.”
It hit me in the gut. I knew I was a liar. I knew I would cross lines. I crossed them all the time. But to have this woman, who I craved like nothing else, throw it in my face, gave me a jolt of reality. My lies never affected other people, and all of a sudden, I realized they did.
I pressed my palm against the glass. “Enjoy the shower. Dinner will be ready in a few.”
I walked out of the bathroom, fighting every instinct I had. The one to take her the way I wanted. The one to break down and tell her the truth. The one that was in the back of my throat: telling her I didn’t want to disappoint her.
16
Lennon
I’d never scrubbed my skin so hard. What in the hell was he thinking? And why hadn’t I noticed the past week or longer that his hand was healing faster than any natural process? He wore his sling and acted like it bothered him. He tried to throw me off. That might have pissed me off the most.
I cut the hot water and reached for a towel. In a short amount of time, I had basically moved into Wes’s apartment. He had taken one look at my rented extended stay and decided I needed a place with a view, and preferably one with a view of him.