He pulls his chin back, confused. “In the truck?”
“How long have you been working out here, and why don’t you have Ant or Justin with you?”
He raises his brow, amused.
I don’t know why I’m peppering him with so many questions, but I need his answers. Right now.
Patiently, he answers, “About an hour, and this was a last-minute request from this customer.”
“Fine. But you’re going to dehydrate out here if you’re not careful.”
He drops his chin, a troublemaker smile playing on his lips. Finally, he raises his chin and looks me in the eye. “I told you, Dr. Barlowe—I have a water jug in the truck, and I’m used to working out in the sun all day long. No need for you to worry over me.”
“Just because you’re used to it doesn’t mean you should go without water for extended periods. Going forward, keep your water with you at all times. Also, where’s your hat? Are you even using sunscreen?”
The day started off in typical Texas style: chilly in the morning and scorching in the afternoon. There’s no way he should be out here waterless and hatless.
“I’ve got melanin,” he says, gesturing to his darker skin with a gleam in his eye. “I don’t need sunscreen.”
“Even people with dark complexions need sunscreen, Ignacio. Please start using it regularly.”
“I don’t want to,” he challenges, and I secretly love it. “It leaves a white cast on my skin.”
“If you don’t care about the health of your skin, at least think about your tattoos. They’ll begin to age if you don’t care for them.”
“And what kind of sunscreen do you use on your tattoos, Dr. Barlowe?” he asks, tracing the dragon scale pattern on my lower arm.
After letting him touch me for a little too long, I pull my arm back. “I use a sunscreen that doesn’t leave a white cast. I will text you my recommendation.”
He taps his inked fingers on his pretty lips, considering me.
“Ignacio, this is nonnegotiable.”
His chest rises sharply. “Yes, Dr. Barlowe. I look forward to following your recommendations.”
“Good—” I cough. “Excellent. Also, where do you live? I don’t have your full contact information on my phone.”
“Just a few miles past Wild Heart, in that little RV park off 165.”
How did I not know he lives so close to me?
Because knowing is dangerous.
“Is that place even safe?” I ask as I type in his information.
“Is any place truly safe, Dr. Barlowe?”
He’s mocking me, trying to spin me up, and I refuse to rise to the bait. This doesn’t discourage him in the slightest.
I narrow my eyes, and he licks his lips before answering me.
“If we’re talking about my Airstream, I’ve refurbished it and added a new lock. I’d say it’s safe enough.”
“Are you sure? What kind of lock are we talking about? It’s a deadbolt, I hope.”
I’m notthatworried about his safety, but I need to give him a task, something to do just for me.
“Now, now, Dr. Barlowe. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m a free man and an adult human being at that. I know how to keep myself safe.”
