Why did that flatter me so much?
Him caring enough—could I call it ‘caring’?—to follow me in here and make sure I was all right. He’d taken a detour out of his day, most likely already noticing how bent over I’d been shuffling in through the automatic doors while passing by, to come check on me.
Maybe he wasn’t so upset with me after all. Well, at least not for the awkwardness of when he’d turned me on. Finding me wandering outside was probably overshadowing that at the moment.
He stared at me for a long second, his lips forming a thin line. “I’ll just leave you to what you were doing, then.”
Right as his hand began to slack around my arm, I twisted and grabbed onto him. “Take me home.”
His lashes twitched wide for a split second before settling back into their usual disinterest. “I’m not a taxi service.”
“Please?”
His eyes searched my face.
Was this weird?
Yeah, obviously.
What cop asked a civilian for a ride home when there were more than enough ways to figure out how to get one from someone else I actually had some kind of relationship with?
My surgeon hadn’t signed up for any of this when I’d been wheeled into his OR. Babysitting me through recovery and talking me off of the proverbial ledge when I’d tried to leave too early into all of this. All he was obligated to do was stitch me up and wish me well on my way once I walked out of those hospital doors.
All other responsibility was wiped clean from his hands after that.
Except… he’d been the one to approachmefirst, no doubt storming into this place after parking his—probably stupidly expensive—car and fixating on finding me in order to lecture me to death. And here we were, tangled up in close proximity, the front of me practically flush with his while I smelled the hints of whatever cologne he’d dapped onto his skin.
“Please?” I tried again.
His chest expanded slowly with a deep inhale. “You live close by, I’m assuming.”
“Just down the street.”
“And yet, he couldn’t bear to call a rideshare.”
“Waste of money.”
He rolled his eyes, fixing the hold he had on my arm and moving it up to where it was more comfortable. “He says while his salary comes directly out of my taxes.”
“Sue me,” I bit back.
“I should. Considering you’re determined to fuck up my work.”
See? Prideful.
“I didn’t.”
“We’ll see once I scan you at the end of the month.”
Butterflies annoyingly kicked up in my stomach. Talking like that, I was going to start believing him in wanting to take back over my care from Dr. Jacee. The worst part was, I didn’t hate the idea in the slightest.
He tugged me toward the front entrance of the store. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 11
Terran
As I predicted,his car was one of those overseas brands that only rappers and doctors owned, both used as a flex of the wealth they’d accumulated through their accolades.
