An intelligent, gorgeous temptress of a human, but a human none-the-less.
Instead of playing video games and drinking beer with friends, I’d drive to Fort Worth and find a sports bar where I could have a burger and a beer and maybe find someone to spend a few hours with.
I hadn’t found anyone who’d topped my night with the now off-limits Lynn, aka Madeleine Sheppard, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t.
The sooner the better. I needed to scrub her from my mind.
Maybe if I started dating—not Madi—it’d take the heat off at work.
Just the thought set my teeth on edge. Which was stupid. I didn’t do relationships, so the thought of dating someone who wasn’t Madi shouldn’t stress me out.
I walked into my small apartment, hung my keys on the hook near the door, dropped my gym bag on the floor, and tossed my leather jacket on the back of a chair.
Just doing normal things like a normal guy while I willed my mind to stop thinking about Madi.
In the shower, I gave up and let images of her naked in my bed play in my mind while I released some of my built-up tension.
My hand couldn’t compare, but it got the job done.
Chapter 9
Madi
“Good morning, Doc.”
“Paul, please don’t call me doc,” I said after he greeted me. “I don’t have a Ph.D., and it’s disrespectful to those who’ve earned theirs.” I added a little edge to my voice, hoping he’d finally get the message.
“Sorry, it’s just a phrase.” He shrugged. “The Marine medics never minded.”
All medics serving in Marine units were actually Navy Corpsmen, but it wasn’t worth taking the bait to correct him.
“I’m sure they didn’t.” Ignoring the disappointment in his eyes, I asked, “What brings you in today?”
He caught me off guard when instead of saying he’d re-injured his wrist, that he’d burned his hand.
“How bad?”
“Third degree, I think.”
Paul held out his loosely wrapped hand.
“Fire or chemical?” I hid my skepticism, as I gently unwound the gauze bandage. As a firefighter, Paul would know the difference between a second and third-degree burn.
Paul moaned but didn’t flinch as he answered. “Fire.” He quickly added, “But not on the job.”
That made sense; at work, he’d be in full gear anytime he was near a fire.
“Why didn’t you go to the emergency room?” I asked. My clinic was out of the way, and unlike the emergency room, we weren’t open twenty-four-seven.
“I prefer coming here, keeping my injuries on the down low. Don’t need the guys giving me shit for being stupid.”
Don’t they notice the bandages?Or did he take them off at work?
Paul’s behavior set off warning bells, and I made a note to talk to Carol during lunch.
“Good news for you, the worst of the burn is only a second-degree.” It’d still hurt like hell while it healed, but there’d be no lasting tissue damage beyond some scarring on the heel and along the pinky side of his hand.
He’d know that.
