Destiny hated them.
I could tell.
That made two of us.
Bennett cleared his throat. “I’ll come back later.”
Coward.
No, not coward.
Smart man.
“Doctor,” Destiny said.
Bennett gave her a look that was suddenly less flirt and more understanding. Then he glanced at me.
I held his gaze.
He left.
The door closed.
Destiny did not move.
Neither did I.
The silence between us went thick and hot.
The monitor beeped faster than it should have.
Destiny noticed.
Of course she noticed.
“Your heart rate is elevated.”
“You think?”
Her mouth tightened.
I wanted to bite it.
I wanted to apologize.
I wanted to drag her onto the bed and keep her there until every noble lie in my life burned down around us.
Instead, I lay there with tubes in my arms and guilt in my chest, useless as hell.
“You going to go?” I asked.
“To Old Town?”
The answer mattered too much.
That was pathetic.
I was a grown man with a fiancée, a bullet wound, a business, a degree, and more scars than sense, waiting on whether a woman I had no right to claim would agree to mezcal with Dr. Pretty Boy.
