Page 36 of Dr. Sexypants

“In your pajamas?”

She stuck her hand on her hip and glared at the camera. “Obviously, Dr. Sexypants. Will you let me in, already?”

Fuck.

I wasn’t answering the door in my wheelchair or sitting on the lift creeper.

“Okay, give me a sec.”

I reached for the titanium prosthetics that I kept next to my bed, alongside the creeper and wheelchair. I had a little area designated specifically for my mobility aids.

The residual gel for my limbs was on the nightstand, so I quickly rolled that on, then stepped down into the hard carbon fiber socket, one at a time, and waited for the click to let me know each was locked into place. My blue plaid pajama pants slipped on easily, and I stuck my feet into a pair of slippers.

Kristy would still be able to see the metal if she looked closely enough, but I didn’t think that would be an issue.

The doorbell rang again when I was five feet away from the door, so I quickly threw it open with a, “Sorry! Come in!”

She stepped inside and eyed me suspiciously as I closed the door. “What took you so long?”

“I couldn’t find my pajama pants,” I replied dismissively, then asked, “What’s going on?”

“I realized I forgot to give you your birthday present.”

Wait—what? She came over at this hour for that?

I shook my head, like that might help things make more sense.

“You forgot to give me my present, so you walked to my house at midnight—in your pajamas—instead of just waiting until tomorrow or when you saw me again?”

Her smile was lopsided when she took a step closer, maintaining eye contact as she nodded her head and said, “Yep.”

Then she dropped to her knees and reached for my waistband.

****

Kristy

Justin jumped back so fast, you’d thought I’d burned him.

My fragile ego was already hanging on by a thread after he’d gotten out of the car and gone home instead of coming inside my house—and there was no mistaking why I’d invited him in.

Instead of getting to my feet with some dignity, I dropped back on my butt and wailed, “Why aren’t you attracted to me anymore? What did I do?”

It wasn’t my finest moment. I knew crying on his floor after being rejected was not a good look.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he held out his hands, like he was offering to help me up, and I begrudgingly took them.

A second later, I stood in front of him, too humiliated to look him in the eye, so I stared at the smattering of hair on his muscular bare chest instead.

He bent his knees, so he was eye level with me, making it impossible to look at anything but his face. That’s when I noticed he had bedhead. And, dammit, it only made him hotter.

I was now stone-sober, and the reality I’d gotten him out of bed for a booty call that he was clearly not interested in made me cringe.

“I’m so sorry I woke you up,” I whispered as I took a step toward the door. “Can we please pretend this never happened?”

Before I could bolt, he reached out and grabbed my hand.

“Let’s talk.” He tugged me toward the kitchen. “Do you want a milkshake?”