Page 42 of Falling for the Enemy

“Son of a mother fucker!” Jocelyn staggered gracelessly, the pain chasing away any lingering tipsiness from dinner.

“Here, sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You might have a sprain.”

“It’s these stupid shoes!” She plucked off the heels and tossed them several feet away.

Logan steadied her. “I think you should let me look at it.”

“Fine.” She gritted her teeth, annoyed by her clumsiness, and hobbled to a lamp post for support.

He dropped to one knee, and for a moment, he looked so much like Soren a chill chased down her spine.

Carefully, he cupped her arch and bent her foot back and forth. “Does that hurt?”

“Not really.”

“How about this?” He tenderly prodded the ankle.

“A little.”

“This?”

When she hissed, he had his answer.

“I don’t think it’s sprained. But you definitely twisted it. You’ll have to keep your weight off of it.” He collected her shoes and gave her enough support to limp along at a slow pace. “Take my arm.” Like all Hawthorne men, he was a total gentleman when it mattered.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. We should get there sometime tomorrow.”

She snorted and then groaned with embarrassment. “Always a class act.”

“Hey, shit happens.”

They strolled along the sea wall at a turtle’s pace. The whole situation was suddenly comical to Jocelyn, and she laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. This.”

“What about this?”

“Don’t you see it? The moonlight. The perfect weather. The stars. The view.”

He chuckled. “Okay, I see it.”

“Totally wasted on us.”

“Not totally. We can still appreciate it.”

Joking around, she rested her head on his broad shoulder and sighed. “Okay. Give me your best lines.”

“My lines?”

“Yeah. If this were a date, how would you seal the deal?”