Page 16 of Property of Mongrel

“He probably would,” I say. “He’s a good kid and has made so much progress it blows me away.”

“Then I’m gonna ask her. Bonus for me since I’m one of the taste testers,” he admits before wincing again.

Despite the fact that he’s still got some pain, which I anticipated, I giggle when I see he’s serious about being the taste tester for whatever Gretchen makes. “Sounds like a win-win for you.”

“Absolutely. How long do you think it’s gonna take for me to fully heal? Do you date your patients?” he asks.

“Upwards of eight to twelve weeks. A lot depends on the patient, of course, and how much work they’re willing to put into their own progress. And no, I don’t date my patients,” I state. “It’s unethical, at least to me.”

My heart sighs when I have to share that with him, because he ticks off all the boxes for the mythical man I wished for years ago. He’s taller than me, which isn’t too much of a challenge since I’m barely over five feet tall, and while I’m sure there are those out there who would advise against getting involved with a biker, there’s an inherent sense of gentleness in him. I saw it with how he interacted with JB, and also how he speaks about one of his club brother’s woman.

“What if I got another therapist?” he questions, smirking at me.

“Oh, you’re trouble, aren’t you?” I retort as I grab the massage gel I use, then slip on a pair of nitrile gloves. “I’m going to massage this into the area around your surgical sites but not directly on the incisions themselves. If you’ve had a massage before, this is more about making sure that the passive movements I’ve been doing don’t cause you to have any spasms.”

“It was worth a shot,” he murmurs.

Yeah, Cameron “Mongrel” Shepherd could be very dangerous to my heart. I push those thoughts aside to focus on getting him sorted out so his next sessions can get scheduled.

CHAPTER

NINE

Mongrel

“So, how was it today?” Doc asks as I walk into the common room of the clubhouse.

“How was what?” I parry, smirking at him.

“Your proctology exam, asshole. What do you think I’m asking about?” he retorts.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the clinic?” At his glare, I finally relent a bit and say, “It was weird. Today she did what she called passive therapy, moving my arm around and taking measurements, that kind of shit. Told me to keep doing those exercises Dr. Albertson gave me and said we’d ease into harder stuff.”

“Good, good. Any pain?” he questions.

“It’s a bit sore from her manipulations, but manageable, Doc,” I reply. “Is Gretchen in the kitchen?”

“She is, why?” he asks as I start walking in that direction with him hot on my heels.

“Because I met this little kid today, he’s about seven or eight, and he’s a huge superhero fan. Likes Iron Man the best, and I was wondering if she would be able to create a cake pop that looked like Iron Man. Plus, I wanna buy some from her to take in for the staff.”

“Okay, spill, Mongrel, what does she look like?” Gretchen asks, having heard part of what I said.

“Who?” I question as I head to the fridge and grab a bottle of water. Thankfully, Doc breaks the seal for me because it’s nearly impossible to do one handed.

“Your therapist,” Gretchen growls, causing me to laugh. “See? That right there says something.”

“I’m laughing, that’s all,” I protest.

“Mmhm, you haven’t done much of that lately,” she replies. “Now, I can try to experiment to see if I can create Iron Man’s mask, if you want me to. Tell me about this little boy.”

“His name is JB and I don’t know why he’s getting physical therapy, but I think he’s a foster kid. I recognized the woman who was there with him before we were both called back,” I say. “He told me that if I worked hard, I might get surprises like he does from our therapist.”

Doc chuckles while Gretchen snickers. “Surprises, huh? So, what’s she like?”

“It doesn’t matter because she doesn’t date her patients,” I glumly reply. “Although I did ask if I could be switched to another therapist!”

Doc starts humming the tune to Another One Bites The Dust which has Gretchen laughing hysterically. “Oh, this is gonna be good. When’s your next appointment?”