Page 50 of Just One Little Bargain

“I’m not.”

“You know exactly how this goes. Push it and you’ll make it significantly worse. A sprain doesn’t stay minor if you ignore it. That’s how you end up dealing with it for months instead of weeks. The ligament needs time.”

“She’ll rest,” Milo says from beside me.

“Good. Because someone needs to drive her home and make sure she actually sits down.” Devereaux rises, looking between us. “I’m guessing you’re volunteering.”

“Yes,” Milo says.

“I can drive myself.”

“You could.” Damien inclines his head. “But your right ankle is the one that works the gas and brake. So unless you’ve got a left-foot driving technique I don’t know about, I’d rather someone else handle it.”

I sigh. “Fine.”

Milo’s thumb traces an absentminded circle against the fabric on my lower back. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. I adjust my position on the table before he can do it again.

“I’ll wrap up a cold pack for you. Keep rotating ice on and off tonight. And call me if the pain gets worse, or you notice any numbness or tingling.” Damien gathers the tablet and the used gloves wrapper, tossing the latter in the bin. “Take care of that ankle, Evie. I’m serious about the rest.”

“I will.”

I won’t. But I appreciate the concern.

He hesitates at the door and turns back, something flickering behind his blue eyes. “Oh, one more thing. Blood drive next month. You signed up?”

“I hate needles.”

“But you’re O negative, and that’s liquid gold to the blood bank. Just think about it.” He flashes a grin, then pulls the door shut behind him.

The second the latch clicks, Milo’s shoulders drop and his hand leaves my back. I miss the contact straight away.

“Okay.” I look at him. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?”

“You. Looking like you wanted to physically remove him from the room.”

“I didn’t.” His jaw shifts.

“You absolutely did. The whole time he was examining my ankle you were hovering too close.”

He huffs. “I don’t like him.”

“You just met him.”

“Sometimes that’s enough.”

I press my lips together to kill the laugh building in my chest. “You don’t need to protect me from my doctor.”

“I wasn’t protecting you.” He winces. “Okay, I was, a little bit.”

“From what? A blood pressure cuff?”

“From . . .” He exhales, rough and frustrated. “If I tell you, you’ll either freak out, or say I’m crazy.”

“I already think that.”

“Fair point.”