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“Call me Linden,” I insisted.
Her smiled widened and she nodded. “Linden.”
“Thanks for making the drive, Mia,” Boxer said.
“Drive? What drive?” I asked.
“From Waco.” She frowned. “That’s where we live. The club, I mean.”
“Oh. I thought for sure you were all from Dallas. I just assumed because Boxer—”
“I was hanging out with a buddy in Dallas when the pain in my side got to be too bad,” Boxer explained. “I wasn’t going to be able to make the long drive home. So I came here.”
“Ah,” I said. “Got it.”
“The boys are still handling stuff in the city, so they’ll be by in a bit. Don’t climb the walls.” Mia grinned and then waddled out of the room.
My eyes followed her, and then I looked back at my patient, lying there, appearing too smug for his own good.
“Jealousy looks good on you, Doc.”
I marched to the end of his bed and set the cookies down. “I wasn’t jealous.”
“No? Didn’t look that way to me,” he teased.
“I thought I’d pegged you wrong,” I stated. “And that you were the kind of guy that was two-timing his wife. A pregnant wife.”
He laughed. “You should’ve seen the look on your face. Man, I wish I’d had a camera.”
It hadn’t been jealousy—it had been regret that I’d read him wrong when I deemed myself a good judge of character. And if I was being honest with myself, it was disappointment in Boxer.
“Did she really drive all the way from Waco just to visit you?” I asked. “That’s a bit of a trek.”
“She’s been wanting to go to this fancy schmancy baby boutique in Dallas. She made a day of it here.” Boxer examined me for a moment. “So, are we gonna talk about why you went all weird yesterday?”
“Weird about what?” I evaded.
“You know what. Don’t play dumb. That’s not who you are.”
“Who am I, Boxer?” I demanded.
“Come on, you’re a surgeon,” he pointed out, not at all taken aback by my tone. “You’re clearly not an idiot.”
I paused, weighing my words before I spoke. “People assume things about you, when they know you come from a privileged background.”
“Just like people assume they know things about you because you wear a leather cut and ride a motorcycle.”
“Touché,” I said with a wry grin.
“Posture.”
“Huh?”
“It’s your posture. The way you carry yourself, Doc. You never slouch or shuffle. Asking you about tennis was just a confirmation of what I already knew.”
“You noticed how I walk?”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “It stands out.Youstand out.”
