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When he pulled back, he looked down at me and smiled. “You want to get out of here?”
I nodded. “Let me just get my boots. Come in for a minute.”
He came farther into the condo and closed the door. Boxer looked around. “Nice place you got here.”
“Rental,” I explained.
Boxer nodded but didn’t seem inclined to ask questions.
“I need a pair of socks. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here,” he assured me.
I went to my bedroom and grabbed my black leather ankle boots and returned to the living room. Boxer was wandering around the open floor condo, his expression showing curiosity. He trekked into the kitchen and pointed to the Italian espresso machine. “What the ever-loving fuck is that?”
I laughed and slipped on my other boot. “An espresso maker.”
“Whatever happened to good old Mr. Coffee?”
I stood up. “I get enough of the dishwater-flavored coffee at the hospital. But at home, I only drink the good stuff.”
“It looks like it could fly us to the moon.” Boxer shook his head. “You ready?”
“Yeah, I’m ready.” I went to the counter to gather my belongings. I checked my brown shoulder bag to make sure I had my keys, cell phone, and wallet. “Where are we going?”
He flashed a grin. “I’m not telling you.”
“No sex dungeon, though, right?”
“Uh, sure.”
I rolled my eyes. We headed to the door and Boxer got there first, opening it for me. I looked at him in surprise, which only made his grin deepen. “Just because I have tattoos and wear a leather cut doesn’t mean I don’t have manners.”
“A leather cut?” I asked, brushing past him, close enough to smell his cologne. I suddenly wanted to bury my nose in his chest and inhale deeply, taking all of him in.
“The vest. It’s called a cut.”
I quickly locked the condo and after I stuck my keys in my purse, Boxer grasped my hand.
“How are you feeling?” I asked him.
“Pretty damn good.” He looked at me and winked.
“Would you even bother telling me if you were in any pain?” I asked him.
“So you can poke and prod me and think of me as your patient again instead of the hot guy you’re going out with?” He shook his head. “No way in hell. But you don’t need to worry. I’m not on any painkillers. Not even Tylenol. I’m clearheaded to drive.”
“I believe you,” I said.
“Yeah?”
I nodded.
“The pain is nothing more than a dull throb. Inconvenient.”
“So, no pus or oozing—”
Boxer’s crack of laughter echoed across the hallway. “For the love of all that is holy, please stop.”
