Page 73 of Challenge
I can feel the heat of him behind me as I weave us down the corridors of the hospital toward the older part of the building that radiology occupies. His mere presence brings back so many unwanted memories. Hot memories. Sexual memories. Memories of passion…Like the way he took me from behind in the Cry Room, the dirty words he said, the firm grip he had on my arse. He carnally fucked me as if he was a slave to his passion and I was the desired craving. Just thinking about it causes a stirring between my legs.
Feeling the deafening silence thickening, I slow down so he can walk beside me and ask in clipped tones, “So your physical therapy has been going well?”
I chance a glance at him, and his eyes narrow as he watches the air in front of us. “Very well. My knee feels fine.”
“Good. That’s good.”
More awkward silence.
“Be sure you don’t overdo it, though, all right?” I add as we turn another corner.
He cuts me a look. “What happens if I overdo it?”
My brows lift, extremely comfortable answering this type of question. “Well, the graft only allows for the natural movements of everyday life. Things like running, walking, jogging, moving around in your home and work.” My cheeks heat as I think about the movements we did together in both of our homes and elsewhere. “It can be pushed some, but not with the brute force involved in athletics. Twisting, pivoting, things that use the eccentricities of your knee’s full range of motion. All those movements can injure the tendon the graft is attached to. Just be careful you’re not pushing the boundaries.”
He huffs out a laugh.
“What?”
He shakes his head.
“What?” I ask again, adjusting my glasses.
He stops so fast I have to turn and walk back to him. Glaring at me, he says, “I’m aware you don’t like boundaries pushed. I don’t need a reminder.”
My face drops. My mouth falls open. My heart feels heavy. “Camden, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“What exactly are you sorry for, Indie?” His tone is acidic as he says my name through clenched teeth. The muscle in his jaw ticks angrily.
I glance down the hallway as someone walks by. Otherwise, we’re completely alone in this very bare, very dank hallway. “Well…for a lot. But mostly for flipping the script on you so much. I could have handled everything better.”
“How so?” he asks quickly. “Would handling it differently have changed the end results?”
My eyes soften. “No.”
“Then you handled it fine.” His eyes are slits.
“Camden—”
“Indie, I have loads of girls I can ring any time. I’ve already had a couple call this week, so don’t trouble your mind with any more thoughts of whatever brief thing we were.”
It’s not a physical slap, but it hurts so badly my eyes sting. “Fine then.” I turn back on my heel and don’t slow my pace until we reach radiology.
I glance in through the thick window and the tech indicates he needs five minutes. I bite my lip. I don’t know how I’ll make it five full minutes. I want to leave now. I want to run away from this horrible, awkward, unpleasant sensation that’s consuming my body.
“Find yourself a number two yet?” Cam asks, leaning against the hallway wall as if we’re having the most casual conversation ever.
I nearly growl, “No. And it’s none of your business.”
He laughs. “Hey, I’m just curious. You seemed pretty determined and it’s been a while since I last saw you. I figured you’ve been busy.”
“Not as busy as you apparently,” I snipe.
He huffs out another exasperating laugh. He’s laughing! He’s laughing as if this is any normal day and what happened between us was nothing. Then that voice in the back of my mind pipes up and reminds me that it was nothing. It reminds me I all but yelled that at him. What we had was just sex. I was just his doctor. He was just my patient.
“I have a right to be curious. I was a part of the list after all,” he drawls and pats me on the shoulder like a guy. “Plus, we’re mates, right?”
My eyes turn to saucers at his platonic touch that feels like hot coals against my skin. “Mates? You think we’re mates?”
