Page 84 of David

“Have you done this before?” I ask seriously this time, his hands moving with knowledge, showing great care for my wounds.

“I was in the military,” he tosses at me without shifting his focus from my knees.

Oh… Knock me over with a feather.

My lips part in awe.

“For real?”

He gives me a soft smile, indulging in my reaction.

“Yeah, for real.”

I have a hard time imagining the man in front of me doing anything other than wearing expensive suits, ruining a barista’s day because of some stupid cup of coffee, and picking up women who are already willing to say yes to him when he invites them to his place.

I look at him with different eyes while he finishes my right knee and brings the other one next to it.

I lie down, my back pressed into the pillows, my legs draped over his lap.

He keeps doing what he’s doing while I try to picture him in the army.

It’s not like he lacks the physical ability.

His biceps push against his perfectly pressed shirt, his clothes setting off his muscular frame.

And all this time, I thought he was one of those pampered dudes who hit the gym five times a week, eat kale for breakfast, and finish their day with a massage and an exfoliating body scrub.

I could have never imagined him being more than some rich guy who lucked out and had everything handed to him before getting bored and turning into a hard–to–please eccentric ass.

Even the fact that he never needed a serious connection to a woman felt like a testament to this idea that he was a shallow, spoiled brat.

13

LIZ

He flicks his eyes to me.

“You don’t believe me?” he asks.

“I do believe you.”

How come I’ve never heard of that before?

I’d love to ask him that, but it would look weird, and he’d know I talked with my friend about him.

However, he must know people in love to gossip in this town.

“It happened a long time ago,” he says, putting the bandage on my knee, not looking at me. “And I did a lot of this. It was much worse, actually.”

I can only imagine.

He studies the result.

“Good. You’ll be fine,” he says, straightening somewhat, although not pushing my legs off.

I have no intention of moving them either.

“How was it?” I ask, watching him rest his hand on my leg. “Your life in the military?”

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