Page 33 of Wilde and Deadly

Downstairs, Tessa pointed to the couch. “Sit.”

Davey sank to the cushions with a grimace he couldn’t quite hide. Now that the adrenaline was fading, the ache in his leg was impossible to ignore.

“All right, tough guy, drop the pants. Let’s see the damage.”

He choked on his own spit. “No.”

Tessa stood in front of him, hands on her hips, eyebrow raised. “What’s wrong? You going commando?”

When he didn’t answer, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You think I haven’t seen a dick before?”

Davey made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and shot her a horrified look. He didnotwant to think about his baby cousin seeing a man’s dick. Ever. “Christ, Tessa.”

She snorted. “You think my medical training came with a ‘no cocks allowed’ policy? Believe me, yours is nothing special. Drop ‘em, Davey.”

Muttering a string of curses under his breath, he unbuckled his belt, grateful that—for once—he’d actually put on underwear this morning. He usually went without, and if he’d been commando right now, he would’ve had to move out of the country just to avoid ever speaking to Tessa again.

Still, a fresh wave of discomfort hit as he shoved his jeans down, exposing the scarred flesh and metal of his reconstructed thigh. He wasn’t self-conscious about it—he’d made his peace with the damage a long time ago—but having his cousin poke at his leg like he was some lab experiment wasn’t exactly on his bucket list.

Tessa’s hands were gentle but firm as she probed the area, her brow furrowed in concentration. “How bad is the pain, scale of one to ten?”

“Four.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So, seven then. You always underreport.”

“It’s fine, Tess. I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not the point, and you know it.” She sighed, sitting back on her heels. “It’s inflamed. Have you been overdoing it again?”

“Define ‘overdoing it.’”

She shot him a withering look. “You know exactly what I mean. Running around the city, getting into fights, carrying wounded women up flights of stairs...”

“It’s fine,” he insisted again, even as a twinge of pain shot through his leg. “I can handle it.”

Tessa’s expression softened. “I know you can handle it, dumbass. That’s not the problem. The problem is that you shouldn’t have to.”

He looked away, his jaw locking. He wasn’t in the mood for this conversation.

Tessa let out a slow breath. “You need to ice it regularly—not just when it starts hurting, but before. Twenty minutes, twice a day. You still doing the stretches Dr. Patel gave you?”

“Sometimes.”

Tessa rolled her eyes. “Which means no.” She pointed at him. “Start doing them. Every morning, every night. And take the damn anti-inflammatories before it gets this bad, not after.”

He grumbled under his breath, but she ignored it, already rummaging in her bag. “I’ll wrap it for you now, but if it’s still this bad tomorrow, you’re taking a rest day.”

Davey scoffed. “I don’t have time for a rest day.”

“Yes, you do,” she shot back, yanking out a compression wrap. “You’ll be sitting here with Rowan anyway. She’ll be out of it for a while, so take it easy, or I’ll tell Aunt Libby you’re being reckless with your health.”

His scowl deepened. “You wouldn’t.”

She smirked. “Try me.”

Davey muttered another curse but let her work, even as irritation burned in his chest. It wasn’t her fault. She was right, and they both knew it.

Tessa finished wrapping his leg, then sat back, studying him. “You’re not invincible, Davey.”

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