Page 25 of Chasing Paradise

“Why?”

“Why what?” My mind was too scrambled with him touching me to even hold a tentative grasp on the conversation.

“Why are you not outdoorsy?”

“Oh, I, uh, work. A lot.”

“You work a lot, so you can’t go outside?”

“I work… constantly,” I clarified. “I take a night off here or there to hang out with my cousins and friends. But other than that, I’m working.”

“Dragging men in for skipping out on their court dates.”

“I mean, there’s an occasional woman. But your sex really does kind of corner the market on crime.”

“Who’s worse to bring in—men or women?”

“I mean, the men tend to fight me more. But the women cry. I don’t mind putting a knee in someone’s groin to bring them to their knees, but I’m not great with tears.”

“What was your last job?” he asked. Seeming to suddenly realize he was still touching me, he let his hands drop to his sides.

“Frat boy.”

“What’d he do?”

“Stole a car from his valet job and crashed it. Into a police car.”

“Idiot,” Wick said, shaking his head as he dropped back down on the ground next to me. “Did he fight?”

In response, I turned my arm to show him the scratches I’d gotten when he’d pushed me down. They weren’t raw anymore, but they still looked pretty red and ugly.

“He did this on purpose?” Wick’s fingers gently grabbed my arm, inspecting the wounds, then digging in his backpack.

“Well, he pushed me down. So, I guess.”

“Is that common?” I watched him pull a full first aid kit out of his backpack, making my brows scrunch as he dug in it for some cream.

“Getting hurt on the job?”

I should have told him I didn’t need any medical attention. I didn’t. But the part of me that hadn’t been touched by a man in more months than I cared to admit kind of just wanted to feel his fingers again.

“Yeah.”

“It’s not a constant thing. I can usually catch someone off guard. But it definitely happens.”

“What’s the worst one?”

“Easy,” I said, watching him reach for my arm again, lightly dabbing some salve onto my cuts. “I was chasing an MMAfighter who was going to court for beating the hell out of his model girlfriend. He grabbed my wrist and twisted. Broke it.”

“Jesus.” Wick’s eyes looked genuinely horrified by the brutality.

“I broke his jaw,” I said, remembering how the blow to my elbow had ricocheted up my arm. But, God, it had been worth it. “Then called my mom to haul him in. She was a bounty hunter too.”

“Interesting family business. How long were you out with the broken wrist?”

“Well, it was supposed to be six weeks. I went back after two.”

“That much of a workaholic?”

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