Page 11 of While You Were Spying
“Isn’t it a little early for you to be heading home?” It’s only two in the afternoon. She never leaves before five.
“Liam gave me the rest of the afternoon off to get your pain-in-the-ass butt home. Where you are to remain for the next three weeks. You are not to show up at the office. At. All. And if you do show up before you get the okay from your physician, Liam will ground you indefinitely. His words, not mine.”
I laugh. “You might as well have told me he was putting me in time-out like a little kid.”
“Grounding, time-out. Same deal, pretty much. Either way, you’re supposed to take time off and recover.”
I groan. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” I’m not the TV-watching type. I’d rather be doing than sitting.
She considers it for a moment. “I guess none of your extra-curricular activities are conducive to allowing your arm to heal.” She’s referring to my martial arts training, my love of riding my motorcycle fast, and the recreational football league I’m in.
The only activity that won’t be a problem for my arm is walking Mojo. But it’s not like he enjoys long walks. A running dog, he’s not.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask.
“Going home. Making dinner. Reading a book.” Isabelle shrugs. “Nothing exciting.”
“You don’t have a big date tonight?”
“I’m still on hiatus after my last date six months ago. I mean, seriously, who arranges a double date with their mother? And what mother discusses her son’s date’s menstrual cycle and reproductive health?” She shudders dramatically. “And the sad part was, her questions didn’t even disturb her son. He was listening as if my answers would solve world hunger.”
“That’s what you get for dating the son of a gynecologist.”
“Good point. I’ll add ‘Don’t make that mistake again’ to my dating to-do list.”
“Since you don’t have any exciting plans, how about you stay for dinner when you drop Mojo and me off at my house. We can work on our jigsaw puzzle.” The five-thousand-piece puzzle that we’ve been working on for a few weeks.
“How are you going to make dinner with your arm in a sling? Or is that your way of gettingmeto makeyoudinner?”
“Something like that.” I wink at her, and she laughs. “I can try to help. You’ll have to do the cutting and chopping.”
“You’re just saying that because my knife-wielding skills are legendary. I can out-chop you any day.”
That’s not true, and she knows it. We’re both pretty decent when it comes to cooking.
Her gaze drops to my injured arm. “How’s it doing?”
“It’s fine. Like I told Liam, it’s just a scratch.”
“Right. You’re a big bad alpha boy. You’re hardly going to admit when you’re in pain and have a serious injury. To do so would be a major blow to the old ego.” She looks down at my dog, lounging at her feet. “Isn’t that right, Mojo?”
The traitor barks in reply.
“Are you going to nurse me back to health?” That didn’t quite come out as it had sounded in my head, although I wouldn’t complain if she did exactly that.
She laughs. “You wish. All right, turn off the computer and let’s get going.”
* * *
A short time later,we enter my house. Mojo ambles off to visit the furniture he hasn’t seen in the past four days. The woman I hired to clean the house once a week was here while I was away, so now he has to redeposit his hair all over the place.
“Keep off the couch,” I remind him, which is a futile effort. He’ll be on it as soon as I’m out of view. “I should probably shower first,” I tell Isabelle. Liam and I went straight to the office after I was released from the hospital.
“Will you be okay with that?” She nods at my arm.
“I’m sure I can manage.” Once I grow another arm.
She squishes her lips together, gaze dipping down my body. “I’m not so sure about that.” She points in the direction of my stairs. “I’ll help you remove your clothes, but you’re on your own when it comes to showering.”
