Page 22 of The Clinch
His focus returns to me, calm and unreadable. He doesn’t try to flirt. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t do anything he could get away with doing.
He just stands there, giving me room to breathe. And the space he gives me makes me want him even more.
“Your ribs,” I say.
His brows lift. “What about them?”
“That bruise,” I gesture, “you took a hit.”
He shrugs. “Part of the job.”
I put the mug down and step closer. His attention locks on me, pupils narrowing with focus. He doesn’t retreat or tense. He simply waits, controlled as stone.
“Raise your arm.”
A beat of hesitation, then he lifts it, watching me. The bruise draws tight across his ribs, the spread of violet deepening. I reach out, letting my fingertips graze warm skin as I palpate lightly, testing depth and sensitivity.
Leo doesn’t move, and that restraint feels more dangerous than motion.
My hand stays clinical. The rest of me doesn’t.
He adjusts to my touch instead of pretending not to feel it. His abdomen firms under my palm.
“Any sharp pain when you inhale?” I keep my voice level.
“No.” His tone drops an octave, darker and rougher than a moment ago.
“Dizziness? Tightness?”
“No.”
“The bruise is angry, but it’s controlled. You’ll feel it even more tomorrow.”
“I’ll try not to fall apart, Doc.”
I almost laugh. “Please do hold it together. I don’t have time to rebuild you.”
My thumb grazes the edge of the bruised skin—checking, finalizing—and his control slips just enough for me to catch it. That small, restrained reaction tells me I’ve reached the pain point.
It’s my cue. I pull my hand back. The space between us hums—warm, charged, aware of itself.
I’m the one who steps away first.
Leo doesn’t move. His focus stays on me, following the retreat as if he feels the loss of contact as clearly as I do.
“Thank you,” he says finally.
I reach for my coffee again, anchoring myself. Distance reclaimed.
“Don’t get used to it,” I say lightly. “I’m not playing nurse while I’m here.”
A corner of his mouth curves. “You are a nurse.”
“For six more weeks. Then I start med school and trade the ER for lectures.”
He files the information carefully. “A doctor.”
“Eventually.”
