“Tell me something, Cassidy . . . why is it that you can’t follow my simple instructions?” The exhausted irritation in his tone is palpable, but also surprisingly hot. “I tell you to watch where you’re going, and you get hit by a car. I tell you to wear your brace for eight fucking weeks, and you take it off after six.” I swallow, knowing where he’s going with this. “I tell you to keep your goddamn clothes off until I come back, and you tell me that you're now fully clothed. Are none of my orders clear to your dense head?”
