“I’ve seen you in your underwear and combed nits out of your hair, baby. I think we’re past that.” I focused on one thing and one thing only. Baby? Me? I was still thinking about his word choice when he asked, “How’s your hand?” What hand? There was something wrong with my hand? “Your burned hand,” he said, raising both his eyebrows, a slight smile playing at his lips. Jesus Christ. I’d lost it.
