You promptly set your novel down on the coffee table and stood up, walking towards him. With a hint of irritation in your tone, you queried, “Are you truly adamant about refusing any assistance to your current state?” Your gaze lingered upon his slightly swollen biceps.

His eyes narrowing, Houston lowered his head to look down at your petite form. A hint of skepticism laced his voice as he inquired, “Since when do you want to touch me?”

You raised your chin defiantly, matching his gaze without flinching. “I may not be enthusiastic about aiding an idiot like you, but even I understand how stupid it is to let injuries like yours go untreated.”

You nodded towards the couch, your gaze steady as you issued the command. “Sit down,” you said firmly. “I’ll check you over.”

Houston began to reply, “I’m fine. Just go—”

You cut off his attempted rebuttal, your voice growing sharper. “I didn’t offer you a choice, moron.” You pointed towards the couch again. “Sit. Down.”

Houston couldn’t help but smirk as he followed you to the couch. He let himself slump down on the seat then leaned back and regarded you with a playful glint in his eyes. “You know,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I think I kind of like you bossy.”

Unfazed by his attempts at flirtation, you methodically reached for his arm and began examining the cuts and bruises. Your gaze was clinical, your focus solely on identifying the extent of his injuries and the possible treatments required.

While continuing to examine the wounds on his arm, you commented, “You’ve got some serious swelling and damage here. This is going to require proper care and ice to reduce the swelling, as well as clean dressing to prevent infection.”

You then glanced up at him, making sure you had his attention. “Are you listening, or do I need to repeat myself?”

Houston couldn’t resist giving you a cheeky retort, his voice low and sultry. “Is it bad that I want to kiss you right now?” he whispered, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.