James grouched four days later, as he sat heavily on Liv’s bed, setting the crutches against the bedside table. “You’re not an invalid, you’re recovering from major surgery. Now stop moaning, put your feet up and lie back.” Liv pushed his shoulder as she spoke, urging him to do as she said. Gingerly, James lifted his injured leg to the bed and set it down. At least the cast was smaller than the first one he’d had, coming to just below his knee. The trip from the hospital back to her flat an hour ago had left him exhausted, and the medication the doc had given him for pain was starting to wear off. “I don’t see why I couldn’t just have gone home to my place,” he said for the twentieth time in an hour. Yeah, he sounded like a petulant kid, but damn it, he just wanted to go upstairs, get into bed and sleep for a month. “Because you wouldn’t have made it.
