“Any itching?” She replaced the bandage on his arm. A rather impressive arm, as it were. In fact, it stirred up memories of being in said arms at the beach. When he’d made her promises he had no intention of keeping.

Now, he was a landmine to her heart, the way he grinned at her. “Just the itch to get out of here,” he said.

“Not quite yet.”

“C’mon, doc. I’m tired of eating hospital food. I’m not contagious. I read up on the smallpox vaccination, and as long as I keep it covered, then I’m fine. You all are freaking out—”

“Freaking out?” She stepped back from him. “You could potentially be carrying the one virus that could wipe out the world, and you call us freaking out.”

He sighed. Scrubbed his hands down his face. “I feel fine.” He met her eyes with his, so brown, so pleading . . . aw, she couldn’t focus around him.

“Tae. Think about it.”

“I’ll draw some blood. As long as I don’t see any markers, then . . . yes, okay, you can go. But you’ll have to cover up the injection site and . . . don’t sneeze on anyone.”

He smiled, and then reached out and put his arm around her. Pressed his forehead to her plastic visor. “Does that include kissing?”

Oh, he was trouble.

Especially when, three hours later, she walked in with the news of no viral markers.

“Told you that I was fine,” he said as he headed for a shower.

She was waiting for him in the hallway when he emerged ten minutes later, wearing a pair of new jeans and a collared black dress shirt, a pair of flip-flops. He smelled good. As they exited the hospital, the night dropped around them, the salty air thick on her skin.

They drove back to the safe house in the Escalade and arrived in time for pizza.

“Colt!” Dodge got up, and Colt bumped his fist as he came into the house.

“Hey.”

Ham and Fraser also got up, greeted him, others raising their hands, or pizza slices as it were.

They all sat in the great room, or at the bar, and in the background, music played from a Bluetooth speaker. Someone’s eighties playlist.

“I’m walking on sunshine . . .”

Colt grabbed a chair, turned it around backwards. Straddled it. Sat and set his folded arms on the back. He looked every inch a triumphant warrior.

She’d freaked out for nothing, maybe. Still, the drug was experimental . . .

Breathe. He was fine. Laughing. Eating a piece of pizza.

“I’m headed upstairs to take my own shower,” she said. She felt gritty, unkempt, and downright itchy herself.

Colt glanced at her, those brown eyes saying something. Meet you on the beach later.

And she met them. Definitely.

She just needed all this to be over, for him to be okay, and maybe for them to figure out what happened next.