Page 64 of Bloodlust

"There's no luck, remember?" I tease, grabbing hold of his arm as I lead him to the front door. "Only destiny."

He snorts. "Also bullshi—" He freezes when a mumbling, bearded bowling ball of man struts up to us and slaps my ass. Before I have time to swing my fist, Hayden pushes me to the side and leaps forward, clocking the greasy biker in the face. The man staggers backward before bulldozing toward Hayden with contempt burning in his irises. "You don't want to do that," Hayden says in a gritty, threatening tone. "Trust me."

"Fuck you!" the biker growls, charging at the doc. Hayden blocks the biker's punch, palming it in his hand. He grabs the bowling ball man’s forearm and twists it, knocking the man to his knees.

"Apologize," Hayden grunts, keeping the man in a lock. He glances at me quickly. "Now."

"S-Sorry," the biker grumbles, wincing from the pain. Hayden tightens his grip. "Fuck! I'm sorry, okay? Sorry!"

"Better," Hayden says, taking two unsteady steps backward. He looks around the bar, flapping his arms. "Goodnight everyone." He doesn't look at me as he swings the front door open and asks, "Are you okay?"

I blink, following after him. "I'm fine." We stop in the middle of the gravel driveway, and he pulls out a pack of cigarettes. "Did you just try and fight a biker?"

Hayden lights a smoke, taking a drag. "Wasn't much of a fight, was it?"

I blink up at him. "And you're smoking?" I tilt my head. "Who are you?"

Hayden scoffs, closing his eyes. "Could ask you the same question, Camilla. Who areyou?"

"You know who I am," I say, shivering as a gust of wind nips at my skin.

"Cold?" Hayden looks at me, scanning my face. He pops the smoke in his mouth and slips off his jacket. "Here." He takes a few steps toward me, draping it over my shoulders, his fingers grazing my skin for a millisecond. "Keep it."

"Thanks," I breathe out, watching him pace around. I've never seen him like this. It's unnerving. Unknown. I don't like mysteries, especially if I don't have clues to solve them. "Are you okay? Why were you drinking tonight?" I pause, hesitating before walking toward him. I place my hand on his arm and ask in a whisper, "Why did you call me?"

"Because…" he sighs, shaking his head as he looks up at the sky. "Maybe I wanted to talk to you." He takes a deep breath and slowly looks down at me, placing his hand over the tips of my fingers as our eyes connect. My breath hitches. "Or maybe—" he swallows, jaw clenching, "—I'm just drunk."

"Did something happen?" I ask in a low murmur.

He gives me a faint smile as he pulls away. "You're stealing my lines," he says, reaching for his cell phone. "I'm the therapist here."

"What are you doing?" I ask, watching him type on his phone.

"Calling an Uber."

"I can drive you," I reply, disappointed.

"It wouldn't be appropriate," he says. "It wouldn't be?—"

"Moral?" I offer, perking a brow. "Well, neither is drunk calling your patient, Doc."

"Mmm," Hayden hums, rubbing his chin in frustration. "I know." His phone pings. "Two minutes away." He looks at me, expression softening as I tighten his jacket around my body. "Why did you come here, Camilla?"

"Because you called me," I reply honestly.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, fingers tense and rigid. "You didn't have to come just because I called."

"I wanted to..." I trail off, my heartbeat quickening. "I was...worried."

"Yeah," he whispers. "I get worried too..."

"About me?" I ask, tempted to take a step closer to him.

He smiles at me, letting out a labored breath. "Go home, Camilla. You don't need to worry about me anymore tonight. I'm fine."

"I can wait with you," I say, not wanting to leave.

"No need," he says, nodding at my car. "It's late. Go get some sleep." I don't move. "Go home, MissBianco. Please."