The Playboy Doctor Swore Off Love, Then His Best Friend Claimed Him novel · Chapter 9 of 24

Chapter 9: Daylight

"You cut yourself on a bagel," Elias said.

"I did not cut myself on a bagel."

"There's blood on the bagel," Elias said.

"The bagel attacked me."

It was a bright cold Sunday, the fourteenth night.

The roof of the Duane Street building had been turned into a garden that nobody but Elias used.

There were wooden planters full of brown herbs, a long table, two wool blankets and a pot of coffee.

The view ran down the whole length of the river.

Damon sat on the bench with his left hand clamped in a napkin that was going red.

He had operated on trauma patients for six years and he had just taken the top of his thumb off with a bread knife.

"It's a flesh wound," he said. "Give me the napkin."

"Hold still."

Elias knelt in front of him on the stone with the first-aid box from the kitchen open on his knee.

He took the napkin away, looked at the cut, and held Damon's hand under the light.

It was not deep.

"Needs a butterfly," Elias said.

"I know what it needs. I'm a surgeon."

"Then you'll know to stop talking."

His hands were large and warm and very careful.

He cleaned the cut with an alcohol swab.

Damon watched the top of his bent blond head and thought about a remark he could make.

He did not make it.

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