“Let’s go.” Logan took Theresa by the hand and led her out.
Theresa still hadn’t fully processed what had happened—yet it was already over.
Once they were outside the foot spa, Logan pressed one hand to his arm, but blood was still seeping out.
“Logan, your arm… I’m taking you to the hospital right now!” Theresa said anxiously.
They hurried to grab a cab and went to the nearest hospital.
The doctor stopped the bleeding, and Logan took off his shirt.
Theresa watched from outside the curtain, uneasy.
His back was covered in scars—he must have been in fights more times than she could count.
She used to look down on him as some street punk, but just now he’d been—honestly—cool. Dominating. Fearless.
And his arm injury was serious. He’d taken that stab for her. Otherwise, she’d be the one lying there.
Quietly, Theresa slipped out and bought him a new shirt.
When she returned, the doctor had already finished treating him.
“Where’d you go?” Logan asked, looking up.
“Went out to buy you clothes. Yours were soaked through with blood.”
Theresa took the shirt out and helped him put it on herself.
Seeing him up close, she realized that although there were scars—marks left by years of trouble—his skin tone was surprisingly nice.
Not sun-bronzed, but fairly pale.
And his muscles… defined. Wasn’t this what people called the “built” type?
With clothes on, he didn’t look like much—he didn’t even seem big.
But once the shirt was off, he was solid.
“What are you looking at?” Logan asked. “Checking out my body?”
Theresa’s face flushed. “Who’s checking you out? Have some shame.”
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