Hotshot Doc
Page 31
“Well it’s nothing worse than what I did. Getting drunk, forcing you to put me to bed—I don’t think I’ve been that wasted since my college days.”
Somehow, I doubt he was that drunk even then.
“You told me about your ex-wife,” I admit in an effort to get everything out on the table as soon as possible.
He looks less than enthused. “Ah.”
“And you told me the hospital was going to give me a massive raise.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Strange. I don’t remember that part.”
Then, much the same way I led him to his car and into his house last night, he puts both of his hands on my shoulders and pushes me in the direction of his kitchen. I have no choice but to allow him to direct me to his table and deposit me in a chair. There’s already a freshly brewed pot of coffee waiting on the counter, and he pours me a heaping mug.
“Cream?” he asks.
“Please, and don’t scrimp.”
“Sugar?”
I arch a brow. “You’re not going to lecture me about how bad it is for my health?”
He smirks. “I’m off the clock.”
“Then yes, please. Just a little.”
Matt making that cup of coffee is arguably the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen a human do. It’s like when you see a hot dude holding a puppy. Alone, both things are adorable. Together, they’re unstoppable. I try to contain my enthusiasm though. There’s no need to drool on his wooden farmhouse table. I don’t have enough in my savings to replace it.
He brings me the mug and has me taste it.
“Good?” he asks, watching for my reaction.
His toned abs are less than a foot from my face. I shoot him a thumbs-up in lieu of speaking.
With a nod, he heads back to the fridge and starts plopping ingredients onto the counter: mushrooms, spinach, cheese, eggs.
This all seems so remarkably normal, which makes me feel even more uncomfortable. How is he carrying on as if this is any other Sunday morning? Suddenly, I’ve had enough. I can’t do it.
“What exactly are we doing here?” I ask. “Right now?”
“You’re drinking coffee and I’m making omelets.” He bends down to open a drawer in his fridge and I stare at his butt for two seconds before I realize what I’m doing and look away. “Do you want ham in yours?”
“Yes, of course—but that’s not the point. Could you please just stop moving for a second?” I shoot to my feet and fist my hands by my sides.
He finally gets the hint and turns to face me.
“You said things last night that you can’t take back,” I begin, trying to keep my voice as steady as possible. “You said your brother’s experiment might have worked. What did that mean?”
He heaves a deep sigh, like the subject seems daunting to him. “I think we should have this conversation after we’ve eaten.”
I resist the urge to stamp my foot. “No. I want to talk now. As I was putting you to bed, you said even more things! Maybe they were just drunken ramblings, but they seemed like more, like you were actually opening up to me.”
There. The truth is spilled across his kitchen floor, and I’m waiting for him to pick it up and discard it as he pleases. All he has to say is that he was drunk. Then we can shove all these weird feelings under a rug and get back to having a working relationship that’s tenuous at best.
He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “I remember everything I said.”
His gaze is heavy and intense.
I want to look away, but my next question is too important. “And do you regret any of it?”
There’s no hesitation, no backpedaling on his part. He just replies confidently, “No. In fact, I stand by all of it. What I admitted to you last night about how it made me jealous to see you arrive at the wedding with my brother—that was true.”
My eyes bug out of my head.
“Oh…”
I have no clue what to say in response. I had a laugh and a No worries, bud ready in my chamber. I was going to play it off right along with him. Yes, yes, what a strange night. Could you put my omelet in a to-go box please? Thank you. Bye!
He sighs and steps back up to the island, starting to crack eggs into a mixing bowl.
“Would you mind chopping the spinach?” he asks. “I need food before we continue.”
Who cares about spinach at a time like this?!
But, I do as I’m told, standing across from him at his kitchen island and helping him prepare breakfast. I sip my coffee and try to forget I’m still wearing a fancy cocktail dress and yesterday’s makeup. He doesn’t seem to mind, at least I don’t think he does. I catch him studying me as I top off my mug.
“What?” I swat aimlessly at my face.
He shakes his head with a secret little smile. “Nothing. C’mon, let’s eat.”
“Okay, but first…for the love of God, you have to put a shirt on.”
Chapter 17
MATT
I can’t believe how badly I’ve screwed things up. I think I’ve really terrified her. Bailey’s sitting on the very edge of her chair, taking small, quick bites of omelet. Her knees bounce under the table. Her mind is working overtime, which is understandable; a lot has happened in the last 24 hours.
I woke up yesterday and Bailey was still categorized as coworker in my mind.
By the end of the night she’d slipped into potential love interest.
I haven’t really come to terms with what that means, but we could figure it out together if she’d ever work up the courage to meet my eyes.
When I admitted that it made me jealous to see her arrive at the wedding with my brother, she looked terrified. Her reply said it all.
“Oh…”
Her face paled. Her eyes widened. I wanted to shout quickly, Oh, HA HA. Just kidding! like a fool.
Now, she pushes her food around, not really eating.
“Do you not like it?”
“Oh, no. I do!”
I watch as she takes a big bite and forces it down.
I don’t think it’s a good idea to continue discussing my feelings at the moment. She’s tired. There are bags under her eyes, and I feel bad that she’s still in her dress from last night. I offer her clothes to change into and she acts as if I’ve just proposed marriage.
“No! Oh my god. No. Thank you though…”
Right.
Then, let’s just sit here in silence.
After a few more tense, awkward minutes, we finish eating and I load the dishes. When I’m done, I turn to find Bailey standing at the threshold of the kitchen holding her purse and jacket. She’s ready to go.
“Would you mind taking me home? I can get an Uber, but I thought I’d ask just in case…”
I frown. “Of course. Yes. Let me just grab my shoes.”
I hate that I seem to be fumbling this. She doesn’t have to rush out, but it’s not really appropriate for me to ask her to stay either. It’s not that shocking that she’s ready to bolt when I consider the timeline of events from last night. She showed up to my cousin’s wedding as my brother’s date. I told her it made me jealous. Then I got rip-roaring drunk and rambled on and on about my depressing divorce and loneliness. She didn’t come to my house willingly. She had to attend to a drunken idiot. It’s no surprise she’s counting the minutes until she’s out of my presence.
I lead her outside and open the passenger-side door of my car for her. She thanks me and hurries to get out of the cold. I move to the driver’s side, but when I sit, my knees collide with the steering wheel. It’s like my car shrunk three sizes overnight.
Bailey stifles a laugh. “Oh yeah, sorry. I had to shift your seat up so I could reach the pedals.”
Her laughter eases the knot in my stomach and I’m reminded that this doesn’t have to be so bad. Sure, a part of me wants to turn to her at the first stop sign and speak candidly: Bailey, I find you attractive and I want to ask you out on a date.
Simple as that. Unfortunately, I don’t think she’d say yes.
I’m watching her out of the corner of my eye. She’s drumming her hands on her legs, ready to leap from the car at any moment.
Somehow, I doubt he was that drunk even then.
“You told me about your ex-wife,” I admit in an effort to get everything out on the table as soon as possible.
He looks less than enthused. “Ah.”
“And you told me the hospital was going to give me a massive raise.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Strange. I don’t remember that part.”
Then, much the same way I led him to his car and into his house last night, he puts both of his hands on my shoulders and pushes me in the direction of his kitchen. I have no choice but to allow him to direct me to his table and deposit me in a chair. There’s already a freshly brewed pot of coffee waiting on the counter, and he pours me a heaping mug.
“Cream?” he asks.
“Please, and don’t scrimp.”
“Sugar?”
I arch a brow. “You’re not going to lecture me about how bad it is for my health?”
He smirks. “I’m off the clock.”
“Then yes, please. Just a little.”
Matt making that cup of coffee is arguably the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen a human do. It’s like when you see a hot dude holding a puppy. Alone, both things are adorable. Together, they’re unstoppable. I try to contain my enthusiasm though. There’s no need to drool on his wooden farmhouse table. I don’t have enough in my savings to replace it.
He brings me the mug and has me taste it.
“Good?” he asks, watching for my reaction.
His toned abs are less than a foot from my face. I shoot him a thumbs-up in lieu of speaking.
With a nod, he heads back to the fridge and starts plopping ingredients onto the counter: mushrooms, spinach, cheese, eggs.
This all seems so remarkably normal, which makes me feel even more uncomfortable. How is he carrying on as if this is any other Sunday morning? Suddenly, I’ve had enough. I can’t do it.
“What exactly are we doing here?” I ask. “Right now?”
“You’re drinking coffee and I’m making omelets.” He bends down to open a drawer in his fridge and I stare at his butt for two seconds before I realize what I’m doing and look away. “Do you want ham in yours?”
“Yes, of course—but that’s not the point. Could you please just stop moving for a second?” I shoot to my feet and fist my hands by my sides.
He finally gets the hint and turns to face me.
“You said things last night that you can’t take back,” I begin, trying to keep my voice as steady as possible. “You said your brother’s experiment might have worked. What did that mean?”
He heaves a deep sigh, like the subject seems daunting to him. “I think we should have this conversation after we’ve eaten.”
I resist the urge to stamp my foot. “No. I want to talk now. As I was putting you to bed, you said even more things! Maybe they were just drunken ramblings, but they seemed like more, like you were actually opening up to me.”
There. The truth is spilled across his kitchen floor, and I’m waiting for him to pick it up and discard it as he pleases. All he has to say is that he was drunk. Then we can shove all these weird feelings under a rug and get back to having a working relationship that’s tenuous at best.
He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “I remember everything I said.”
His gaze is heavy and intense.
I want to look away, but my next question is too important. “And do you regret any of it?”
There’s no hesitation, no backpedaling on his part. He just replies confidently, “No. In fact, I stand by all of it. What I admitted to you last night about how it made me jealous to see you arrive at the wedding with my brother—that was true.”
My eyes bug out of my head.
“Oh…”
I have no clue what to say in response. I had a laugh and a No worries, bud ready in my chamber. I was going to play it off right along with him. Yes, yes, what a strange night. Could you put my omelet in a to-go box please? Thank you. Bye!
He sighs and steps back up to the island, starting to crack eggs into a mixing bowl.
“Would you mind chopping the spinach?” he asks. “I need food before we continue.”
Who cares about spinach at a time like this?!
But, I do as I’m told, standing across from him at his kitchen island and helping him prepare breakfast. I sip my coffee and try to forget I’m still wearing a fancy cocktail dress and yesterday’s makeup. He doesn’t seem to mind, at least I don’t think he does. I catch him studying me as I top off my mug.
“What?” I swat aimlessly at my face.
He shakes his head with a secret little smile. “Nothing. C’mon, let’s eat.”
“Okay, but first…for the love of God, you have to put a shirt on.”
Chapter 17
MATT
I can’t believe how badly I’ve screwed things up. I think I’ve really terrified her. Bailey’s sitting on the very edge of her chair, taking small, quick bites of omelet. Her knees bounce under the table. Her mind is working overtime, which is understandable; a lot has happened in the last 24 hours.
I woke up yesterday and Bailey was still categorized as coworker in my mind.
By the end of the night she’d slipped into potential love interest.
I haven’t really come to terms with what that means, but we could figure it out together if she’d ever work up the courage to meet my eyes.
When I admitted that it made me jealous to see her arrive at the wedding with my brother, she looked terrified. Her reply said it all.
“Oh…”
Her face paled. Her eyes widened. I wanted to shout quickly, Oh, HA HA. Just kidding! like a fool.
Now, she pushes her food around, not really eating.
“Do you not like it?”
“Oh, no. I do!”
I watch as she takes a big bite and forces it down.
I don’t think it’s a good idea to continue discussing my feelings at the moment. She’s tired. There are bags under her eyes, and I feel bad that she’s still in her dress from last night. I offer her clothes to change into and she acts as if I’ve just proposed marriage.
“No! Oh my god. No. Thank you though…”
Right.
Then, let’s just sit here in silence.
After a few more tense, awkward minutes, we finish eating and I load the dishes. When I’m done, I turn to find Bailey standing at the threshold of the kitchen holding her purse and jacket. She’s ready to go.
“Would you mind taking me home? I can get an Uber, but I thought I’d ask just in case…”
I frown. “Of course. Yes. Let me just grab my shoes.”
I hate that I seem to be fumbling this. She doesn’t have to rush out, but it’s not really appropriate for me to ask her to stay either. It’s not that shocking that she’s ready to bolt when I consider the timeline of events from last night. She showed up to my cousin’s wedding as my brother’s date. I told her it made me jealous. Then I got rip-roaring drunk and rambled on and on about my depressing divorce and loneliness. She didn’t come to my house willingly. She had to attend to a drunken idiot. It’s no surprise she’s counting the minutes until she’s out of my presence.
I lead her outside and open the passenger-side door of my car for her. She thanks me and hurries to get out of the cold. I move to the driver’s side, but when I sit, my knees collide with the steering wheel. It’s like my car shrunk three sizes overnight.
Bailey stifles a laugh. “Oh yeah, sorry. I had to shift your seat up so I could reach the pedals.”
Her laughter eases the knot in my stomach and I’m reminded that this doesn’t have to be so bad. Sure, a part of me wants to turn to her at the first stop sign and speak candidly: Bailey, I find you attractive and I want to ask you out on a date.
Simple as that. Unfortunately, I don’t think she’d say yes.
I’m watching her out of the corner of my eye. She’s drumming her hands on her legs, ready to leap from the car at any moment.
