Page 28 of Boyfriend of the Hour

“You did that fast,” I mumbled, half incoherent, when he stepped away. “Thank you.”

That won me another slight smile. Not a whole one, but just enough that a shadow of a dimple appeared in his left cheek.

The world really was a cruel place.

“I’m a surgeon,” he said plainly. “I guess that means I’m good with my hands.”

Another shiver traveled down my back as I stared at his obviously dexterous fingers. Good with his hands. Yeah, I’dbethe was.

For a second, I considered making a move. I had a whole arsenal of smiles that worked on all sorts of men—there had to be one that would work on him. I just hadn’t found it yet. Then I could trade riding the train to Belmont for riding Nathan Hunt,make him forget I was an idiot, and pretend this shitty day wasn’t going to happen.

But then I remembered the look on his face when I was sitting in front of him topless. The sheer horror in his eyes when he thought about touching me.

“Did you use protection?” he asked.

And just like that, any fantasy disappeared into a cloud of smoke with histhirdjab at my personal life.

“It can be difficult to remember if you are having sexual relations with someone under the influence of alcohol. You might want to get yourself tested soon, and then again in a few months if you think it’s necessary…”

I flared as he went on about safe sex procedures in that irritatinglynonjudgmental voice that somehow sounded more judgmental than anyone I had ever met.

“You know what? Screw you, man,” I cut in.

Hunt’s mouth shut in a firm line, and he didn’t respond, just remained frozen as I spun around and shoved my way out of his gorgeous building.

Outside, the clouds had been replaced by mockingly bright sunshine. People were smiling, birds were chirping, and I wanted to escape them all.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t gone more than a few steps down the busy sidewalk when I heard him call my name.

“Joni!”

I turned, annoyed already by the way my skin prickled with excitement. Why did just the sound of my name from this condescending fucker excite me more than the quarter of an orgasm I’d accomplished last night, even after I’d just told him off?

Hard to get?

Had to be.

“Forget something, asshole?” I called as he approached, still holding his shoulder bag. “Another choice bit of advice, perhaps? Would you like to comment on how well I floss? Or maybe remind me to wear sunscreen?”

Hunt shook his head, and the curls on top swayed back and forth. “No, I didn’t forget something. But you…I just wanted to say…”

He drifted off, and I waited for him to state the obvious. Tell me to be safer, make better choices, or avoid risky behavior like one-night stands and getting blackout drunk. Basically, change my whole life in the ways I knew I should, but couldn’t quite manage.

Nathan looked down at my Vans. “Don’t forget to buy a better pair of shoes. The Bronx is a long way to walk.”

He waited for my response.

And waited.

And waited.

It took a while to sink in. But was it—had he—had Nathan Hunt, impassive doctor and unsmiling know-it-all, cracked ajokeat my fucking expense? After all of that?

“Either you’re an egomaniac or completely oblivious,” I told him. “But either way, you’re not fucking funny.”

He frowned, then shoved a hand through his curls, making them stand up a little on one side. As if he realized what he was doing, he snatched his hand away. “I—what?”

“To be perfectly clear, I didn’t need your mansplaining in your office about my body or my job, and I sure as fuck don’t need it now about my shoes or sex life,” I told him. “You havenoright to pass judgment on someone you barely know just to get your jollies or whatever you think you’re doing. So, if I ever see you again—which I probably will because the universe is a cruel, cruel place—kindly pretend I don’t exist. For your sake and mine.”