Page 5

I held Logan’s hand while they drew blood. I gave him that cherry sucker and brought him three superhero stickers. And now, I’m sitting at the bar closest to the hospital drinking a glass of rosé much faster than I should.

I love this job, but it can be hard .

I guess I just need a little something after the day I’ve had. First was Cam coming onto me before he made me feel like a total idiot and then I had to watch little Logan as his brave facade slipped into tears. My own eyes fill as I think back to how scared he was. How scared his mother was.

It takes me back to my senior year of high school.

I take another sip of my wine and I try to forget, but I can’t. I’ve never been able to just forget.

I’m still so angry. I’m still so hurt. I’m still so sad.

I was seventeen, and now every little boy who walks into Lakeshore Pediatrics takes me back in time.

I had already been accepted to University of Illinois at Chicago, less than three hours from home and not too far from my aunt’s house. I’d chosen it because of its proximity to Fallon Ridge. I wanted to pave my way to my own future, and with Tristan signing on to attend college at the University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana, we’d only be a little over two hours apart.

But none of it mattered after I was plucked from everything I knew…after I was forced to leave.

After I graduated college, I still stayed away from the small town where I grew up. If my parents wanted to keep my little secret, well, I guess I made it easier for them.

I’m so lost in thought of the past that I don’t even pay any attention when the stool beside mine scrapes against the floor and someone slides into it. And maybe that’s why I gasp when I hear my name.

“Taylor,” the voice says, deep and rich and dark. “Making quick work of that rosé.” The bartender glances at Cam, who orders a glass of whiskey neat.

Neat.

Like he’s some eighty-year-old man instead of the thirty-six-year-old he is.

I roll my eyes as I glance over at him. “It’s outside office hours, Dr. Foster.”

“I realize that, nurse , but rosé? Really?”

“Rosé all day, sir.” I inject as much sarcasm into my cliché as I possibly can.

He chuckles. “I prefer whiskey.”

“Less risky?” I ask as I try to make a rhyme like I did with my drink of choice.

He shakes his head, and he turns toward me. When his eyes meet mine, they positively burn, branding me to the spot where I sit. “Makes me frisky.”

Oh.

Well then.

The bartender drops off his whiskey. Neat.

I draw in a deep breath. “But a twenty-five-year-old nurse has no shot with a much older, much wiser doctor, right?”

He lifts a shoulder as one side of his mouth lifts in a smile. “Maybe I jumped the gun with what I said earlier.” He lowers his voice and leans in toward me, and when his voice purrs hot against my ear, I nearly have a little orgasm right where I’m sitting. Does he know what he’s doing to me? Of course he does. He must. “I can’t pretend like I wasn’t hard as fuck watching you go above and beyond today, Taylor.”

“My name is Tessa,” I manage to retort.

He laughs, but it fades quickly as he tilts his head and studies me for a beat. “It’s been a long time since a woman could make me laugh. I like that about you.”

“That’s nice. I’m not so sure I like you.”

He drops the whiskey down his throat in one long gulp. My eyes move to his throat as I watch him swallow, and I don’t know that I’ve ever found a throat attractive before, but Cam’s is pretty freaking hot.

He slams his glass on the counter. “Then I’ve got you right where I want you.”

With those words, he stands, pulls out his wallet, drops a hundred dollar bill beside me, nods toward my glass to indicate that he’s covering it along with his drink and presumably whatever else I want, and then he saunters out of the bar without another word.

I wanted to talk to him about Logan, to ask what he thinks the real issue is, to get some reassurance…and instead, he left me with more questions. What the hell was his last line supposed to mean?

And why do I already know I’m going to lose sleep over it?

When I get home with the food I ordered to go, Sara is sitting solo at the table eating a sandwich.

“Where’s Shane?” I ask.

“Working late.” She rolls her eyes. “It seems like he’s always working late.”

“Maybe he’s saving up for a ring,” I counter as I slide across the table from her.

She laughs. “One can dream. What did you bring home?” She nods toward my bag of food.

“Quesadillas courtesy of Dr. Cameron Foster.”

“He treated you to dinner?” she asks.

I shake my head. “I ran into him at the bar where I had a quick glass of wine after the hospital visit, and he left a hundred dollar bill next to me, so I used it to pay for our drinks and my dinner plus a fat tip for the bartender.”

“ Our drinks? You were out drinking with Dr. Cameron Foster?” she practically shrieks.

I laugh. “It wasn’t like that. We didn’t go together. He showed up, said some things, and left.”

“Said some things?” she asks, and before I can respond, she adds, “How’d it go with Logan?”

“He was scared, but more of the needles than of the why.” I shrug. “We’ll know more soon.”

“I’ll send up a prayer that it’s an easy fix,” she says.

I press my lips together. “You and me both.”

“Now back to this said some things business.” She takes a bite of her sandwich. “What, exactly, did he say?”

“Nothing important. He teased me about drinking rosé and I told him I wasn’t sure I liked him.” I don’t know why, but I leave out the part about making him hard and how he said he’s got me where he wants me. Flirting with a colleague makes muddy waters, I guess, and since Sara is a colleague, too, it’s probably better to keep it to myself. If it turns into something, of course I’ll spill it to my bestie. But if it’s nothing, a little harmless flirting here and there, then I’ll just be embarrassed that I said anything at all.

“Do you?” she asks.

I shake my head as I pick up a triangle of my quesadilla. “Nope.”

She giggles and takes another bite of her sandwich.

I don’t like him. That’s true. But I also don’t hate him. He’s intriguing, and he’s a little mysterious, and he makes my pulse race in a way that nobody has in a long, long time.

So maybe I don’t like him, but maybe I don’t have to.

I’m starting to think maybe we can just have a little fun together. If it leads somewhere beyond that…well, then maybe I’ll start to like him.