“Listen,” he murmured sheepishly, letting his gaze briefly roam her surprisingly feminine room. “Just go back to sleep, and I’ll—”
“It’s okay,” her hoarse voice cut him off from the cocoon of her bed. “I wanted to get up anyway. We had a bad accident come in late last night,” she explained with another yawn. “I had to put in some extra time and came home late.”
“Shit,” Aidan said with a sigh. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“My alarm would have gone off in a few minutes,” she reassured him with mild amusement, throwing back the covers and blinking at him. “So what’s up?”
Apart from the fact that his eyes were drawn to her scantily clad form in bed? Nothing much.
He refrained from saying that out loud, however. “I was thinking of driving over to the hardware store,” he grumbled uninvitingly, “to get skirting boards for the new floor in your den, and I thought you might want to come along and pick out some wallpaper. But if you’re too tired for that, I can go on my own.”
She was silent for a moment and then fixed him with her green eyes, surprise blooming in them. “You want to lay the new floor for me? And do the walls?”
Aidan crossed his arms in front of his chest, trying to conceal his sudden insecurity. “That’s what I said I’d do,” he replied nervously
She looked at him thoughtfully, until she finally dragged herself out of bed. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
An hour later, they were standing in front of the wallpaper shelf, Aidan covertly studying Kayleigh as she studied the plethora of patterns. He probably should have helped her, or at least pretended to be interested in her choice of wallpaper, but he preferred to look at her face, so utterly relaxed and unselfconscious, and smelling lightly of almonds.
“What do you think? Floral or eggshell?”
Aidan tore himself away from studying the shape of her nose and looked at the two pattern samples she held in her hands. “Flowers on a wall?” he asked doubtfully.
“I like flowers.” She lifted her chin and looked at him sideways. “This would be a nice paper for the guest room, don’t you think?”
“Sure,” Aidan snorted derisively. “At least then you can be sure the number of male house guests dwindles substantially.”
“Ha,” she said triumphantly. “That wouldn’t be a bad idea, considering how Shane and Ryan mess up my place whenever they stay longer than a day or two.”
Aidan turned to her. “Am I to take that as a hint that I’ve begun to overstay my welcome?”
Outraged, she stared at him and then smacked him on the arm. “Since you’re such a baby, I should definitely pick the eggshell.”
“A baby?” Aidan echoed in mock grumpiness. “Me?”
Kayleigh nodded with finality, grabbed a roll of eggshell wallpaper, and lifted it off the shelf with a groan. “You ought to know by now that I like having you in my house, Aidan.”
He helped her with the heavy roll, hefting it from her arms into the cart, then looked down on the dark crown of her head and murmured, “Is that so?”
“Of course,” she said sincerely, guilelessly. “You’re the perfect roommate: you don’t just make a mean chili and know how to operate a washer, you also put up wallpaper. What more could a girl wish for?”
Aidan wanted to kick himself for feeling bitter disappointment at her words. What had he expected? He was no idiot; he knew Kayleigh Fitzpatrick would never be his girlfriend. He just wasn’t good enough for her. Worse yet, he’d seen the glances she’d thrown the blond cop, Shane’s partner.
Kayleigh might flirt with him, praise his nice butt, and open her door in her underwear, but that didn’t change the fact that a guy like him had nothing to offer a woman like her.
His voice took on an irritated tone. “If you prefer the flowers, by all means, get the floral wallpaper.”
“Jesus, no,” she protested. “I don’t want to plaster my walls with an abomination like that!”
“I thought you liked flowers,” he said roughly.
She answered with a roll of her eyes. “So what? I also like penises, but that doesn’t mean I intend to plaster my walls with pictures of them.”
Aidan squeezed his eyes shut automatically at the thought, almost choking on his shocked laughter. “God, Kayleigh! That image is going to haunt me till the end of my life.”
When she tried to reach for a second roll of wallpaper, he pushed her gently aside and lifted it from the shelf on his own.
He’d placed it in the cart and turned to grab a third when her curious voice said, “I have a question, if you don’t mind my boldness—”
“Since when do you ask for permission before you ask your bold questions?” he interrupted teasingly, taking a jar of wallpaper paste from the shelf.
“Haha!” She grabbed the handlebar of the shopping cart with both hands. “I always assumed the walls of prisons are covered in pictures of penises. And pictures of vaginas, of course. But since you’re so taken aback by the idea, I guess that isn’t really the case?”
The old man who was looking for paint right next to them lifted his head with a sudden jerk. Aidan’s shoulders sagged in resignation to the embarrassment, but Kayleigh only giggled at his stare.
Aidan sent a quick prayer to the Almighty, asking for patience, and then hastily pushed both her and the shopping cart into the adjacent aisle. “Thank you very much,” he hissed through his clenched teeth. “The old gentleman just wanted to buy paint, Kayleigh. He wasn’t looking to overhear a conversation about penises, vaginas, and prison walls.”
“At least that’ll give him something to talk about next time he meets with his senior club.” Her shrug showed she was unperturbed, and then she leaned closer to straighten the collar of Aidan’s jacket.
Suddenly his throat went dry, and all he could think of was her nimble fingers at his neck. She nodded, satisfied. “That’s better.”
“What is?” His chin hit his collarbone as he looked down, which led to her fingers brushing his cheekbone.
“Your collar,” she said, sounding a little hoarse, as if the sudden skin contact had given her a start.
Slowly, she took her fingers away and looked up at him.
Aidan stared into her eyes and felt his stomach flip and his breath get heavier. Kayleigh licked her lips with a hesitant, insecure look in her eyes, and then her gaze traveled down to his mouth.
God, this was worse than torture, solitary confinement, and prison food all together.
He felt his lips go dry and his fingertips tingle with the urge to touch her. He lowered his eyes and took a deep breath, thinking this was the perfect opportunity to kiss her. She seemed to be having similar thoughts, for there was a brief flicker in her eyes before her lids slid down and she leaned in.
“Three six, cashier four, please!”
The shrill voice from the speakers right above them made them both jump back with a jolt. They stepped back almost simultaneously, avoiding eye contact.
This only served to confirm Aidan’s growing conviction that some higher power was trying to screw him over. All he could do was keep his grim sense of humor. He took another deep breath, shook his head at himself, and cleared his throat.
“To the skirting boards?”
Instead of answering, Kayleigh merely nodded and silently followed him as he pushed the cart down the labyrinthine aisles of the giant hardware store. His pulse was racing, and his guts were churning with newly awakened lust. He tried to distract himself from the fact that he had been so close to kissing Kayleigh and tasting her alluring lips. With more deep breaths, he focused on finding the damned skirting boards.
“Aidan,” her hesitant voice piped up next to him, and he almost stumbled over his own feet.
He didn’t want to discuss what had just happened, so he simply mumbled, “Hmm?”
“Seriously, though. What was prison like?”
Though he’d wanted to be distracted from thinking about their almost kiss, this wasn’t a t
opic conducive to improving his mood, or anyone else’s, for that matter. He didn’t answer right away, but steered the cart towards the newly discovered skirting boards. He left the cart where it was and squatted to look at different types, fully aware of the fact that her inquisitive eyes were still on him. She was waiting for an answer.
He sighed and scratched his chin, turned his head and looked up at her, while she just cocked her head and studied him intently.
He rose and lifted his hands in resignation. “What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know.” She bit her lower lip. “Penis or vagina pictures?”
“Neither.”
“Oh.”
His gentle smile didn’t reach his eyes as he declared, “Most of the clichés about prison are inaccurate. The prison I was in wasn’t like that.”
“Which clichés do you mean?”
“You know.” He made a nervous gesture and turned toward the shelf again to pick up a piece of skirting board. “Prison gangs, stabbings with plastic spoons, corrupt guards, the whole thing about bending down to pick up the soap, and the unbridled drug dealing.”
He didn’t look at her now, but he could hear her soft voice. “So what was it like for you?”
Aidan shook his head. “I was probably quite lucky,” he confessed bitterly, “since I was placed in a wing that mostly housed guys convicted of white-collar crime. It was comparatively quiet in there. And most of the guards were okay.”
“Still,” she murmured as she stepped next to him to stare at some skirting boards, too. “Life in prison can’t have been all that rosy, can it?”
“It was godawful,” he admitted. “It was shitty enough to make sure I won’t be going back behind bars in this life.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she whispered and placed her hand on his back for all of two seconds. “I wouldn’t like to see my nephew’s uncle go back to jail.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll never do anything illegal ever again.”
She uttered a soft sigh. “I didn’t think you would.”
After a deep breath, he lowered his head and asked sharply, “Does it rile you that you slept with an ex-con?”
“Don’t be stupid,” she shot back, frowning grimly. “And don’t call yourself that, Aidan. I don’t like it.”
“You sound just like Thorne,” he said, surprised. “What is it with you women and the term ‘ex-con’?”
“Your sister and I just don’t want you bashing yourself, making yourself appear less than you are.” Kayleigh lifted her chin and assumed a righteous expression.
A warm feeling spread through his chest as the corners of his mouth curved upward. “Are you defending me against myself, Kayleigh Fitzpatrick?”
She shrugged pragmatically. “See it any way you want, Aidan. To me, it’s a simple equation: You screwed up, you were left holding the bag and got an inflated sentence, you served your time, and now you can start over. So why would you want to maintain that label?” She made a face and then added reluctantly, “And my brother isn’t completely innocent in your plight.”
Aidan shook his head fiercely. “No, Kayleigh. Your brother may have acted in morally questionable ways when it comes to my sister, but I went to jail for the shit I did—Shane didn’t do any of it.”
She gave him a pensive look and then murmured, “My brother is an idiot.”
He had to laugh. “That’s entirely possible, but as long as he makes Thorne happy, I don’t mind.”
***
“Mrs. Harper, you don’t have prostate cancer, do you understand me?”
“Then why this persistent lack of appetite? When my cousin had prostate cancer, he couldn’t eat a thing, either, Dr. Fitzpatrick.”
Kayleigh blinked and gazed down at the tiny woman in front of her, who wrung her hands and looked up at Kayleigh with an outright imploring expression. On top of her white curls, she was wearing a hat decorated with small teddy bears.
Kayleigh cleared her throat and shook her head. “Mrs. Harper, you cannot have prostate cancer. It’s impossible.”
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent sure,” Kayleigh confirmed, maintaining a respectful façade. “Women can’t contract prostate cancer, because they do not possess a prostate.”
“Oh.” The elderly lady seemed glad. She heaved a relieved sigh but then added with new concern, “And what about my brain tumor?”
“You don’t have a brain tumor, either,” Kayleigh said with all the patience she could muster.
“But I get a headache from time to time.”
Kayleigh knew what the old woman was talking about, because she herself felt an annoying throbbing springing up in her temples right then. “That is completely normal, Mrs. Harper. Everyone gets a headache sometimes.”
“But I saw this man on TV … He had a headache, went to the hospital, and then they had to cut open his head because he had a brain tumor. The doctor that was scheduled to perform the operation was stuck in traffic, and so an assistant took his place. But the assistant was lovesick, and he dropped the scalpel, and the patient ended up brain-dead.” Mrs. Harper pointed a finger at her own head and gave Kayleigh a desperate look. “I don’t want that to happen to me, Dr. Fitzpatrick! I don’t want an assistant surgeon, okay? And no lovesick doctor, either! Could you maybe get me Dr. Shepherd from Grey’s Anatomy? That’s one fabulous brain surgeon!”
Exhausted, Kayleigh rubbed her face. Mrs. Harper kept showing up, imagining a different affliction each week. She definitely watched too many hospital dramas and then diagnosed herself after each new episode. She’d had everything—from malaria to appendicitis, from the plague to polio—but at the moment, the TV shows seemed to be focusing on tumors. For three weeks now, Mrs. Harper had been coming back every few days with a different type of cancer, gleefully listing her imagined symptoms.
In the beginning, the weird old lady had been funny, but after she’d been kicked off her health insurance a while ago, her imaginary illnesses were starting to threaten her existence for real—the ER had to charge her for her repeated appearances and all the examinations she insisted they perform.
“Mrs. Harper, we’ve talked about this before, haven’t we? There is no Dr. Shepherd, and no Dr. House either, okay? Those are television series. And you are fine. You’re not ill.”
It was as if the elderly lady hadn’t even heard her. “Dr. Fitzpatrick, couldn’t you put me into that tube?”
“Tube?” Kayleigh lowered the medical file of her insistent patient and uttered a resigned sigh. “What tube?”
Mrs. Harper nodded enthusiastically. “That tube you stick people in to see their tumors.”
“An MRI?” Kayleigh rolled her eyes and pulled out a small stool so she could sit down opposite her patient, whose thin, short legs were dangling from the examination table. Slowly and deliberately, Kayleigh explained, “Mrs. Harper, do you remember when your son and I talked to you about not coming here so often? Your hospital bills are getting out of hand, I’m serious. An MRI would cost you several thousands of dollars, and it’s absolutely unnecessary. I don’t know any other woman your age who’s as healthy as you are.”
Her patient gave her a puzzled look and then wrinkled her nose. “You wouldn’t need to tell my son anything about it, Dr. Fitzpatrick,” she whispered conspiratorially.
“Mm.” Kayleigh made a noncommittal noise and rose with a friendly smile on her face. “I’ll check back with the nurse to see if we can schedule an appointment for an MRI then.”
“Thank you very much, Dr. Fitzpatrick!” Mrs. Harper beamed at her.
“Do you really want to do that?” the nurse asked as soon as they left the examination room together, Mrs. Harper waiting for their return.
“Of course not,” Kayleigh said and signed the file, which she then handed to the nurse. “Please call her son and check back with Dr. Hun from psychiatry. I want to consult him as soon as possible.”
“Okay.” The nurse nodded and disappeared.
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Kayleigh let her head fall back and rolled it slowly from side to side. She slouched back to the front desk and glanced at the check-in board with a yawn. The A/C wasn’t working, and the temperatures seemed to rise by the hour. All she wanted was to slip out of her scrubs and take a cool shower, but she had to stick around for three more hours before she could go home.
“Dr. Fitzpatrick?”
She turned her head and looked questioningly at Troy, the ER coordinator, who was on the phone and pointed to the waiting area with a lazy finger.
“Someone was asking for you,” he mouthed.
Kayleigh followed his gaze and discovered Aidan, whose impressive frame was tucked into one of the tiny plastic chairs and rose when she looked at him.
Seeing him was a nice change from her day so far, so she gave him a broad smile, thanked Troy, and walked over to the waiting area to greet Aidan, whose expression was gloomy.
“Hey! What has you visiting me at work?” she asked as she pulled him into the hallway, lest the entire waiting room overhear their conversation.
“Well …” He lifted a shoulder to shrug but immediately flinched.
Kayleigh frowned and switched into work mode. “Are you injured?”
“I’m an idiot,” he corrected with a lopsided smile. He scratched his forehead sheepishly. “Something stupid happened while I was working on the house. Maybe you could take a quick look?”
“Sure,” she replied, worried, and licked her lips.
“It’s nothing serious,” he promised. “I’m just mad at myself. So unnecessary.”
“Wait here, and let me see where we have an available room,” Kayleigh murmured, checking the adjacent examination rooms, which were all occupied.
Aidan read her expression correctly. “I can wait my turn,” he said hastily, “or come back later—”
“Nonsense,” she cut him off, grabbing his hand and pulling him straight into the room she’d left only a minute earlier. Mrs. Harper wouldn’t mind having company.
The old lady and her silly little hat lifted expectantly when Kayleigh entered the room with Aidan behind her. “Dr. Fitzpatrick, is that the doctor who will put me into the tube?” she asked excitedly.
More Than A Feeling (The Boston Five Series #3) Page 10
