“Got it, Coach. See you next time?” he said as he began moving away from the bed. I was surprised that a pang of disappointment hit me when he didn’t bring up the date again. I hadn’t planned to say yes or anything. Well, not yet, at least. But he didn’t know that. Damn me and my stupid rules.
“Yeah, next time.” I stood and quickly made my way to the back office, trying to hide my disappointment while fighting my irritation at myself for being disappointed. There was definitely something wrong with me.
Tossing his chart onto the desk with a little more force than needed, it skidded off the side and hit the floor. Shaking my head at my stupid antics, I bent to pick it up when my phone vibrated in my pocket. When I pulled it out, a smile slowly crept across my face when I saw who the text was from. Opening the message, I could see it was a long one, and my smile got bigger as I read it: So, I was thinking the Greek salad isn’t a good idea. Don’t want bad breath. Caesar might have the same effect, so maybe we can stick to Cobb, or even a chef salad. Oh wait, I know, how about a Waldorf salad? Those are all better options. So, if you have a hankering for any or all of the above salads … I’m your man ;-).
My disappointment fled and was replaced by that warm, tingly feeling again as I realized he had done exactly as I’d hoped he would. He kept the time he was here for his appointment strictly professional. I was still on the floor staring at my phone when Marla came in behind me.
“Your next patient is ready,” she grumbled at me. Marla really did need to get laid.
“Okay, be right there. Thanks,” I said, dismissing her as I replied to Jonathan’s text.
I’ll be sure to keep you in mind, should I have a “hankering” for some salad. ;-)
In a much better mood than I had been when I walked into my office, I strolled out ready to meet with my next patient for the afternoon.
Later that evening, via text, we discussed further salad options.
Jonathan: How about taco salad?
Me: Yum, salsa. But then there’s the whole breath thing to worry about.
Jonathan: True, but if we both eat it, we would be less offensive.
Me: You make a valid point.
Jonathan: I know, right. I’m putting Greek and Caesar back on the list then. We just need to make sure we both have it.
Me: Lol. Goodnight Jonathan.
Jonathan: Goodnight Leeann ;-)
The next day, I wasn’t scheduled to see him, but at lunchtime, I got another text.
Jonathan: Just so you know, I cheated. :-(
Me: Um, excuse me?
Jonathan: I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t resist. I was having lunch with my mom, and she couldn’t finish all of her salad so she offered it to me … and I ate it. Oh, I feel so dirty now! Will you ever forgive me? From now on, you’re my only salad girl. I promise.
Me: You’re a nut … you know that?
Jonathan: Does that mean you forgive me? I’d say I was on my knees, but you know I can’t do that right now. But I totally would if I could.
Me: I forgive you. Was it at least a good salad?
Jonathan: No, it was horrible. It tasted of guilt and left a sour taste in my mouth.
Me: Yep. You really are a nut. LOL
Jonathan: Why do you keep talking about nuts?
Me: Have a good day Jonathan.
Jonathan: Have a great day Leeann ;-)
I wasn’t going to touch the nuts comment with a ten-foot pole. I found myself glancing at my phone throughout the day, waiting for another message. Later that night I got what I’d been waiting for.
Jonathan: Buffalo chicken salad … Boom! That just happened. ;-)
Me: Lol. Oh, that one is my favorite. But not with blue cheese. I want it with ranch.
Jonathan: Duh!
Me: Good. So long as we’re clear on that part.
Jonathan: With tomatoes, cucumbers, a little shredded cheese on top. Some breadsticks on the side. Yum.
Me: Great, now I’m hungry. Thanks a lot.
Jonathan: You. Are. Welcome.
Me: Goodnight Jonathan.
Jonathan: See you tomorrow, Leeann.
I pulled in to the perfect parking spot with only a few minutes to spare. If Leeann was coming out for lunch, I’d be able to intercept her. Positioning myself against my front fender, I watched and waited. After ten minutes without any sign of her, I feared I’d missed her. Just as I was contemplating sending her a message, I spied her coming out of her building. Her long hair was down today, and she’d just slipped her sunglasses on when she glanced my way. Stopping dead in her tracks, she slid her sunglasses down her nose, looking over the top of them. It was cute, yet sexy¸ and it made me smile. Though she didn’t smile back like I hoped, she began making her way toward me. With my crutches propped in front of me, I watched her approach. As she got closer, I could see her expression was a mixture of disbelief and something that resembled … anger?
Glancing down at myself, I made sure I wasn’t standing on my bad leg. I wasn’t, so I had no idea why she’d be looking at me like that. When she got closer, she hissed, “What’s the matter with you? Don’t lean on that car like that!”
Confused—and a little shocked—as to why I was being scolded for leaning on my car, I stepped away. “Okay, why?”
She moved in close to the spot I’d just vacated, inspecting the fender for something before she answered. “Why? Because you don’t lean against a car like this wearing shorts like those. Aren’t there buttons on the back? They could scratch the paint.”
“There’s no buttons on my shorts, Leeann. I think I’d want to protect my paintjob a little more than you,” I admitted with a laugh. Her eyes widened, and she gave me that look of disbelief again.
“Shut the front door! This black beauty is yours?” she asked. The reverence in her voice almost made me jealous of my car. Almost. But it was a 1968 Chevy Camaro. In perfect condition, I might add. It was something to be revered. And the fact that she knew my car deserved that kind of respect made me want to know more about her. Maybe luring her into my car the other day wouldn’t have been so difficult after all.
“Yeah, she’s mine. Guess I don’t have to ask if you like her,” I said with amusement. She silently shook her head as she moved around the back of the car, examining it.
“Is it a ’68?” she asked as her hand reached out and gently traced the curve of the rear fender with a finger. I was impressed she knew the year. I didn’t want to insult her with the cliché that most girls wouldn’t know something like that, but curiosity got the best of me.
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
She smiled at me, taking her attention off the car for the first time since coming outside. “Ever see that movie, Better Off Dead, with John Cusack?”
I laughed, stunned.
“Only about a hundred times. My uncle loved that movie, and since I hung around him a lot …” I shrugged, not finishing the rest of my sentence. The memories that surfaced about Uncle Marc, and watching that movie, momentarily clogged my throat. They were good memories. Just like the car. It was a constant reminder, a comfort in some ways. It didn’t usually get to me, but her mention of the movie brought up the memories—ones I hadn’t thought of in a really long time.
Shaking off the melancholy, I watched Leeann as she fully circled my car. Occasionally, she’d gently touch it, almost marveling it. When she stopped next to me, she gave me a cheesy grin. “Your car is so hot.”
The sexy sound of her voice when she said those words erased any residual melancholy. I grinned. “Thanks.”
We stood in silence, smiling at each other. A passing car honked, breaking the spell between us. Leeann blinked and looked around, as if she’d forgotten where she was. “Well, I better get going. If I don’t get in line for lunch soon, I’ll be late for my first appointment of the afternoon.”
She winked and turned to leave. I cleared my throat. “Wait. I brought you something.”
Turning back to me, her face a mask of curio
sity, she softly asked, “You brought me something?”
Nodding, I moved to the passenger door and reached through the open window. Balancing my crutches away from the car in one hand, I pulled out a container and proudly handed it to her. Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion as she examined it like it was a bomb. I laughed. “Oh, come on, it’s only a to-go box. Just open it.”
After one more curious glance, she did. And I was rewarded heavily when her face lit up in surprise. You would’ve thought there was buried treasure in there.
“You brought me a salad?”
Grabbing the second container, I opened it and presented it to her. “Not just any salad.”
“A buffalo chicken salad …” we both said at the same time, laughing. Her smile was magnetic—I was being drawn in as she looked down at the food in my hand. I felt about ten feet tall for putting that smile on her face.
“This was so sweet, thank you.” Taking the second container, she looked around and asked, “Is there somewhere you’d like to sit and eat?”
“How about in my car?” I offered, opening the door for her.
Her eyes widened again. “You don’t mind me eating in your car?”
I shook my head. “I’m pretty sure you don’t eat like an animal, Leeann. I think my upholstery is safe.”
“I don’t know,” she joked, sliding onto the bench seat. “You’ve never seen me eat a buffalo chicken salad before. You got a tarp in that trunk?”
I closed the door and leaned into the open window. “Now I really can’t wait to see you eat that salad.”
Her sexy grin had me adjusting my shorts. Again. Maneuvering around the car with my crutches, I slipped them behind the front seat before balancing on my good leg so I could get in. I still had to move slowly with the bad knee, which bugged me since I didn’t want to keep Leeann waiting. Fortunately, she was completely understanding of my current condition. Pressing my good leg on the floor, I shifted my body so I could get my awkwardly angled leg into the car, too.
Once inside, I closed the door and looked to Leeann. She had already started eating, and I watched with a smile as she dug in. Not too many people made eating a salad look sexy, but Leeann did. I was pretty sure there wasn’t much she couldn’t make look sexy.
I could feel Jonathan watching me, but I didn’t want to look up. I couldn’t believe he’d brought me lunch. A salad. It had to be one of the sweetest things a guy had ever done for me. As pathetic as that sounded, it was pretty close to the truth, therefore earning him some serious brownie points. I was tempted to slide myself across the front seat and show him my appreciation. Thank God I had some degree self-control. And that he hadn’t brought me something cherry flavored. Indecent exposure outside my work was not on my bucket list. Then again, in a car like his, I might reconsider.
When he finally started eating his salad, I chanced a glance at him. Even while chewing a mouth full, he had a smirk on his face. I caught his sideward glimpse at me. Yeah, he knew I liked what he’d done.
Swallowing, I turned my body to face him and leaned back against the door panel. The window was open, and there was a light breeze blowing through it, moving my hair around my face. I was thankful for it since my skin suddenly felt overheated from the way he was looking at me—like he was hungry for more than food. My cheeks heated at the thought of more. Dropping my gaze to the salad in my lap, I tried to come up with something to talk about, but had trouble finding a topic. The only things we’d talked about were his knee … and salads. Holding back the giggle at how weird that was, but knowing both subjects were comfortable to talk about, I asked, “So, call me greedy, but I recall you mentioning something about breadsticks on the side.”
Jonathan’s smirk amplified as he set his salad container on the dashboard. Reaching forward, his arm brushed the bare skin of my lower leg for a moment as he retrieved a bag from the floorboard near my feet. His eyes remained on mine as he did this, and once again, I found myself blushing. When he pulled the bag upward, the skin to skin contact seemed to last longer. Or so it felt. I was hyperaware of him now as the light tickling of hair on his arm brushed the smooth skin of my leg. Goosebumps broke out across my leg and I felt a shiver work its way up my body.
I wasn’t sure if it was from the contact or from the look in his eyes. Sitting back against his seat, he opened the bag and the smell of fresh bread, mixed with garlic and butter filled the interior of the car. My mouth immediately watered. Oh, how I loved breadsticks.
Jonathan had yet to break eye contact with me. We stared at each other over the opened bag of garlicky, buttery goodness. The silence spoke volumes though. A few heartbeats passed before Jonathan cleared his throat. “So, you mentioned you were at my game. You a CSOC fan?”
Snorting a laugh, I said, “Well, when I got there, I was rooting for SDSU. But for some reason, when your team finally scored, I was rooting for them instead.” I glanced at him through my lashes as I pretended to pay attention to my salad.
“Oh really? You were rooting for my team ... very interesting.” His voice was a mixture of conceit and humor. I fought my smile and ignored him as I continued to eat. The tone of his voice told me he had more to say.
“So if you were to go to a CSOC against SDSU game today, who would you cheer for?” Jonathan asked before taking a hardy bite of his salad. Grabbing a breadstick, I pretended to ponder the answer to his question as I picked at it.
“I guess that depends,” I admitted.
“On …?”
“SDSU has some great teams. I fear committing an answer to that question without more specifics.” Satisfied my answer would antagonize his ego, I refocused on eating.
“Oh, good call. How ‘bout we stick with soccer. I hate to think of you hanging at other sporting events looking for injured athletes. Or worse, new salad guys.”
I laughed at the image that popped in my head. Athletes surrounding me while presenting different variations of salads. Jonathan had certainly taken eating salad to a whole new level for me. It would never be the same.
“Okay, sticking to soccer, you’d have to tell me if it was a regular season game or a playoff game.”
A crumpled up napkin bounced off the top of my head and fell into my lap. I laughed in shock. Looking from the napkin to him, I found he’d scooted closer to me and was leaning into my space, an intense look on his face. His voice was lower, a little demanding, though I could tell he was fighting a smirk. “Quit evading the question, Leeann. If I was on the field, playing against SDSU, in any type of game … who would you cheer for you?”
There was an intensity in his gaze that had me feeling cornered. Not in a bad way, but that way that made you want to turn your head and expose your throat, surrendering. I took a slow, deep breath, trying to calm myself from the vision of Jonathan anywhere near my neck. But being that close to him, I could smell him. There was a light hint of cologne, nothing overpowering, just sort of lingered in the air around him. I’d never smelled it before since I tended to only get close to the lower half of his body. Even with the smell of food in the car, I could pick up on it, like a beacon calling to me. It was intoxicating, and I wanted to shove my nose against the tan skin of his neck and inhale deeply. Whoa, calm down, Lee!
I swallowed the food in my mouth so I could answer his question. My voice sounded a little thick as I fought the visions. “You only asked which team I would cheer for. But if we’re being specific, and you were on the field?” I paused, my gaze dropping to his lips before quickly returning to his eyes as I answered, “You. I would totally cheer for you.”
His smile was that broad, all teeth, smile I remembered from his game. At this proximity, it was even sexier. The air around us grew thick with anticipation and the promise of something to come. I wasn’t sure if there were sparks flying or just electricity humming around us as we stared at each other. The atmosphere felt a lot more like a date than just lunch. Becoming suddenly self-conscious, I blinked before looking away from him, breaking the conne
ction.
I was certain Jonathan felt the shift as well, and he did his best to recover the light banter from only a few moments ago as he said, “Of course you’d be cheering for me. I mean, come on, who else brings you buffalo chicken salad and lets you eat in a car like this?”
I smiled. His words perfectly diffused the charge filling the space between us.
“Exactly!” I agreed, and we both set about finishing our lunch.
For much of the weekend and following week, Jonathan and I texted back and forth. Strangely our conversations revolved mostly around food. For the most part anyway. I almost wondered if he’d judge me and my apparent love of food, but clearly, he had no problem with it. I’d never been one of those girls who ate hesitantly around guys. Although, I’d admit, if there were a guy I might do that around, it would be Jonathan. But that was only because he watched me while I ate and never hid the fact he was doing it. Every time I caught him, he’d just smirk at me before filling his own mouth with food. It was kind of unsettling.
On Monday I stepped off the elevator to find him waiting for me. Together, we made our way to my favorite deli where he once again gestured for me to order before ordering himself the same. I found myself scrambling to pay for the meal since he’d fed me twice already. But I was completely unsuccessful when he puffed out that pouty lip of his. Apparently that lip was useful for more than licorice conning and bullying me into putting his brace on. I was beginning to wonder in what else that lip excelled.
Seriously, who the hell was I kidding? I started to think about those lips long before that pouty expression made an appearance. His smile alone brought my girly parts to attention. I might be putting that whole spontaneous human combustion myth to the test if those lips actually touched certain parts.
After eating, we made our way back to my work, where we again assumed the roles of medical professional and patient. Jonathan’s determination to rehab his injury correctly had him serious and focused from the minute he stepped into the office until the minute he left. So much so that he never discussed anything that would make another person believe we’d spent time together outside the office. It took away the worry and helped me focus, too. But as much as I appreciated that, I couldn’t help feeling a little rejected that he’d left without asking me out again. But then he would send me a text almost immediately, which had me smiling and sighing like a lovesick fool.
Assumptions Page 6
