by J. D. Dexter
“Yes, I would like that. Especially the part with real clothes and not here.”
“Great.” Sounding relieved, he hands me a card. “Here’s my info.” The card has the hospital’s logo, his personal phone number written on the back in a masculine scrawl.
Going over to my phone, I open the keypad, put his numbers in and hit the send button. I hear a faint buzzing coming from the area of his pants pockets.
“You might want to get that. Could be a hot date.” I give him a saucy wink.
He flashes his even white teeth in a full-out smile, a tiny dimple flirting with his left cheek. I have to quell my inner squeal. I love dimples on men.
He pulls out his phone, connects the call. “Hunter here.”
“Hot date calling,” I say into the phone, watching as his eyes heat.
We both hang up at the same time.
“I’ll send the discharge nurse in, so you can finally get home and back to some form of normal.”
“I would definitely like to get back to normal. I am also serious about wanting to go on a date with you.”
“Good. I am too.” He leans forward and kisses my cheek. I can smell his cologne and his shampoo. He smells delicious enough to nibble on. I hold myself back from nibbling, but I do lean in against him.
He pulls back, causing me to have to catch myself. Muted laughter fills the air as I get my feet back under me.
“You smell really good.” I tell him, barely restraining myself from burying my nose in his chest.
“That’s a relief; showers do wonderous things.” He sniffs delicately.
I throw my head back on a laugh. “Indeed, they do, but when you don’t have anything more than soap chips and hard water, it’s hard to smell better than antiseptic hospital. But thanks for letting me know that I need to use my own toiletries before our date.”
“I’m good if you want to wear a burlap sack and don’t shower for a week,” he says earnestly.
“I appreciate that, but I will definitely be showering and wearing more than burlap. It’s itchy.”
He laughs again and walks toward the door, signaling for the discharge nurse waiting outside the door.
Chapter Sixteen
Three days after returning back to my normal life and I feel a little…bored. I’ve never been an adrenaline junkie, and I certainly can’t afford to be one now, but my life feels…staid—almost stuck somehow. Whereas before I loved coming into work every day, helping people feel better, getting them back to healthy functioning, now I don’t find as much satisfaction in the same things.
I’m interrupted from my ruminations by the shrill notes of my ringtone. Hunter’s name flashes on the screen, and I scoop it up with a smile.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Captain Pain.” I laugh at his nickname for me. “I’m calling to set up our date.”
“Are you sure you can handle a date with Captain Pain?”
“Oh yeah. I don’t think she’s actually that into hurting people. I think she’s really a softy.” I can hear his smile through the phone.
“We’ll have to see about that.”
“Indeed, we do. Which is why I’m calling you. I would like to know if you have plans for this Friday night?”
“As it happens, I am free. What did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking about dinner and then going for a walk or a drive.” He sounds a little unsure.
“That sounds great.”
“Great.” I hear him heave a big sigh.
“Am I that intimidating?” I ask.
“No, you’re really not. I just want to make sure this goes well.”
“Relax, we’ve survived federal agents and assassinations. A date should be easy.”
He chuckles, “That’s true.”
“I’ll see you on Friday then. What kind of restaurant are you planning on taking me to? I need some idea for my outfit.”
“Well, what kind of food do you like?”
“As long as it doesn’t involve seafood, I’m good to go.”
“Allergy?” Dr. Jamison has invaded Hunter’s body.
“Nope. Just don’t like the taste or texture.”
“Okay. Let’s go for casual dining then, so we can be comfortable while we go for the walk or drive.”
“Sounds good to me. I’m really excited to see you again on Friday.” My cheeks are beginning to ache from smiling so wide. I bet a look like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Me too. I’ll swing by and pick you up, say around 7pm?”
“Sure. Do you have my address?”
“Will it creep you out if I tell you I remember it from your file?”
“A little, but not enough to stop me from going on a date with you.”
“Whew. Squeaked by with that one.” His exhale rushes over the receiver.
“All good. See you Friday at 7pm.”
“Bye, Finley.”
“Bye, Hunter.”
Friday comes faster than I thought it would. I’m more nervous than I thought I would be, especially considering what I’d told Hunter about us surviving federal agents and assassins together. I really want this to go well with Hunter for a couple of different reasons. One, I thought we had a great connection in the hospital and want to see how well it transfers over into our regular lives. And two, I haven’t been this excited about a man for a long time.
Since getting the call on Tuesday, I’ve been thinking about what I would wear practically the whole time I was with patients. I had tried on, and discarded, almost every conceivable outfit I owned. I had to lecture myself from going out and splurging on a new ensemble for a casual date.
“What the heck are you doing back there?” Josh’s muffled voice comes from the face rest cradle.
“What?” I come out of the fog of my mental closet, struggling to focus on the room around me.
“Exactly, that’s what I want to know. What is going on in that brain of yours? You’ve been on the same trigger point at least five minutes longer than you needed to be. I’ve never had to tell you when a trigger dissolves. What gives?”
“Sorry, sorry. I have a date with Hunter on Friday and I can’t decide what I want to wear,” I say sheepishly.
I’ve never been a girly girl, and I feel like I’m the awkward teenager from middle school who got asked out by the star football player. You know, if the star football player hadn’t been Josh.
“For the love, Fin. Where’s he taking you? And could you, please, for the love of all that’s holy, move your elbow? My whole hip is going numb,” he grouses at me.
I shake his muscle group and feel around for the next area of impingement. Finding the right spot, I readjust my stance and put my elbow in the next trigger point.
“Dang it.” Even with his face in the cradle, it’s loud in the small room. I snicker quietly.
“He’s taking me to someplace casual because we’re going for a walk or a drive after dinner.” I explain, shifting just a little bit to catch the rolling muscle tissue under the point of my elbow.
He lets out a slow breath, his chest slowly lowering closer to the table. I wait a beat for him to get more air, so he can help me with my clothing choice dilemma.
“You said Friday night?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, the weather is supposed to be nice, mid-sixties or high-fifties. So, if you wanted to wear jeans, that blue top with the thing,” his hand lifts to flit around his shoulder,” and some decent shoes, that would work.”
“You don’t think that blue top is too fancy?” I catch my lip between my teeth.
“Not with jeans and sandals. Put on a jacket or shirt thingy if you want.” Josh, never a male to worry about female fashions.
I laugh, “Shirt thingy?”
“You know what I mean. The jacket that’s more like a shirt with all of the buttons up the front, even though you never button the buttons.” He sounds exasperated—which is how he always sounds when discussing my clothing.
“Car
digan, Josh. It’s called a cardigan.”
“I don’t care what it’s called. You obviously know what I’m talking about, so stop giving me crap. I’m trying to help you, you know. I can just shut up and leave you to your mental meanderings.”
Even though I can’t see his face, his entire body is moving like he’s standing up and facing me. I keep waiting for his to tap two upraised fingers from each hand together and say hashtag blessed.
“I know. Your words just make me laugh. Thank you for your help.” I feel the trigger point finally let go and move on to the next one. His hips are all kinds of crazy today.
“I’ll see how your suggestion looks when I get home.”
“Stop over-thinking everything, Fin.” His hand in the air stops my quibbling. “Look, do you like the guy?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “A lot.”
“And from what I could tell at the hospital, he’s seriously into you. You have nothing to worry about. Wear what I told you, give your brain a break, and just enjoy meeting someone new.” His hands land on my shoulders as he leans in and kisses my forehead.
“I’ll try.” I reach up and kiss his cheek.
“Do more than try. He’s going to fall in love with you just like the rest of us,” he says softly.
“Hopefully not just like the rest of you.” A snort escapes.
“True, unless you’re trying to add another brother/best friend figure into your menagerie of men.”
“I’d like him to be more.”
“Then just be you. Nothing more, nothing less.” He turns to put his shoes back on. Shoes aren’t allowed on my table.
“Call me if anything goes wrong or you need help.” He raises his hand in farewell as the doorbell rings to signal the arrival of my next patient.
“Thanks, Josh.”
“Come on in, Sheryl. How’s the hip treating you today?”
“So, you have no brothers or sisters?” I ask him over chips and salsa at the Mexican restaurant.
“Not biological. I have one of each, step, from my parents’ new marriages though.”
“Where are you in age?”
“I’m the oldest, by about ten years.” He laughs at my raised eyebrows. “Mom married a guy who had a baby boy to raise after his wife died. And dad married a nice woman with a young daughter.”
“Do you have anything in common with them? Other than sharing a parent?” I ask, drinking some water to dilute the heat of the salsa.
“Not really. Kendra is just starting college, she wants to be a graphic designer. And Colton is finishing his last year of high school. He wants to ‘score chicks and let paid.’”
I almost blow water out of my nose.
“Really? Those are his life’s aspirations?” I’m a little horrified.
“Yup. I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten some poor girl pregnant yet.” He shakes his head, taking a drink of his beer.
“Yikes.”
“I know. What about you? Any cousins or shirt-tail relatives?”
“Nope, just me. Mom and Dad are both only children. Nonna and Pop passed away a couple of years ago now. And I don’t remember my dad’s parents at all.” I smile sadly, remembering how Mom’s parents passed within a couple of weeks of each other. Mom always said neither of them would last without the other.
“I’m sorry. That must have been rough, losing your last living relatives.”
“It was. Which is why I’m so fierce about my adopted family: the Hastings. Even crazy Aunt Cynthia.” Thinking about her reminds me I need to talk to the boys about her.
“For me too. I had no idea Aunt Cynthia, never-call-me-Cindy, even had a gun, let alone that she would shoot me.”
“Tell me how you adopted ‘your boys’ into your family,” he says as the food finally arrives.
“You want the long or the short version?” I ask, moving my salsa cup out of the way for the server.
“Whichever you want to tell.” He turns to the waiter, looks him in the eyes “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Oh man, now I just want to gobble him up. Manners, looks, height, and humor. Be still my beating heart.
“What?” He wipes at his face like he’s trying to get rid of stray salsa or chip dust.
“I really want to kiss you right now,” I tell him, looking straight into his eyes.
His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Not that I mind, because I’ve been thinking the same thing all night, but why right now?”
“Because you showed your gratitude to the server, even though our food is late,” I try to explain.
“And that makes you want to kiss me?” He looks confused now.
“Yup.” A quick nod.
“Okay.” He stares at me for a couple seconds, a slight smile on his face. “You’re a little weird, aren’t you?” he asks me, one eyebrow quirked.
“Yup.” I repeat with a smile.
“Good. I like you weird.” He takes a bite of his food, humming his appreciation for his selection.
“You were going to tell me about your boys before we got sidetracked into gratitude and kissing.” He thinks about it. “That sounded better in my head. Not nearly so pitiful.”
I chuckle. “I met Josh when we were both going into kindergarten. We bonded over Cat in the Hat and have been friends ever since. I got adopted into his family early in middle school, although he won over my mom and dad by fourth grade.”
“His cousins, Brian and Brent, joined our club when Josh and I were in sixth grade. Brian is a year younger than Josh and me, with Brent two years behind. Those three were as inseparable as the Three Musketeers. And they had a strict no-girls policy when they found out that Josh’s best friend Finley was, indeed, a girl. It took a while for me to grow on them, but I’m like a fungus. Tenacious and fast spreading.” I smirk at his snort.
“By the time high school rolled around, we were a solid team. Don’t get me wrong, they were, and still can be, a bunch of buttheads when they think I’m in danger or they’re vetting some guy,” I point at him with my fork, one eyebrow raised, “but they’re also some of the best, most honorable men I know.”
“I’m just glad I got the vetting over and done with in the hospital and you were mostly out of it,” he laughs.
“What do you mean?” I ask. I hadn’t noticed any of the posturing that usually accompanies such testosterone testing.
“I was cornered by all three of them, separately and together, about how they were looking out for you.” Absorbed with cutting through his burrito, he doesn’t notice my face.
“Really?” I’m surprised, and a little aggravated.
He must have heard something in my tone, because he looks up a little nervously. “I thought you knew.”
“No. I saw them say a couple of things to you, although I never heard any of what they said. But I never saw any cornering or skewering.” I sit back against the booth, “Those turds!”
“I thought you called them buttheads. A term I haven’t heard in quite a while, by the way. Finley, they were just looking out for you. I would have done the same in their shoes,” he explains.
“That doesn’t matter. I was unconscious most of my time in the hospital. How would they have even known how I felt, or you felt, for that matter? That’s awfully presumptuous of them.” I’m going to kill them when I see them next.
“Unconscious except for the assassin and the federal agents? You know? The small, insignificant matters.” He chuckles, cutting it short when he sees my face.
He takes a deep breath, seeming to steel himself for what he’s about to say. “Finley. They walked in on me talking to you.”
“Okay. You were my doctor, you’re supposed to talk to me.” Now I’m confused. Why would my boys care if he talked to me?
“You hadn’t woken up yet.” He looks up at me from under his brows. “They heard me talking to you; telling you things I had no business saying since you were my patient. Personal things.” His Adam’s Apple makes a short trip down his throat. “Not to m
ention you were coming out of anesthesia at the time.” He ducks his head like he’s embarrassed to have been caught, and now having to explain it to me.
“Oh,” I say quietly. What had he said that made the guys react like they did?
“Will you tell me what you said?” I ask him softly.
“Someday, maybe.” His answer is just as soft.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“Do you want to go for a walk or a drive?” We step out into the beautiful spring night. A spring breeze pulls at my hair. I’m glad I brought my cardigan, it’s a little bit chillier than I thought it would be.
I look down at our footwear. “You okay to just walk? Bradley Faire is fairly well-lit.” I gesture around us, the outdoor shopping center on full display under the lights. I tug my cardigan on, thankful that I brought it with me.
“Sure.” I feel like a teenager wanting to hold his hand, but not sure if it’s too soon.
His hand is warm and completely engulfs mine. I can feel some calluses along the bases of his fingers. He must do more than just hold surgery implements and pens all day to get those kinds of calluses.
We walk along the small pond that sits behind the mall. We don’t rush to fill the empty space with words. I’ve never felt this at ease with someone in my life. It wasn’t this easy even with the boys when I first met them. I feel like I’ve known Hunter my whole life and we’re just reacquainting ourselves after a long absence. It’s both peaceful and energizing.
“What do you do for fun?” he asks, breaking our silence after a couple of minutes.
“I’m a big reader. I get my nerd on as often as possible.”
“Get ‘your nerd on’…interesting.” It sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “What constitutes your nerd-dom?”
“Anything with a good story. My favorites are the ones with magic, vampires, angels and demons, werewolves, etc. Getting my master’s degrees involved hearing a lot of true horror stories, so I like to keep my fun time in the realms of paranormal and fantastical. A place where the good guys always win.”
