Nothing is really off-limits with Isaac. He is in constant diarrhea-mouth mode, and I’ve learned to love it. He has embarrassed the crap out of me more times than I want to remember, but he is a true original, and I’m lucky to call him my best friend. He’s the only friend I have left from those awkward middle-school years, and he knows me better than anyone else. But even he doesn’t know my darkest secret.
“Someone’s going to get castrated if they don’t stay out of my love life,” Shelby says, making Isaac and I jump. She may be only five foot two, but that doesn’t include her attitude. There’s not a ruler in the world that can measure that ’tude.
Isaac snarls. “Touchy, touchy, bitchy Barbie.”
“Come on, y’all. Focus,” Shelby says.
Every year around this time, a fresh crop of doctors converges on the university medical center to complete their training. Before they can get started with their rotations, they have to go through a wellness screening—body composition, cholesterol screen, immunization boosters, whatever they need. Shelby is in charge of this chaos, and the higher her stress level, the twangier her Southern accent gets, if that’s even possible. There will be so many “y’alls” and “sugars” today, I know I’m going to want to hurl.
Shelby taps her foot. “Nurse Darla, where’s your ID badge?”
Busted. I hate wearing that thing. I shudder thinking about my photo ID. It’s five years old and was taken during my short pixie-cut stage. I avoid wearing it as much as I avoid the “who’s the father” question.
“Fine. Just a sec.” I run back to my office to retrieve my purse. While Shelby continues her toe-tapping, I fish through my purse until I find the ID buried under a crumbled pile of Goldfish crackers, a bubble gum wrapper, and a sticky note reminding me to buy more Goldfish crackers. I peel off a gummy bear that dangles from the clip and eat it. Isaac looks as if he throws up in his mouth. I clip the badge to my blouse, but when Shelby’s not looking, I flip it over to hide the hideous picture.
“So, how many young docs have decided to come to Nashville for their residency this year?” I ask Shelby.
“One hundred and ninety-two little pricks.”
“Oooh, I love it when she talks dirty,” Isaac says as he bags up blood pressure cuffs and stethoscopes.
Shelby cocks an eyebrow. “Please help me get this stuff loaded on the carts, or we’ll be late, as usual.” She points her finger at him. “And you, mister, are not allowed to make any signs this time.”
He feigns shock. “Hurtful.”
“Last year, your stupid dyslexic brain had them going to the ‘ful’ station instead of ‘flu’ station. Not a good first impression.”
“Oopsies.”
God love him, but Isaac does tend to get his letters mixed up a lot. Even my first grader notices, so although Stella adores him, she has banished him from helping her with her homework.
We toss the bags onto push carts and head out of the fitness center toward the main hospital building. The best part of days like this is that I get some exercise walking across campus while I’m on the clock. The rest of the day is sure to be exhausting and completely boring.
“Zacc Kendrick,” Shelby quietly says, a grin spreading across her face.
“Huh?” I ask.
“The cute one this year is Zacc Kendrick. The name oozes hotness.”
“Oooh,” Isaac squeals. “I get first dibs.”
Nothing he says surprises me anymore. “I wouldn’t get in too much of a hurry. You know Shelby’s hotness indicator has been broken for quite some time.”
“Hey, y’all,” she says in protest.
“Yeah, y’all,” I reply.
“I know, y’all,” Isaac says.
“Come on, y’all,” Shelby says.
Oh no. She has said “y’all” three times already, and we haven’t even left the fitness center. God help us. Zacc Kendrick had better hide if he knows what’s good for him.
Shelby rushes around the room, moving tables and chairs to make stations for all the assessments we will be performing on the doctors. Isaac and I unpack all of our equipment, hoping we didn’t forget something. If we did, there will be hell to pay.
Shelby examines our setup, nodding her approval. “Okay, Isaac, you’re going to handle the body composition station. Try not to get touchy-feely with the docs. Got it?”
Isaac shows his back to Shelby and rolls his eyes. “Yes, Mother.”
I pat his back. I know he has a smart-ass comment waiting to spew, but he’s holding it in. Maybe he’s learning. I’m so proud of him.
“Darla, you will do the cholesterol screens and the antibody titers.”
I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and let out a satisfied sigh. I’ve been drawing blood for so long, I could do it in my sleep. I almost always hit the vein on the first stick. Even the CEO of the hospital has me draw his blood every year for his routine labs. The first time I drew his blood, I was so afraid I would mess up, I needed a liter of fluids afterward. So I figure if he relies on me, I must be pretty gentle. I take a fleeting glance at Isaac and Shelby and find them staring at me.
“Yeah,” Isaac replies. “Every time there’s a hunky doc around, you can’t stop your hands from shaking. You get so worked up.” He fans his face as though he has the vapors.
“I do not.”
“Whatever,” Shelby replies.
All right, maybe that part is true. I don’t make eye contact with good-looking guys for fear they will make me do things I only dream about. Been there, done that, got the baby. Besides, guys have been interested in me so infrequently over the last few years, and the ones that were ran as fast as they could when they realized I had a daughter.
Shelby and Isaac still stare at me.
“Okay, so I’m… shy?”
Isaac wiggles his eyebrows up and down. “Yeah, and I’m a virgin.”
Shelby laughs and holds up her hands defensively. “Not going there. You’re the wellness center nurse. I need you to do the yucky stuff.”
I whine as I take out syringes, alcohol wipes, labels, and my little Sharps container for disposing of used needles. I lay them all out in nice little piles. Tubes? Check. Labels? Check. Needles? Check. Yep, I’m ready to roll.
One by one, I draw two tubes of blood from each physician. I wrap labels around the tubes, and before I know it, I send doc-in-training number one hundred seventy on his way. My back is stiff from leaning over the table, drawing blood for three hours, and my cotton mouth needs a soft drink in the worst way.
“Shelby, I’ve got to take a break.”
She hustles over to me. “Sure thing, sugar, but can you do one more while I call to see where the backups are?”
She takes a quick gander over her shoulder before she leans down and stage-whispers. “I don’t know who this hottie is. He wasn’t on our list. Trust me, you’ll want to hang around for this one. Dr. Stud Muffin is in the house.” She waves her arms around in a “whoop whoop” motion as Isaac hands me a soda.
“Thanks.” I loosen the cap.
Shelby scampers away, and I reply to her back, “Let Dr. Cutie Patootie draw his own blood.” I take a swig from the bottle, and my eyes land on the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen. I would know those eyes anywhere.
The drink slides down my windpipe instead of my esophagus. I try to stifle a cough, which makes my face feel as if it’s on fire. I blow soda out of my nose and all over Isaac. He blinks the drink out of his eyes.
Oh crap. Oh holy crap. No. This. Can. Not. Be. Happening! My heart pounds in my ears. My larynx is so tight, I can only wheeze out a few faint breaths. I’m quickly becoming dehydrated from all the sweat that’s pouring off my face and dripping down my neck. I need a liter of anti-anxiety meds, stat.
Romeo cocks his head,
and a slight grin tips up one side of his mouth. “Juliet? Is that you?”
Shelby snaps her head toward me. Isaac wipes the soda off his face. My hands tremble like Isaac predicted they would. I fiddle with the tube labels, but my fumbling fingers send them sailing all over Isaac. When I lunge for the labels, my drink springs out of my hand, and a streak of soda flies across Hot Doc’s perfectly ironed white business shirt.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Instead of wiping the soda off his shirt, which is what I really want to do, I lean over to pick up the labels off the floor.
Isaac leans down. “Are you all right?” He helps me up, but I think Dr. Hotness has me by the other arm.
“I’m okay. Only being my usual klutzy self.” I have two choices. I can either pretend I don’t know him, which is what he deserves, or I can face the fact that my daughter’s father is right in front of me after all these years. I think a third option is more appealing—running away.
Shelby rushes over to me. “On second thought, go take your break now.” She flashes him a killer grin. “Sugar, can you go to the body comp table and come back to the blood draw station in a few minutes?”
He gives her a thumbs-up and grins at me before he leaves. He inspects his shirt and wags his head. Yep, running away is the best option.
Chapter Five
Theo
A bathroom door isn’t going to stand between me and the one woman I’ve thought about every day for the past seven years. That deep suntan has made her big brown eyes appear even browner. And she’s wearing shorts, so I got a great view of those sexy, curvy legs.
I ease open the door and listen. I don’t want to get smacked by a random female trying to do her business. Juliet leans over the sink and splashes water over her face. She mumbles something to herself. I can only make out random words, but most of it could be Pig Latin for all I know. I could stand here and stare at her for hours. I don’t know what it is about her, but the sight of her still does it for me. I could have waited until she came out, but I would rather have a few minutes alone with her after all this time, even if it’s a risky move.
Through her dark hair, which hides most of her face, she glances my way, not stopping her face washing or babbling. She tries to snatch some paper towels out of the dispenser, and they fly through the air, missing her shaking hands. “Are you lost?” she asks as she kneels down to pick up the mess on the floor.
I take her arm to help her stand.
“This is the women’s bathroom, you know,” she adds.
Whoa. Not what I expected. Maybe our time together didn’t mean very much to her. I thought we had something special. I wanted her real name, a real relationship. But she vanished after the fire, and no one I asked seemed to have a clue who she was. This little reunion is a shock to me too. I would like to know what she’s been doing all these years, but I get the feeling she doesn’t have the same curiosity.
“Yeah, well, we met in a bathroom, so I thought it was appropriate.” I cannot stop the Cheshire Cat grin from spreading across my face.
She stands there, focusing on the hand dryer, the sink, everywhere except my eyes. Cat’s got her tongue. I wish this cat did.
“Hello… Romeo.” Finally, she speaks.
I throw my head back and chuckle as I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. The edge of my shirt absorbs a puddle of water. “It’s you, after all this time.”
She throws the paper towels in the trash can, and her eyes flit around the room again. Sorry, girl. It’s only you and me.
It’s as if her hands can’t figure out what to do. I can help her with that. Eventually, she’s going to have to face me. She crosses her arms and huffs. I enjoy the scenery while she clenches and unclenches her fists. She is as beautiful as I remember. Not model, stop-and-stare beautiful, but purely, completely perfect-for-me beautiful. And she still wears that same uncertain “I’m not good enough” look on her face. But today, it’s coupled with a nasty nail-spitting stare. She waxes and wanes from seeming upset to acting as if she’s ready to smack me. Maybe I should take a step back in case she wants to make contact, and not the fun kind.
I remember how much her face lit up when she finally realized I really liked her and that I wasn’t playing her like some random hookup. We did hook up, but I was already gaga over her by that time. I remember later that night when she woke up in my arms, with one leg slung across mine, dangerously close to the fun zone. It’s something I’ll never forget. But here we are seven years later, and she seems scared again. Well, let’s see what I can do to get rid of that feeling for good.
“So, how long has it been?” She wears a painted-on smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
I’m trying to be nice here, but she’s not making it easy. “About seven years, give or take a few months and days.” Actually, it’s been seven years, one month, and sixteen days, not that I’m counting.
“Nice to see you,” she says.
She could have fooled me. I don’t have a long history of girlfriends, and I’m certainly not a master of body language, but I’m pretty good at knowing when I’m not wanted.
I take a step toward her anyway, knowing good and well that I might regret it. She steps back, bumping into the paper towel dispenser. I reach out to flip over her ID badge. She has conveniently clipped it on her shirt so her picture and name aren’t showing. She swats my hand away.
“Whaaa? I still can’t know your real name?”
She crinkles her forehead.
I lean against the counter again, and my entire face lights up. “It’s really good to see you.” Inside, I’m doing a happy dance and yelling, “Yes.” This isn’t the happy reunion I imagined we would have one day, but I can work with this.
“Well, I need to get back to work,” she whispers. She tries to push past me, but she’s not getting away that easily.
I put my hands on her shoulders. “Please.”
Her eyes flick to mine for a second before she looks away again. She doesn’t need to be afraid of me. It wasn’t my fault a fire interrupted the best night of my life.
I run my hands down her arms. “You can’t leave before I know your name.”
She stretches her lips into a tight line as she averts her eyes from me.
“I thought I’d lost you. You gotta at least give me a name. Preferably, a real name this time.”
A tear slides down her cheek. I’m not sure what happened. I hope to God I didn’t hurt her.
She shrugs my arms off her and wipes the tear away. “Are you kidding me?”
“Well, crap on a cracker!” a girl says from the bathroom doorway. “Uh, Darla, sorry to interrupt, but we need you out here.”
She pushes past me. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Ha!” I pump my fist into the air. “Your name is Darla.”
She grins at me. This one lights up her whole face. “Fine. My name is Darla. Are you happy now? Like you didn’t know already.”
I rub my scruffy bearded chin and saunter toward her until there are only centimeters between us. She sucks in a breath when I lean in to whisper in her ear, “But to make sure we’re clear, my name is not Dr. Hotness. Or was it Dr. Cutie Patootie? I can never keep it straight.”
Her face loses all expression. “Do you have bionic ears or something?”
And the Cheshire Cat shows itself again.
She race-walks out of the bathroom.
“You want to explain that?” the other girl asks as they scamper away.
“Later.”
While I pace in the hallway, I roll my shoulders, crack my knuckles, and anything else I can think of to calm my nerves. I can’t put it off any longer, so I get in line to have my blood drawn by none other than Juliet a.k.a. Darla. I don’t have time for a relationship right now. Hell, I am only weeks out from under Mallory’s strang
lehold; I don’t need to dive into anything else right now. I just need to take a breath and enjoy the view.
But I can’t figure out Darla’s attitude. Jeez. Southern belles sure have changed since I’ve been gone. In my mind, I keep repeating her words. “Like you don’t know.” Of course, I don’t know her name. If I did, our second encounter would have happened a long time ago. Maybe she has some special mind-reading skills from nursing school, something they didn’t let us doctors know about, because I’m completely clueless, as usual.
A tall, dark-skinned, perfect specimen of a man helps Darla with the blood samples. The way they chitchat with one another makes it obvious they spend a lot of time together. Okay, so this may be the reason she freaked out. Maybe this guy is her boyfriend, or fiancé, or even worse—husband. Gah.
“You want to tell me what happened?” he mumbles through a painted-on smile.
“Not now,” she replies in a hushed tone while she jerks her hair into a fast ponytail.
Finally, it’s my turn in the barrel to get my blood drawn. In a singsong voice, the dude says, “Dr. Hotness, coming up. I’m getting tingly.”
Okay, something tells me I don’t have to worry about this dude being her boyfriend or husband. I don’t even know him, and he cracks me up. I step up to the table and stare down at her. I hold out my paperwork, which she immediately snatches out of my grip.
She lasers in on the sticker with my name on it. “Well, hello, Romeo… I mean Dr. Theo Edwards. Have a seat.” Her tone is all professional as she focuses on her blood-drawing supplies and her neat little stacks of paper.
I sit across from her, trying to hold in how excited I am. “Juliet, a.k.a. Darla, how’s it going?”
Left Hanging Page 4
