Perfect Distraction

by Allison Ashley

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Discover more Amara titles… Great and Precious Things

  Cowboy for Hire

  The Aussie Next Door

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Allison Ashley. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Rd

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  rights@entangledpublishing.com

  Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Erin Molta

  Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

  Cover photography by Photographee.eu and mevoo/Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-68281-551-9

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition March 2020

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  For the patients I’ve known, for the ones I will meet, and for the health care providers always fighting to save.

  Chapter One

  It all started with boobs in the coffee line.

  Lauren Taylor stared at the image populating the screen on her phone, and her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. With the image came a question.

  Emma: Is this OK to wear to work?

  Lauren typed her response. No.

  A second image appeared almost immediately. A close-up of her friend’s chest, barely contained within the black fabric of whatever shirt she’d changed into.

  Emma: What about this one?

  Lauren glanced up to make sure no one had come to stand behind her. The photo looked like something from the cover of Maxim and wasn’t something she wanted another customer to see her looking at. She held her phone close to her own chest as she replied, Definitely no.

  A minute passed with no response, and Lauren dropped her hand to her side. She leaned to the left and counted…three people ahead of her. Glancing at her watch, she tapped her foot, a rapid staccato on the tile floor. The door to her right opened with a gust of crisp autumn wind and several people filed in.

  She considered leaving, but she really wanted coffee. She closed her eyes and rehearsed the introduction in her head.

  Good morning. Today I’ll be discussing the management of toxicities associated with immunotherapy…

  Her phone dinged.

  She slid her thumb across the screen, and a new image materialized.

  So.

  Much.

  Cleavage.

  OMG Emma. No. Just…no.

  A deep chuckle sounded behind her. Lauren pressed her phone to her stomach, jerked her head around, and forgot all about Emma’s boobs.

  Standing behind her was quite possibly the most attractive man in Kansas City. No, the most attractive man in the United States. Maybe even the entire universe.

  He was tall, with thick brown hair tousled in that perfectly mussed way. High, defined cheekbones, full lips pressed together like he was trying not to smile, and the cutest little dimple right in the middle of his chin. Warm brown eyes darted from the phone in Lauren’s hand to her face for the briefest second, and then to the menu on the wall. He tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and cleared his throat, his eyes now fixed above her head.

  Lauren turned to face forward again, her cheeks warming. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a bird taking flight, and the nape of her neck tingled. Taking care to shield the screen with her upper body, she furiously tapped out another text.

  Lauren: I’m going to kill you. There’s a hot guy behind me at The Grind House and he saw me looking at your boobs on my phone. He probably thinks I’m some sex fanatic or exhibitionist.

  Emma: Hot guy, you say? Did he like what he saw? Tell him I’ll show him the real thing if he follows you to work.

  Lauren: Stop. You stop now.

  Finally, it was her turn, and she stepped up to find Tyler’s cheerful face behind the counter. His familiar presence soothed her frayed nerves.

  “Hey, Lauren! Quad Americano?”

  “Actually, just a regular coffee. Please.”

  Tyler frowned. “You’re not going soft on me, are you?”

  “It’s just for today, I promise. I’ve got a big presentation this morning and I’m plenty wired as it is.”

  “Okay, I’ll let it slide this once.”

  “Thanks, Ty.”

  As he took her credit card, Tyler leaned across the counter. Ducking his chin to his chest, he widened his eyes and whispered, “Did you know the guy standing behind you is exceptionally good-looking?”

  Lauren let out a nervous laugh and mirrored Tyler’s position. “I’m aware. And I’m sure he is, too.”

  Tyler swiped her card with a sigh, appearing unhappy that she wasn’t matching his level of excitement. The thing was, Lauren made a wide berth around guys like the one behind her. She learned a long time ago to stay away from extremely attractive men. Instead, she preferred cute ones. Adorable. Good-looking (regular variety, not the exceptional type). The kind who might be considered average to start with, but whose appeal grew as she got to know their personalities.

  The hot ones were heartbreakers.

  This, she knew from experience.

  She tucked her card back into her purse and picked up the empty cup Tyler set before her. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Good luck on your presentation,” Tyler called out as she walked away.

  She checked her watch again as she stepped up to the coffee bar. Son of a biscuit. She needed to hurry. Shoving her cup underneath the spout of the large silver dispenser labeled Medium Roast, she filled it to the brim, nearly spilling it in her haste to step sideways and grab a lid. She swiveled on her heel, but instead of dashing to the exit as planned, crashed face first into a hard, broad chest.

  The loose-fitting lid popped right off, and coffee splashed out of the cup, all over her hand and onto the shirt of the person she’d run in to. Instinctively she jumped back, as did the stranger, and she set the dripping cup onto the counter.

  “William Shatner,” she hissed in the same way a normal person might say dammit, and swiped several napkins to clean her hand. Thank God it didn’t feel like she’d been badly bu
rned, though her hand would no doubt be red for several hours. “I’m sorry—” she started, and looked up into a set of chocolate-brown eyes.

  Of course. It had to be the hot guy. His lips pressed into a tight line, but he didn’t seem angry. He leaned in to take a few napkins, and his chest passed in front of her face, along with a wonderful scent of cedar and soap.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said again.

  “It’s fine.” He pressed the napkins to his heather-gray T-shirt, but at this point there really wasn’t much to be done.

  Lauren wondered how firm the stomach underneath his ministrations was.

  Shrugging, he gave up and tossed the squares of paper in the trash. He pulled the sides of his navy hoodie to the front of his body and zipped it up to cover the wet portion of his shirt. “It’s the perfect start to this day.”

  An odd thing to say, but Lauren didn’t have time to ask what he meant by it.

  “And did you just curse with Captain Kirk?” he asked.

  She also didn’t have time to explain that right now. She resisted the urge to look up at him again and pretended not to hear, wrapping a napkin around her half-empty cup. “I hope your day gets better. I have to go, but again, I’m sorry.”

  She ignored the ding of an incoming text message and rushed out of the shop.

  …

  Two hours later, Lauren exited the elevator on the fourth floor of the Coleman Cancer Center. The sixth-floor conference room had been packed with physicians and residents, and now that the stressful part of her day was over, she could relax.

  And think about other things…like the guy from the coffee shop.

  It was a good thing muscle memory took her to the leukemia and lymphoma clinic, because her mind was definitely elsewhere when she entered the room where she’d spent the last several weeks.

  “How’d it go?”

  Lauren looked up to find Kiara looking at her expectantly. Kiara wore her usual dark blue scrubs, which made the white name badge stating she was the Nurse Team Lead even more distinct.

  Lauren blinked. “It went great.” She dropped into her usual chair and leaned back with a sigh. “Dr. Hawthorne stopped me afterward and told me how well he thought I did.”

  Kiara swiveled in her chair, her braided black hair swinging with the movement. “I knew you’d rock it.”

  Lauren smiled at the young woman who had become a close friend. “Emma here yet?”

  As if on cue, the physician assistant waltzed through the door. “I am now.”

  Lauren directed her attention to the barely five-foot tall beauty, who sat down beside her with a grace Lauren herself would never possess. “Well, let’s see what you went with. Coat off.”

  Emma raised an eyebrow and shrugged out of her white coat, her silky black hair sliding across her shoulders. “I don’t know why it matters, I’ll be wearing my coat when I go into patient rooms,” she grumbled.

  Lauren was pleased to find Emma had chosen a modest blouse that covered her newly enhanced chest. For the most part. “See? That’s lovely and perfectly appropriate for work.”

  “What’s happening here?” Kiara asked.

  “Lauren’s a prude,” Emma said.

  Kiara’s expression went flat. “What else is new?”

  “Excuse me,” Lauren protested. “You can put those things on display all you want, on your own time. But at work? Gotta keep it professional. You don’t want Mr. Jones to have a stroke when you examine him today, do you? I’m only thinking of your patients.”

  “I know. You’re right. I just got excited. Today’s the first day I didn’t have to wear that restrictive support bra. It’s been weeks since I had my surgery, and I haven’t been able to enjoy them.”

  “They look great. You definitely made the breast choice,” Lauren said, careful to keep a straight face.

  Kiara burst into laughter, and Emma dropped her forehead to the desk with a groan.

  Lauren cracked a tiny grin. “Come on, I’ve been dying to bust out the boob jokes.”

  Emma’s shoulders shook. “Holy shit. Stop it.”

  “Eh? Bust? That was a good one, wasn’t tit?”

  The three of them dissolved into giggles.

  “Why don’t we go to happy hour after work?” Kiara suggested after she’d caught her breath. “We’ll celebrate Emma’s boobs and Lauren killing her presentation today, bringing her one step closer to being our permanent clinical pharmacist.”

  “I’m in,” Emma said, wiping a tear from her cheek.

  “Me too,” Lauren said.

  “Excellent.” Kiara turned back to her computer and straightened her back—her cue that social time was over. “Okay, time to work. Lauren, Dr. Patel’s already in the room with a new lymphoma patient. You’re still on that rotation, right?”

  “Yep, today’s the last day.” As a resident, Lauren was required to rotate through the various clinics to gain experience in all areas. She’d become close with Kiara, Emma, and Dr. Patel over the past two months, and part of her hated to move on. Luckily, her next clinical rotation shared the same office space, and she’d still see them most days. “Tomorrow I start multiple myeloma.”

  “Dr. Patel will want you to do a chemo education for the new guy,” Kiara said. “We’re going to use you every second we can. I guarantee tomorrow morning when Dr. Patel realizes she doesn’t have a pharmacist anymore, she’s gonna march to Dr. Hawthorne’s office and demand he hire one.”

  Lauren shook her head. “Not yet! You have to wait until I’m done. You handled the clinic without a pharmacist before I came along, you can do it again. It’s only until next summer.”

  “You want us to suffer for eight months just so you can have a job waiting?”

  “Yes.”

  Kiara pursed her lips. “Fine. Emma, Mr. Jones is waiting in room twelve.”

  “Got it.” Emma looked around. “Where’s my stethoscope?”

  Lauren pointed to the apparatus, resting on the counter beside Emma’s computer.

  “Thanks.”

  Lauren logged into the computer system and pulled up the chart of the nine o’clock patient, Andrew Bishop. Her heart sank when she saw his age. Twenty-six. It was sad for anyone to get cancer, but it was particularly hard to see the young ones. This guy was a year younger than her.

  Newly diagnosed Hodgkin lymphoma, stage IIB. Her frown lightened. High cure rate. She knew right away what chemotherapy regimen he would need and printed out patient education leaflets for each of the medications.

  A few minutes later Dr. Patel entered the room. “Can you get me the images from the PET-CT done at St. John’s? I have the report, but I want to look at it myself. I want blood work today, return in two weeks,” she said to Kiara, then turned to Lauren. “Mr. Bishop needs ABVD, start with four cycles and then a repeat scan. Could you talk to him?”

  Lauren stood. “Of course.”

  “Just to warn you, it’s crowded in there.”

  “No problem.” Lauren scanned the appointment board for the room assignment, grabbed her papers, and went to number eleven. She knocked twice and entered.

  Dr. Patel was right. It was crowded. Lauren counted five people, four women and one man, who must be the patient. The exam rooms weren’t large, containing an exam table, a sink, three chairs, and a stool on wheels. Two women were on their feet in the corner, and the other two sat along with—

  The guy from the coffee shop.

  The impossibly sexy, brown-haired, tall one who had seen her ogling a photo of Emma’s breasts and then had coffee spilled all over his shirt. He still wore said shirt, with his navy hoodie zipped up over the stain.

  Lauren blinked.

  “Hi.”

  The sound of his deep, rich voice jolted Lauren out of her trance. She cleared her throat, thankful that she’d said these words dozens of times b
efore. “Um, hi, I’m Lauren. The pharmacy resident who works with Dr. Patel. I’m here to tell you more about the chemotherapy you’ll be receiving. You must be Andrew?” She held out her hand, like she always did. Her fingers trembled slightly, which they always did not.

  He gripped her hand in his large warm one. “That’s me.” Thankfully, he didn’t bring up their early morning encounter. He released her and patted the arm of the woman sitting next to him. “This is my mom, Susan.” He gestured to the younger women gathered nearby. “My sister Jeni. And my other sisters, Rhonda and Valerie. They insisted it was necessary they all be here. All four of them.” His tone was irritated, but the soft expression on his face as he eyed the women showed a fondness for each of them.

  “That’s great.” Lauren sat on the stool and centered herself between the half circle of people looking at her. “It’s important to have a strong support system.”

  Andrew’s mom sniffled. “And support him we will,” she said in a shaky voice.

  “Mom.”

  “Don’t ‘mom’ me, Andrew Nathan Bishop. I’ll be here every step of the way whether you like it or not.”

  “I can guarantee you I will not.”

  “Son, may I remind you that—”

  The sister sitting down, Jeni, leaned forward and said loudly, “You should probably get started. Once they get going, they can carry on for hours.” She grinned wryly and pushed thick-framed tortoise-shell glasses up her nose. Appearing the youngest of the sisters, she had a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and bore a strong resemblance to her brother.

  Andrew and his mother went silent and directed identical glares in the girl’s direction.

  “Jeni’s right,” one of the standing women said. This one sported a short bob of blond hair and her T-shirt announced she was a proud member of the George Washington PTA. “Let the lady talk.”

  Lauren wasn’t sure how to react. She gauged her level of enthusiasm based on the demeanor of the family…some liked to joke and even laugh during their visit, while others were somber and kept it strictly down to business. The people in this room exuded the full spectrum. Andrew and Jeni seemed the least concerned and the most relaxed, and Andrew’s mother and the sister wearing the PTA shirt looked on the verge of a breakdown.