Where We Belong (A Touch of Fate #1)(17)

"Nope." I hear a chuckle and my eyes snap up at the sound of his voice. Tyson. "Only got my shoes, but lucky for me my shift is ending, so it's no big deal." He shrugs, setting the box down. "Are you okay?" he asks, scanning me for any injuries. His wandering eyes leave a path of tingles and I shift my feet nervously.

Jesus Christ. What the f*ck is wrong with me? He's back for all of five minutes, and my body is ready to completely forget the past five years and claim him anyway.

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going," he says at my continued silence. "It's been a really long night, and I was kind of in a hurry to get home." I nod at his words but don't respond. I can't seem to form any intelligible words, let alone sentences.

I blink rapidly several times, continuing to stare at the man in front of me. Dear God, he is sexy. Never in my life have hospital scrubs turned me on. Until now. The blue material is fitted across his chest. Not to the point that the top looks too small, but enough for me to get a good mental picture of what's underneath. And GOOD LORD those biceps are f*cking drool-worthy.

Okay, I need to get laid.

Tyson has his stethoscope hanging over one shoulder and his lab coat draped haphazardly across his arm. His scrub pants are hanging low on his hips, and what I wouldn't give to reach under his top and—

He clears his throat, snapping me out of my sex-driven thoughts. It appears that our run-in has rendered me catatonic. I must look like a complete idiot.

"Harley? I asked if you're okay." His eyes are dancing with amusement. Busted!

Wait, what is he doing here anyway?

"W-What are you doing here, Tyson?" I stammer, cocking my head to the side.

His eyes light up and the smile on his face makes it look as if he just won the lottery.

"I work here. This is where I'm doing my residency. What are you doing here? You hate the ER; it makes you nervous,” he states, furrowing his brow.

His perception causes a dull ache to take root in my stomach. I had forgotten how well he knows me. When I ran into Tyson a few nights ago and agreed to allow him the chance to regain our friendship, I hadn't planned on seeing him again so soon. I thought I'd have a little bit more time to come to terms with everything. And I certainly hadn't planned on having to work with him. So right now I'm feeling a little off-kilter.

I nod, feeling my lips curve into a smile. "I do...and it still does."

"Then why are you working here?" He shifts his feet and leans his shoulder against the wall.

"Well...I don't work here, work here...I mean I do work here—in the hospital—but not here in the ER...at least, not all the time, but sometimes—" He smiles as I fumble over my words. Shaking my head, I run a hand through my hair and take a cleansing breath. "I'm a float nurse. They pull me where they need me."

"That's great, Harley. So we might be seeing each other every once in a while." Great. This is just what I need—a daily dose of my biggest regret. Lucky me.

Looking down, Tyson chuckles, and I notice the puddle of tea that has now seeped around both of our shoes. "I see you're still a tea addict."

"That's an understatement," I reply, stepping out of the tea puddle.

"How are you ever going to make it through your day in the ER without your tea?" he asks, obviously amused.

"I'm not," I reply, giving him the most hopeless look I can manage. "I'm probably going to die."

He laughs and pushes off the wall. "Well, we can't have that now, can we?"

Silence descends and we both stand there, staring at one another, drinking each other in. We both seem to be taking a visual inventory, noting all of the changes that have taken place over the past five years, while simultaneously reveling in everything that has so perfectly stayed the same.

"Well...I’d better get going," he says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. "It's been a long night and I'm exhausted. I'll see you around, Harley."

"Yup, see ya around." With an awkward wave, he turns and walks away.



"UGHHH!" I GROAN, THROWING myself into a chair at the nurses’ station. "I just got here an hour ago and I'm already ready to go home." Logging into the computer, I click on my patient’s name and start charting.

Laura, a nurse about my age, is sitting to my left. Without breaking eye contact from her computer, she grins. "What happened? Did Mr. Wilcox try and woo you into submission?" she asks playfully.

I whip my head over to glare at her. She doesn't make eye contact, but I can see the shit-eating grin on her face. When she glances in my direction and sees my narrowed gaze, Laura throws her head back and laughs hysterically.

"You bitch!" I hiss playfully.

"I'm sorry!" she says while continuing to laugh. Reaching up, she puts a hand to her chest. "I really am sorry, I couldn't help myself. Mr. Wilcox is a frequent flier around here. He's felt all of us up at some point and it was your turn, girl."

"Felt up?" I scoff. "The man practically molested me! Look..." Turning around, I show her my butt. "You know what that is?"

"No," she answers, shaking her head vigorously, trying to catch her breath from laughing so hard. "But that's the funniest thing I've ever seen! You have an orange ass!"