Perfectly Adequate(10)
“Oh.” She grins. “I meant what he does in the on-call room.”
Rubbing the back of my neck, my gaze drops to my feet. “Well, I can’t vouch for that. You’ll have to get other references for that.”
“Did the underwear fit?”
I need to get out of here. The conversation has taken way too many sharp turns. My brain hurts from the whiplash. Why didn’t I stick with a simple, verbal “thank-you?”
Babysitting.
Dr. Warren’s inappropriate behavior in the on-call rooms.
The gifted underwear from a stranger I’ve known for all of two seconds.
Really—no words.
Yet, I gave her my phone number. And at the time, my only explanation was impulse … and my mom. I’m not ready to date. But I need to date. The commiserative looks from everyone around me chips away at my sense of self-worth. Yes, my wife left me. But those looks stopped months after it happened and have evolved into “poor thing can’t get over her” looks.
No thank you.
“Yes. They fit just fine.”
“Good.” She nods, a pleasant smile stealing her face for several seconds before it simmers into cork screwed lips. “You need my phone number. I mean. If you want me to babysit, you need my phone number. It’s not like I’m going to call you and tell you when you need a babysitter. Right?”
Why? Why the phone number? Do I really expect her to call me and ask me out? I would have paid top dollar for a shot of clarity and common sense while writing that damn thank-you.
She slips her phone out of her pocket and moves her thumbs along the screen. A second later, my phone vibrates. I glance at the text.
Hi, Dr. Hawkins. It’s me, Dorothy Mayhem. Now you have my number.
My grin grows exponentially. It feels good. Better than good … it feels pretty damn amazing as I glance up at her. “Thanks. I’ll add you to my contacts.”
“Cool. I’ll see you around.”
“Oh … Dorothy?”
She turns. “Yeah?”
“Is Dorothy your grandmother’s name?”
She wets her lips and rubs them together a few times while her brows pull toward her nose. Then her face relaxes, welcoming back that contagious smile. “No, silly. It’s my name.” And just like that, she heads up the stairs as I replay the train wreck in my head.
Cool. Julie never says cool. And she never calls me silly. She speaks to me on a need-to basis, scowling at me like a tumor protruding from her neck, giving her a perpetual frown.
CHAPTER FOUR
On-call Room
Dorothy
“Just the person I was looking for.”
I cringe at Dr. Warren’s deep, confident voice. “Hi.” I continue pushing Lizzie Williamson toward radiology.
“Do you have an answer for me?” he asks.
“No, but I have a few questions.”
“Such as?” He creeps up beside me so his arm brushes mine.
“Why dinner and not just the on-call room?”
He chokes on a laugh. “Um …”
“I asked Jana, Evie, and Kari where you took them for dinner. They said you don’t do dinner. Yet you specifically said dinner to me. And you don’t fit my list, other than good genes.”
“I’ll take good genes as a compliment.”
“Why? You didn’t have anything to do with it.”
He chortles. “This list … tell me more about it.”
I shrug, pressing the button at the elevator and smiling at Lizzie. “Traits. Qualifications. Minimum requirements. I don’t like getting into awkward situations.” The doors open, and I push Lizzie’s wheelchair onto it.
Dr. Warren gives her a curt smile as he follows me. He says nothing more until I drop Lizzie off for a CT scan. “What do you mean by awkward situations?” He corners me … literally in a corner outside of radiology.
He smells kinda good, kinda bad. Coffee good. Strong-hair-product bad.
“In the on-call room, you don’t have to say much … I imagine.” Heat rushes up my neck as I stare at his green scrub-clad chest. “But dinner requires conversation, which is not my specialty. So if you don’t have a lot of material planned in terms of conversation, then dinner could be awkward.”
I don’t have to look up to know he’s grinning. Dr. Warren bleeds confidence, and it drips all over me like sticky honey that I need to wash off. Wavy black hair. Dimples. It’s almost too much. “Would dinner be less awkward if our first date were in the on-call room?”
“That makes no sense.” I look to my right at the nurse headed our way. “That would give us one topic to discuss—sex. And if you don’t live up to the expectations, I’m not going to be able to pretend that you did. And I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I’m not great at lying.”
Warren barks a laugh. “Dorothy, I can guarantee that won’t be an issue on my part. As for you, I have no idea, but I’m willing to give it a go.”
My head jerks up to meet his mischievous, hazel eyes. “I’m very well-read on the subject. Probably more so than you.”
“Well-read?” Dr. Warren laughs more. He laughs at me.
It seems highly unlikely that I will join him for dinner or meet him in the on-call room. Although, the latter stands a better chance because I’m pretty competitive. And at this point, I want to show him I’m nothing to laugh at in bed.