Perfectly Adequate(23)

Her body remains stoic as her eyes shift from side to side, like she’s been caught on a hidden camera. “Well … then I wore the wrong outfit.” She refuses to look me in the eye.

“I think you look amazing.”

“Yes. But this is a playdate outfit. Maybe even one I’d wear to apply for a babysitter position. It’s fun, but wholesome. Practical and safe.”

I just want to spend one day in her head. Everything about her fascinates the hell out of me. The curiosity gives me such a high.

“Tell me about your flirting outfit.”

“Well …” She clears her throat, keeping her focus on the big hill leading out of my development. And of course … her cheeks are perfectly flushed as she talks to the wind. “Since Romeo was involved, I would have chosen my red dress with white stripes. It hits just below my knees, but it’s strapless. And I would have worn my blue cardigan with it and matching blue wedge sandals with straps that tie around my ankles. Flirty … but appropriate for young eyes.”

“And if Roman wouldn’t have been here tonight?” I stare at the side of her head, wondering if she’ll look at me again before driving home.

She narrows her eyes. “I would have taken off the cardigan after you invited me into your house.”

The picture she paints in my head does all kinds of wicked things to me. Why imagining her in a striped strapless dress has such a physical effect on me is a mystery. It’s not like she suggested showing up wearing nothing but high heels and a trench coat. Dorothy Mayhem possesses her own brand of seduction, and I’m completely entangled in every part of it.

“And in this scenario, would you have kissed me after I walked you to your car?”

She turns completely red. I feel certain even her toes hidden in those blue shoes have to be red. “You’re making fun of me.”

Her comment knocks me back a good ten steps, even if my body remains right next to her. Why would she say that?

“If you want me to watch Roman, just let me know. I need to go home now.”

“Why would you think I’m making fun of you?”

She slides into the driver’s seat. “Because it’s ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous?”

“You. Me. This! The doctor and the transporter. Dr. Elijah Hawkins and … me! My idol’s ex-husband. Dr. Hottie Hawkins. This is just … a joke. And I don’t think it’s funny.”

As my thoughts snag on Hottie Hawkins, she tries to shut her door, but I block it with my body.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa … no. Just … no.” I duck my head into her vehicle.

Her eyes nearly pop out of their sockets as her head presses firmly to the headrest, unable to avoid my face … my total invasion of her personal space. My lips … inches from hers. “If I don’t do this, I won’t be able to sleep, or think, or function at work tomorrow, or focus on anything but why I was too chicken to kiss you.”

“You’re going to—”

Yes. I kiss her. I kiss her because it’s all I can think about. She turns me into a child, much like Roman with his one-track mind when he wants something.

Dorothy doesn’t kiss me back. She doesn’t move at all. So I pull away and swallow my pride, standing tall so she can’t see my anguish as I run a frustrated hand through my hair and sigh, ready to bang my head on the top of her car. I’m out of practice with … everything. And it sucks. It makes me hate Julie that much more.

Julie took her time, sorting her feelings, slowly detaching from me without me knowing, planning her escape and new life. I feel like someone kicked me out of a moving vehicle—tattered, bruised, and lucky to be alive. But clearly I have no clue how to navigate after what felt like a near-death experience.

“I’m sorry, Dorothy. Please forget that happened.” I talk to the roof of her car like she talked to the wind. And there is little doubt that my face matches the red dress she described to me.

You’re an idiot, Elijah.

“Goodnight.” I make a one-eighty turn and cross the street, not looking in either direction as if I don’t care if a car hits me—because at the moment it would be a quick way to put myself out of my misery.





CHAPTER EIGHT





Kiss and Tell


“It must be Friday!” Mom greets me from her desk as I open the door to her office, holding her favorite salad.

“Favorite day of the week.”

She makes her way to meet me in front of her desk, taking the salad from my hands and planting a kiss on my cheek. “Emily’s funeral was yesterday. Did you go to the funeral?”

“You know the answer.” I take a seat as she shuffles back to her desk chair. With very few exceptions, I attend my patients’ funerals—if I can’t save them.

“No. I assume you did, but sometimes your schedule doesn’t allow it. So I didn’t know for sure. How’s Mary Ann doing?”

Mary Ann, Emily’s mom, lost her husband and daughter within six months of each other. I referred her to my mom when she asked if I had a recommendation for a psychiatrist. She also wanted me to keep my mom updated on Emily’s progress.

“I’m surprised you weren’t there.” I sip my coffee, focusing on the photo on her desk of Roman and me.