Pucked Off (Pucked #6)(48)

I point to the computer screen and give Bernadette a questioning look. She shrugs, and April makes flailing hand gestures. “I can take you at seven fifteen.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“At your house, or the clinic?”

“At the clinic. We close at eight, though, so it can only be forty-five minutes.” I want Bernadette to be here when he leaves, just to be safe. Lord knows I’m stupid around this man.

“Okay. That works. Yer a precious angel. I really owe ya, Poppy.” His voice becomes muffled. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m hanging up. No, ya does nae hafta do that.” His voice becomes clear again, the Scot thicker with his agitation. “I gotta go or they’re gonna kick me off the plane. I’ll see you tonight, Poppy. Thanks again.”

I listen to dead air, still processing the precious angel comment, before I finally hang up.

Bernadette and April are squeal-flapping.

“You’re worse than teenage girls at a boy band concert. You can’t act like that when he’s here.”

April huffs. “This one starts treating famous hockey players, and she’s suddenly Ms. Serious.”

“It’s one hockey player, and he’s asking me to treat him, not marry him.”

“Yet,” April says.

“I have another client, so I need to get ready.” I leave the two of them to go set up, trying not to squeal-flap myself.

The rest of the day moves in an anxious blur. I don’t want to fixate on Lance, but really, I have a lot of time to think about him and the fact that he’s scheduled all these appointments and insisted on seeing me today. I also try not to think about what it means that I’ve given up my evening plans so I can treat him. I’d like to say it’s because I’m nice, but I’m not so nice that I’d give up my evening for just any client.

I’m antsy by the time seven rolls around. Typically I’ll work a little longer on my clients, particularly if they’re regulars, but knowing that Lance is likely waiting out there makes me feel rushed. Still, I don’t want to short-change anyone, so it’s seven twenty by the time I finish up.

I slip out of my room and down the hall to wash my hands before I check reception for Lance. He’s sitting in the same chair as the last time, wearing a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved henley pushed up to his elbows. Its dark green hue makes his eyes and hair pop more than usual. He has bruises along his jaw, and his eye has a dark shadow under it. There’s a new, bigger fly bandage across his split eyebrow. He’s still gorgeous.

But that’s not the most shocking thing. Clutched in one hand is a bouquet of red flowers. Poppies, to be exact.

His eyes move over me. “Hey. Hi. I brought these as a thank you.” He stands and thrusts them at me.

God, there’s far too much fluttering in my stomach. Lance Romero brought me flowers. Because I managed to get him an appointment with me. It’s a little weird.

I take them, aware that everyone is staring at us. Someone snaps a picture to my right. “Um. Thanks?”

“They’re poppies.”

“I see that. They’re beautiful, although unnecessary.” I bring them to my nose.

“They have that water stuff in the bottom, so they won’t die before you get home.”

“That’s very thoughtful. They’re lovely.” Geez. My face must be the same color as the flowers.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and gives me a cheeky grin. “I didn’t get high when I sniffed them.”

I laugh. “I’m sure you tried really hard, though.”

“I did.” Silence follows while we look at each other, and no one says a thing.

“Sooo…you ready for me?”

It takes a second for me to realize he means the massage, not that he’s picking me up for some date.

“Al-almost,” I stutter. “I’m a few minutes behind. I’m just finishing up with my last client.”

“Oh. Okay.” He drops back into the chair. His knees start bouncing.

My client comes out and settles up with Bernadette. We rebook for three weeks from now, and I excuse myself to change the sheets, taking my flowers with me.

Of course, April catches me in the hall and follows me into my room, closing the door. “Where’d you get those?”

“Lance.”

“He brought you flowers?”

I’m assuming she doesn’t need an actual answer to that.

“Oh my God. He’s so into you. You know what this means, don’t you?”

“The marriage proposal is next?”

“I wonder if he’ll wear a kilt.”

I set the flowers on the chair in the corner, careful not to crush them. I know exactly what this means. I shouldn’t be treating him anymore. But I don’t say that. “He’s being nice. He’s not into me.”

“Bullshit.”

“Will you just help me? I don’t want to be here until midnight.”

She takes the corner of the sheet and pulls it over the opposite end, helping me dress the table.

“Seriously, Poppy. He’s into you.”

“Yeah, well, he’s already slept with someone I know. I don’t want to be an addition to his list of conquests. Plus he’s a client, so I can’t accept his marriage proposal.” I put the heating pad on the table, adjust the cradle, and force April out so I can get Lance.