“Your age doesn’t matter.”
“Exactly.” He smirks. “So, why are you making it matter?”
I walked right into that one.
“We’re at different phases of our lives. You’re in your residency. I’m a divorcée with baggage—”
“Everyone has baggage. It just looks different from person to person.” He leans back in his chair. “What are you afraid of? Getting to know someone new? Taking a chance? Stepping outside of the box for once? Finding yourself again?”
His words root deep into me and take hold. “I appreciate you trying . . . but we’ll never pull it off.”
“Yes, we could.”
“No one would ever believe it.”
“Quit letting them—whoever they are—put you in a mold, Blakely. Make your own damn mold. You might surprise yourself in the process.” His dimples deepen, and his eyes are as unwavering as his resolve.
“How do I know you aren’t some Ted Bundy in waiting?”
His laugh is throaty and rich and draws the stares of those around us. “I’m in the business of saving lives, not taking them.” He takes a sip of his beer. “Next excuse?”
“I’m . . .” I’m at a loss, and a small thrill of adrenaline shoots through me. This isn’t something I’d ever do, and yet, the idea of it is invigorating, almost freeing. I chew the inside of my cheek as I contemplate agreeing to Slade’s crazy scheme.
“What do you say?”
Say yes.
“It isn’t a crime for a younger man to think an older woman is attractive.”
I bite my bottom lip as the smile creeps around it.
He is drop-dead handsome.
“We go as friends. I help you out. No strings attached.”
The answer is yes.
“When’s the last time you threw caution to the wind? When’s the last time you did something unexpected no matter how small?” he asks.
It’s always yes.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I mutter.
“Saying what?”
“Fine. Yes. Okay.”
Blakely
Slade: Just making sure the number you gave me really is yours.
Me: Smartass.
Slade: Can you blame me?
Me: It’s me. I promise.
Slade: Sorry I had to bail from Metta’s.
Me: You had plans. No big deal.
Slade: You aren’t going to back out now, are you?
Me: No.
Slade: I know where you work. If you bail, I’ll just show up and cause an even bigger scene there, playing the doting boyfriend.
Me: You wouldn’t dare.
Slade: Something you should know about me is that I’m a little pushy.
Me: No shit.
Slade: But only for the greater good.
Me: Lucky me.
Slade: And when I say I’m going to do something, I do it. And I love to take dares.
Me: I thought you loved making lists.
Slade: Those too. I’ll touch base so we can get together.
Me: For?
Slade: Details.
Me: Details?
Slade: About our trip. If we’re going to play the part, we at least have to know something about each other.
Me. Yes. Right.
Slade: That didn’t sound convincing.
Me: Yay. Go team.
Slade: That’s more like it.
Me: Thanks again, Slade.
Slade: Just call me Ted Bundy for short.
Me: Funny. Very funny.
Slade
“ICU.”
“Amy Gannon, please,” I say as I lean back in my desk chair and stare out the window to my backyard.
“Nurse Gannon is out sick. This is Nancy Weaverman, I’m filling in for her today, may I help you with something?”
Fuck. A new nurse, but she could possibly be a temp nurse who doesn’t know Ivy’s story. I try to figure out how to play this with Gannon, the only one willing to break the rules and give me updates, not there today.
“Yes, this is Doctor Henderson needing to get an update on a patient. An Ivy Keller.”
The sound of fingernails clicking on a keyboard filter through the line, and I cross my fingers, hoping either she hasn’t been warned not to give me information or that she won’t read the notes deeper in the file. This can go either way.
“And what department are you with?”
“ER. I was on call when she came in. Her case has stuck with me, so I’m following up on her recovery.”
“It has to be hard being in the ER and never knowing how things end up,” she murmurs as her fingers continue to click over keys.
“That’s for sure.”
“You docs down there are a special kind of breed. Not everyone can handle what you guys see.”
“It takes some getting used to, that’s for sure.”
“It’s definitely refreshing to know you care about your patients enough to follow up on them.”
C’mon, Chatty Cathy. Just give me the update.
“Oh, here she is. Let’s see how you’re doing, Miss Ivy,” she murmurs to herself as she reads the computer. “I’m not seeing any change on her status in her chart. Looks to be the same.”
“Okay.” Shit. “Thanks.”
“And your name again?”
I end the call without answering, fisting the cell in my hand and bringing it up to my forehead while I will Ivy to get better.
That damn little girl stole my heart.
Blakely
“So, let’s talk about the state of your coochie?”
I level a glare at Kelsie, who is sitting perfectly content on my chaise lounge while I move around the family room, fluffing any and every pillow I find.
“I’d prefer if we didn’t.” I laugh.
“This is more than important. Did you shave it? Trim it? Or are you just full, screw-all-men beast mode down there?” she asks.
“Why do you care?”
“Because in fewer than twenty-four hours, you’re leaving on a five-day retreat with your fake boyfriend. The state of your bikini line tells me all I need to know about what you expect to get out of this trip.”
I stop mid-fluff and stare at her. “No. I haven’t shaved it.”
“Jungle bush.” She lifts her eyebrows. “That’ll definitely make a statement.”
I laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m disappointed in you because you don’t plan on getting any action.”
“I’ve known the guy a few days. What am I supposed to do? Jump into bed with him and have wild, crazy sex?”
“Yes.” She nods definitely. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do.”
“I don’t do one-night stands, Kels. That isn’t me.”
“Good thing the retreat is longer than one night.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Because five-night stands are way better. You can have first-time sex.
