Page 14 of Secret Baby for Dr. Grump

He shakes his head. “It was a stopover. I was attending a conference.”

We don’t mention the bar, aware that we’re talking about the same day—aware that we’ve deliberately kept those details of our personal lives a secret when we met. “I see.”

Luke spares me a glance, then focuses on the road. “How long have you been in Brooklyn?”

“Three months. Just settling in.”

Please don’t ask me who I’m with.

“I see. You left Connecticut for this job?”

“Yes.”

The awkward conversation drifts off into more silence, one that I don’t know how to break. So I don’t. Instead, I sneak peeks at him when I know he isn’t looking, an act that’s more instinctive than anything.

He drives relaxed, the lab coat gone and his long-sleeve dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. My mouth goes dry when his arms flex while navigating the steering wheel, a movement that brings back a memory of him flexing them when he was trying not to flatten me with his weight…of those hips flexing, too, as he thrust in and out of me?—

Stop.

Damn it. I need to get laid. This has to be the result of years of deprivation, right?

“So, uh…where do you live?” I blurt it out mostly to try not to ogle him, but I’m also curious.

“Upper Manhattan.”

Shit. “What? Then you would have been home already!”

He shrugs. “Brooklyn isn’t too far. It’s still the same state.”

“It’s late.”

“I’m not that tired.”

“There are bags under your eyes, Dr. Jennings.”

Then a flash of irritation flickers in his eyes, though I’m not sure if it’s because I’m being deliberately combative or because of what I call him. He spares me another glance, but this one isn’t as casual.

“Didn’t you accept the ride offer, Miss Davis?”

“Only because I had no choice.”

“I didn’t twist your arm if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I never implied that.”

“Then what are you implying?”

“Nothing.”

I sound frustrated, I know. I feel frustrated. We lapse into silence again, but the atmosphere has shifted into something unbearable.

It sends a warning in my head and a thrum in my bones, one that I block repeatedly as it becomes achingly familiar. I should shut up, but the silence crawls on my skin until I can no longer take it.

“I just mean that you shouldn’t go out of your way for me.” I grit my teeth. “You owe me nothing.”

“I’m not doing this specifically for you. I drive my friends when they need a lift, too.”

Shot down. “I see.”

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