Page 23 of Bad Blood

My name on her lips causes a momentary pause in my trying to solve who she is. I stare at her in confusion. “Yeah?”

“Sorry about my brother,” Liam says as he hops off the exam table and offers her the papers.

“It’s nice to meet you,” the woman says before taking the papers and passing them to Lauren. She shakes Liam’s hand and then directs her attention to me.

I can only nod because I’m tongue-tied, and my brain is blank. I didn’t see the charts in her arms until she extends a hand.

There’s no fucking way. Not that this woman doesn’t seem capable of being a doctor. She can’t be past early thirties with a face I’d describe as pensive, if not for how tired she looks and her scowl. I figured Dr. Fields would be older with her credentials.

I lean against the wall behind me, watching for a sign. Nothing changes in her demeanor. I rub the back of my neck, my eyes ping-ponging from Lauren to her and back. Lauren’s face is stoic, unreadable.

Give me a sign, Lauren. Come on. Is this another nurse? Lab assistant?

The woman takes the top chart, pushes the remaining pile out of her way, and opens it.

I instantly regret the vulgar thoughts I let play through my mind earlier. What is wrong with me?

Her eyes scan the page.

“Everything’s signed. What’s next?” Liam questions. His cool chuckle clashes with the panic flooding my veins.

The woman continues to examine his chart. Liam clears his throat, and the two of us glance toward him as Lauren offers him a small cup.

“We need a sample to evaluate for cancer cells, red and white blood cells, and microscopic infection. I can show you to the restroom.”

“I already did this at Dr. Gibbons’ office.” He holds up the cup to examine it.

“We need a fresh sample.” Lauren opens the door, and Liam follows her out. “We’ll be right back.”

And fuck me.

This has got to be Dr. Fields.

The Dr. Fields.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“You’re Dr. Fields?” I ask, needing confirmation as my hopes and dreams tumble around me. Maybe Bree’s right, and I’m no better than Garrett.

“You don’t miss much, do you?” She doesn’t take her eyes off the chart on the counter, but I note a slight upturn of the right side of her mouth. “Lauren mentioned you were pushy. It’s a virtue, you know.”

I’m lost.

No idea what she’s talking about.

I stare at the perfect curve of her lips and how they form over every syllable. Fantasize about them wrapping around my . . .

Her head snaps up, and our eyes meet.

Yeah, I’m a piece of shit.

Can she read minds?

Her brow scrunches.

Shit.

A smirk plays at the corner of her mouth. Like three seconds of eye contact was enough to read my innermost thoughts.

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