Page 46 of Doctor Enemy

An interested look settles on Nate’s features. “Yeah? I’m pretty sure that your only new patient that week was Lori. You stayed overnight with her? Don’t answer that.” A shit-eating grin crosses his face. “I already know that you stayed a whole bunch of nights with her.”

“The gossip is a scourge on the hospital,” I say, taking a sip of my own IPA.

“I think it's just the right amount of gossip,” counters Nate. “How’s she doing, anyway?”

“Went home yesterday.”

“I heard that you drove her.”

“She didn’t want to get behind the wheel with a stranger, and her friend was working,” I say, trying to pass it off. I don’t normally keep quiet about the people that I sleep with, especially not to Nate. But the way that Lori reacted this morning… It seemed like she regretted going to bed with me.

I don’t want aregretpassed around the hospital water cooler.

Nate looks me over with a critical eye, like he’s trying to figure out exactly how much of that statement is true, and then he relents. “I guess that I wouldn’t either.”

The conversation finally slides off our relationships and onto other topics. “I can’t imagine getting flipped like that.”

“Put a man behind something that heavy, let it go fast, and you’re bound to have this happen. I’m always surprised that we don’t have more accidents like this showing up,” admits Nate. These weren't the circumstances of Lori's accident at all but I don't correct Nate and he continues. “I heard that they’ve got a slew of them right now out in Vegas. There’s some kind of a street racing thing that’s sprung up on the strip. They get drivers, passengers,andpeople hit on the sidewalk in there weekly.”

“Who told you that?”

“Costas.”

“How does Costas know what’s going on in the Vegas hospitals?” I ask.

Nate shrugs. “He’s got a friend that lives out there. An ER doctor, I think. We’re lucky that people don’t pull that sort of shit here in Seattle.”

“Excuse me,’ says a voice, from behind us. A finger taps against my shoulder. I turn around, the fabric of my less-than-starched button-down shirt wrinkling up in the process.

It’s a pretty blonde woman. Petite, in a low-cut shirt and a high-cut skirt, long legs, and pink painted nails. She slides her hand so it’s fully against my shoulder, brushing her thumb over it.

Bar crawler. That used to be my type.

It should still be my type.

There’s just not an ounce of interest blooming in me.

“Hey,” I say. “Something I can help you with?”

“I hope so,” says the woman. “I’m Crystal. My friend totally ditched me tonight, and I didn’t want to drink on my own. I was wondering if I could come over here with you?”

Nate has to try and hide his amused smirk behind his beer. It turns to something stunned when I say, “I was actually just getting ready to head out. But hey, my friend here? He would love the company. Especially if you don’t mind lending him an ear about his divorce.”

Divorced men are all the rage when it comes to bar crawlers. Crystal’s attention is instantly off me, and onto Nate, who’s looking at me all wide-eyed, like he can’t really figure out what it is I’ve just done.

“A divorce? That must be really hard on you,” says Crystal, sliding into my stool once I get up. She leans forward, purposefully crossing one arm under her breasts so that even more cleavage ends up on display. Her long eyelashes flutter at him. “What’syourname?”

“Nate,” he says, still sounding a bit gobsmacked. “You’re leaving?” He asks me.

“Spent a while waiting for you, already had my fill.” I take a step backward, away from them both, and give a sharp, almost sarcastic wave. “Have fun!”

Then I turn on my heel and make my escape, the whole time trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me for not being the least bit interested in a woman like Crystal.

In the end, the only thing that I can come up with is that I’ve still got a serious case of Lori on my mind.

Even though she turned me down this morning, it still feels like she’s clawed her way into the soft parts of my consciousness and made a home there. Nate’s going to bring this up later, there’s no doubt about it. He’s going to want to know why I passed on the hot babe.

And what am I going to tell him? That I’ve got it bad for Lori Lange? That I’ve got it bad for her—and she isn’t interested?

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