Page 50 of Doctor Enemy

“Real food, as opposed to?”

“Whatever you want to call the cafeteria selection, and the insane amount of Hot Pockets in my freezer,” Lori answers.

The fact that she’s joking with me has got to be a good sign, right?

Plus, I can’t bring myself to skip on the opportunity that’s just been given to me. “You know, if you’re in dire need of a reminder that there’s real, decent food out there, you could let me take you out to dinner.”

Lori’s eyes go wide. “What?”

“I know that last time might have been, uh, too soon?” I suggest, with a little wince. Stepping around to the side of the couch where she’s sitting, I brace an arm against the back of it, behind her head, and the other on the arm of the couch.

I lean in close enough to Lori that all I can smell is her shampoo. Floral, and bright. It fits her.

“But I'd love to take you out to dinner tonight. Somewhere nice. No cafeteria pizza, and no Hot Pockets,” I insist. “Give me one date, and if you still think I’m some full-of-myself sleaze bag at the end of it, I won’t ask you out again.”

Lori swallows hard, her gaze flicking down to where her hands are resting in her lap. “I don’t.” A beat. “Think that anymore, I mean. I did, but— I was wrong.”

“Does that mean that you’ll go out with me?” I ask, unable to keep the eagerness out of my voice. It’s stupid, getting this excited over something like dinner but the fact is, I can’t remember the last time that I went on a genuine date. It’s been years.

There’s a big difference between sleeping with someone you meet at the bar—an agreed upon one-night stand—and putting some real effort into things. Lori makes me want to put in the effort.

No one else ever has.

It’s a tense moment, while she thinks it over.

I can practically see the cogs rolling in her head as she tries to figure out exactly how she views me, and where she wants to stand with me.

Then, finally, she nods and stands up. It pulls her out of my space.

“Yes.”

I stand up too, and reach out, reaching for her upper arm just so I can get close to her again. Her skin is warm to the touch when my fingers slide under the short sleeve of her pink scrubs.

“Yes?”

“I’ll go to dinner with you,” says Lori. She flicks up a finger between us, her personality just as fiery and hot as it’s ever been. “But you’ve only got one chance with me, Kurt. Don’t screw it up.”

“I’m not going to,” I tell her, earnestly. “I get off work in four hours. We can go tonight, but it will be a late dinner.”

“A late dinner is just fine with me,” says Lori. “Olivia is off in five minutes. She’s driving me home. That will give me plenty of time to get ready. Where are we going?”

“Somewhere nice,” I promise, not entirely sure yet. My lack of dating experience means that I don’t have anywhere, right off the bat, planned out to take her. “Wear a dress.”

“Demanding, for someone with one chance,” says Lori, but she’s smiling when she says it. “I’ll wear a dress, but you have to be in something other than your work clothes, too.”

“Done and done,” I promise her.

Leaning in and giving her a kiss is a temptation that I can’t ignore. I keep it chaste though, not wanting to spook her off when I’ve just gotten her to agree to go out with me. A brief brush of lips to lips; the touch is only seconds long, but it sends static bolts down the length of my spine and has me almost desperate for more.

Lori kisses me back, just as sweet, and then steps around me red-faced, and hurries out of the doctors’ lounge to catch her ride. I watch her go, craning my head and staring at her ass until she’s out of sight. Then I promptly abandon my original plans of getting coffee and head out in search of Jackson.

I figure that if anyone knows a good, romantic place to take someone for dinner, it’s going to be the guy who’s already married, and not the one going through the world’s weirdest divorce.

I track him down to one of the rooms that he’s attending and wait outside for him. Jackson seems only mildly surprised to see me when he steps out, tucking his clipboard under one arm. “Tell me this isn’t about a patient.”

“It’s not about a patient.”

“Tell me it’s not about Nate and Emma.”

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