Page 73 of Iron Will

“Well, not exactly…”Here goes nothing.“He demanded I completely stop seeing you. Inside the hospital or out. He basically said he wasn’t going to have an employee of his hospital consorting with a criminal.”

“Consorting?” A corner of his mouth twitches.

“His word.”

“So… you quit your job so you could continue ‘consorting’ with me?” Rourke raises a brow.

“No!” I protest. “I mean, I wouldn’tmindconsorting with you, but…”

Oh, my God, this is possibly the most awkward and embarrassing moment of my life.

“Okay.” I blow out a breath and try again. “First of all, can we stop with the word ‘consorting’? Second, I quit because I’m not going to be bullied like that. By him or by anybody. It’s the principle of the thing. It has nothing to do with whether you and I keep seeing each other or not.”

“Nothing?” his eyes twinkle.

“Nothing,” I repeat, my jaw jutting.

“Huh.”

Rourke leans back in the booth for a moment, lost in thought.

I wait, not sure what he’s thinking, and not sure I want to know. God, this issoawkward. I almost wish I’d never come here with him today.

“You wanna know something?” he finally says.

“What?”

“I think this is maybe technically our third date.”

I snort again, then hold up a hand. “I know, I know!Don’tsay ‘nice snort’. But it’s kind of funny to call this a date, when it basically started with me being held at gunpoint.”

“True.” He pauses a second. “You wanna know something else? I’ve never been on a date before you.”

I gape at him. “Really?” I ask, honestly shocked.

“Well,” he chuckles, “except for the time I took my sister to her seventh-grade dance, because she told me she was getting bullied. But I don’t think that counts.”

“If it does, I think you and I have to have a serious talk,” I quip.

Rourke bursts into laughter. “That was fucked up, but funny. You’re pretty funny, Laney the social worker.”

“Ex-social worker,” I correct him. “And great. Funny is what every girl strives to be.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second. When he speaks again, his tone is serious.

“You know how fucking scared I was that I was gonna be too late getting to you today?” he says quietly, leaning forward.

His voice has changed. It’s dropped a register. Lower, huskier, more intimate.

It reminds me of the way he talks to me when we’re in bed.

I suppress a shiver.

“I was pretty scared, too,” I admit. “Thanks, by the way. Did I say thanks already?”

“You done with your food?” he asks, pointing at my abandoned plate. “I think we should get out of here.”

I swear I’m starting to get whiplash from all this jumping around from subject to subject. “Yeah, okay,” I frown, thoroughly confused.

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