Page 50 of Catching Feelings

There are four million gray Hondas in this damn garage, and it takes me forever to pinpoint the one that belongs to Rowan.

I don’t have her plate memorized, but I remember seeing the Yankee Candle air freshener hanging from her rear-view mirror when she got into her car one night after hanging out at the Whiskey Buckle.

I park two floors up and jog down to her car and check my phone. It’s almost five, and I have no idea what time she gets out of work.

By five-thirty, my stomach growls. I should have thought this through. What if she walked somewhere for dinner with her coworkers? Or worse, what if a date picked her up?

I make it another level in candy crush when I hear her sweet voice.

“Miles? What are you doing here?”

Pocketing my phone, I lift my head and smile. “Hey, Doc. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Yeah. Fancy you sitting on the hood of my car. Hopefully you didn’t leave a dent in it. If so, you owe me a new one.”

Hell, she’s cute when she teases me. She’s especially cute in her scrubs.

“Are those bananas on your shirt?”

She glances down and pulls her top away from her full chest. “And apples and strawberries and oranges.”

“Very fruity.”

“I guess so.” She fixes the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “Did your car break down or something? Or did you need to make an appointment with Dr. Sherman? You’re a little older than most of our patients, but I can pull some strings if you need me to.”

“Why would I need Dr. Sherman when I have you, Doc?” I hop off the hood of her car and take the keys from her hand.

I unlock the car and open the passenger side for her.

“What are you doing?”

“Holding the door for you.”

“I usually sit in the driver’s side. It’s easier to reach the gas and brake pedals from that side.”

“I’m taking you out to dinner.” Not what I had planned, but I’m good at winging it. Especially since planning dates isn’t my normal go-to.

She crosses her arms and tilts her head. “Taking or asking?”

“Both?”

“I’m not dressed for dinner.”

My eyes trail down her body, taking in her fruity top that would look ridiculous if she wasn’t a pediatric nurse, to her plain green scrubs pants and sneakers. Her curves are hidden under the unflattering clothes, but I’ve seen her in a bathing suit. Those curves have been tattooed in my brain and not even Pittsburgh's steel wall defense can knock the image from my skull.

I drag my gaze back up her body and laser in on her lips. Full. Pink. Wet.

I wonder if her other lips are the same.

Fuck.I take my baseball hat off and run my fingers through my hair before turning it around and wearing it backwards.

“You’re perfect, Doc.” I try to keep my tone light so she doesn’t hear the lust in my throat and notice the stir she’s caused in my athletic shorts. “Besides, I’m not fancied up either. I could go for pizza but didn’t feel like eating alone.”

Not exactly flattery but not a lot of pressure either. Unless you count me keeping her keys hostage.

“You came all the way out to Jamaica Plain for pizza?”

“Haven’t you heard?” I reach around her and rest my hand on her lower back, guiding her into her car. “Best pizza in the city is around the corner.”

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