Page 27 of Sinful in Scrubs

Jason grinned. “Do you want to come over for dinner?”

Lily let out a long groan, complete with a heavy eye roll.

“No, thank you. Though I should?—”

I barely got the words out before Marcus grinned at me.

“I’m going to grill some steaks. You eat meat, right?”

“Yes, I’m not a vegetarian, but… thank you. And you don’t have to.” I gestured at my clothing. “Do I have time to go home and change?”

“You don’t need to change. Just come as you are,” Marcus said with a chuckle.

“Great.” I accepted the invitation.

I expected us to continue walking, but Marcus paused and hailed a cab.

“Do you live far?” I asked.

“Not particularly.” He shrugged, nodding toward Lily, who was lagging behind. “She’s tired, cranky, and it’s hot. I figured it’s best to avoid conflicts before they start.”

“Gotcha,” I whispered. “I’ll leave the finer management of teenagers to your expertise.”

“What? No kids?”

I recognized the teasing glint in his eye before I had a chance to be indignant.

“Not yet, at least,” I admitted.

“So, you’re not anti-kid?”

“If I were against the idea of kids, I would hardly have specialized in pediatric trauma,” I said.

“I know plenty of doctors who work with kids but don’t want any themselves,” Marcus countered.

Our conversation ran the gamut—from kids to favorite baseball teams and sports, eventually landing on television shows during the cab ride to his brownstone.

It was a nice home in a very nice neighborhood, the kind of place I could see myself in a few years. For now, I liked my apartment. I’d chosen it specifically for its convenient location to work and affordability.

“How are you in the kitchen?” Marcus asked as we climbed the front stairs to his home.

“I know how to handle a knife if that’s what you’re asking,” I joked.

“I know you do. I’ve seen you at work,” he replied. “Think you could handle the sides while I grill the steaks?”

“I think the kids and I can handle that,” I said, nodding.

Lily rolled her eyes again, clearly unimpressed. Jason, however, seemed excited.

“It’ll be fun!” he said enthusiastically.

“What do you think we should make?”

“I guess it depends on what you’ve got in the kitchen.”

Jason dashed into the kitchen ahead of me. It was a homey space, well-stocked with fruits and vegetables. When I found a cucumber and a jar of chili paste in the refrigerator, I knew what my extra-special contribution to the evening meal would be.

“Do you have any peanut butter?” I asked.

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