Page 2 of Grumpy Sunshine

This was, according to Maureen, the last day that I could be late and still live at the apartment complex.

Which was quite laughable because the apartment complex that she managed was a rundown joke of a building that people moved out of all the time.

In fact, there were eighteen units out of forty-eight that were empty right now because of the living conditions.

Gritting my teeth, I put my foot down into the clutch and cranked it.

Or tried to.

Nothing happened.

I sighed, put the car in neutral, then got out.

Once I had the car rolling a little bit, I got back in and allowed the car to roll down the hill of the street.In the process, I lost one of my shoes in my haste to get inside.

Once I had enough momentum, I popped the clutch, and the car grumbled to life.

That process was exactly why I parked exactly where I did so far away from the hospital.

Because when you were on a hill, and you had a manual car, you could pop the clutch if the battery was dead.

And since I needed to replace my battery, and it was often dead, I did this a lot.

I didn’t usually do it in front of a sexy biker, though, that watched me the entire time.

Not that I was aware of being watched.

Had I known, I might’ve left my shoe behind and just taken off.

Instead, I pulled the emergency brake up, got out, and headed for my shoe that was about fifteen feet in front of me.

In a man’s hand.

A man on a Harley, wearing a helmet, in hospital scrubs.

He flipped up the visor, and I could tell he was grinning as he held out my shoe to me.

I gave him a forced smile and said, “Thanks.”

His brown eyes sparkled as he said, “No problem, doll face.”

I tilted my head, and then I realized who, exactly, had witnessed my embarrassment.

Dr.Clayborne.

The anesthesiologist.

Son.

Of.

A.

Bitch.

If there was one man in the world that I didn’t want witnessing my embarrassment, it would be him.

Dr.Clayborne, also known as Chevy to his friends, but not me, was a knock-out.

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