Page 11 of Boyfriend of the Hour
I swallowed as I picked up the cash. “And you’ll be back…Nathan?”
That half-smile appeared again as he nodded. “I’ll be back. I always pay my debts.”
TWO
WHY THE PLASTIC SURGEON ISN’T ACTUALLY HOT AF
#2 how the curl on his forehaed flops over his left brow when he tilts his hed.
Present
The clipboard fell to the floor with a loud clatter of particleboard meeting vinyl. For a second, I wondered if I was imagining things. Because really, what were the odds that the nerdy yet gorgeous barfly who sat quietly at the end of my section of a second-rate lounge was actually a plastic surgeon who served the rich and, well,reallyrich of Manhattan.
But the second he looked up, I knew it was him.
Mr. Chocolatey Bedroom Eyes.
Sir Curls Galore.
He Whose Name I’d Completely Forgotten but who sat silently on the same stool at the end of the bar every Thursday night, ordered the same scotch that he barely drank it, and seemed completely immune to my charms.
Honestly, I’d just figured the guy liked more T than A. Apparently, I was right, if he was a freaking plastic surgeon. The man was probably up to his eyeballs in perfect breasts he hadmadehimself.
“I’m Doctor Hunt,” he said. “Nathan, you might remember.”
“Nathan,” I repeated numbly. “Man, small world, isn’t it?”
He shivered when I said his name, then seemed to snap out of it and turn to the dropped clipboard. “I—sorry—give me a moment.”
I watched as he picked up the clipboard, then shoved his glasses up his long nose while he read through my chart again.
I could easily imagine what it said. Orshouldsay, in this scenario.
Name:Giovanna Zola
Age: 24
Sex:Female
Occupation:Washed-up dancer and absent-minded bartender
Address:Her grandmother’s house for three more days
Status:Desperate AF and suddenly horny
“Oxygen, ninety-eight. BMI slightly low, but that’s typical of an ectomorph. Blood pressure on the low side too, but normal.” Dr. Hunt was muttering to himself again while he paged through the chart.
I hooked my ankles together as I swung my legs back and forth. “Means I’m perfect, right?”
His head snapped up. “What?”
I grinned. “My chart. It tells you all the reasons I’m absolutely perfect. Except for these things.” I pointed at mychest. “But you already knew that. I wouldn’t be here otherwise, would I? Hey, how come you didn’t tell me you’re a doctor?”
Dr. Hunt’s full mouth opened and closed several times, a perfect imitation of my sister Marie’s goldfish, Tangerine. He died when we were twelve, but I used to love staring at the little guy blowing kisses in the bowl on her desk.
I had a feeling I’d like this guy’s kisses even more.
He looked back at the chart, then to me again, and frowned. “I thought your name was Joni. This says Giovanna.”
