Page 5 of Healing You
“You're not seriously asking me that, are you?” Yvonne's mood lowered right along with her voice. “You've dodged me for over a decade.”
The muscles around his throat tightened. “We see each other around town all the time.”
“You've got way too many degrees posted on these walls to be playing dumb, Steve Tripp.”
His gaze rocked through her body like an electric current. “Look, Yvonne—”
“I don't want your excuses. And I really don't want your apologies. I just want you to make my dog feel better.” She paused, expecting him to come back at her with a retort. Only he didn't. And the longer he waited, saying nothing, eyes burning into her, the more uncomfortable she became.
Her eyes grazed the length of his body. Damn, he was tall. Taller than she remembered. And his height was only the beginning. He wore dress pants that were slightly wrinkled, with patches of dirt at the knees. Even still, he wore it well, with muscles straining the seams of his doctor's coat. He had the most crystal blue eyes she'd ever seen—and even though everyone in town claimed the Tripps all had the same eyes, she disagreed. Steve's were fairer than the rest. Brighter. With a ring of one shade darker blue around the edge of his pupil.
She cleared her throat, forcing her gaze away from his body. “How's Gatsby?”
“He's great. He just needs to finish his IV before I can release him to you.”
“So I can finish these out there?” She waved the insurance forms with a nod to the waiting area out near Amanda's desk.
“Of course.” He held the door open for her.
“Thanks.” She hiked her purse higher onto her shoulder.
With a gentle touch to her elbow, he stopped her mid-step. His nose was mere inches from hers as he looked down into her eyes. The softness of his hand countered the urgency in his eyes and tingles surged from where he touched down to her fingers. She searched his face and she couldn't stop her gaze from wandering to his scar, feeling that guilty ache low in her belly. Rationally, she knew that the accident was neither of their faults. The police had gone over all the reports and told her multiple times no one was at fault. And yet she couldn't get rid of that gnawing feeling in her gut. She and Steve were the only ones who knew the whole truth. That if she hadn't been distracting him while he was behind the wheel, the whole thing probably could have been avoided.
His face lifted with a soft tilt to his mouth. “For the record, I would be happy to see you every week. But if you're busy, a friend or your fiancé could always bring Gatsby in for his treatment.”
“My fi—” Yvonne's gaze drifted down to her bare finger.
Just then, a woman burst through the door. She had thick dark, curly hair and wore black pants with a blue button-down shirt.
“Sophy,” Steve sputtered, quickly dropping Yvonne's elbow.
Sophy. Yvonne gulped, stepping back and taking in the beautiful girl. Wow. That hurts way more than it should.
His eyes darted back and forth between the women in the waiting room. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
She held up a paper bag pinched between her fingers, letting it swing back and forth. “Lex said you forgot the cookie you ordered.” She grinned a toothy smile.
“I didn't ord—”
The woman—Sophy, apparently—cut him off. “Lex said you wouldn't remember ordering it. But he asked me to bring it over for you.” She strolled easily through the front door, sidling up next to Steve so closely that Yvonne felt like a voyeur.
Yvonne tugged at the hem of her cotton sleep shirt and carefully leaned down to make sure she didn't smell bad. With a whiff, she relaxed a little. At least she had remembered deodorant in the rush this morning. Unfortunately, compared to this girl's easy, summer style, Yvonne's yoga pants and T-shirt she managed to throw on when she woke up to find Gatsby still sick paled in comparison.
And just like that, she was launched back to being a teenager when she was full of self-doubt. The Yvonne she had been before she met Steve. The girl who was forced to wear dresses and go to cocktail parties as her parents showed her off to their friends as though she was another piece of expensive antique furniture they'd won at auction. But I'm not a teenager anymore, she reminded herself, standing straighter. She was a grown woman and Steve was a grown man. A man whom she hadn't been in a relationship with in over a decade. He had every right to date whomever he wanted.
Blushing a deep crimson, she dropped her gaze to the paperwork and took a seat. With every ounce of effort she could muster, she tried to ignore their flirtations right in front of her. It wasn't jealousy, she told herself. No one in their right mind would want to sit around and watch their ex chat up another person. And Steve was always a ladies’ man, she thought while a sigh heaved in her chest. He had been nothing but true to her when they dated, but it didn't change the fact that women always took notice of him. Before, after, and even while they were together. Even though he had long gotten rid of the motorcycle—even though he’d traded in leather and ripped jeans for suits and now had a respectable job—some things never changed.
“Um, okay.” Though Steve's voice had dropped lower in an effort to disguise their conversation, he had a cadence to his voice that boomed through any room no matter what the volume. “Well, thank you. I'm actually with a client, so...”
“You'll call me, right?”
Yvonne stole another peek at the girl... unsure why the hell she did that to herself. Sophy dipped her chin low, batting her black lashes.
“Um. Yeah. Yes, of course,” Steve wet his lips, swallowing.
Amanda gave him a look that could bend steel before he jumped back, giving the girl a final nod. “Thanks... thanks again... for bringing my cookie.”
Sophy backed out the door with a final wave. When Steve turned his attention back to Yvonne, she arched a brow in his direction.
