Page 34 of We Were Something
“I’ll be waiting for your call tomorrow.”
He blinks twice before clearing his throat. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I grin, shut the door, and turn to make the walk up the path to my front door.
And it takes all of my effort not to sway my ass as I walk away from him with my heart in my throat.
CHAPTER7
LOGAN
I run my hand through my hair, willing myselfnotto look at my phone for what feels like the millionth time today. I’m sure it won’t endear me to any of my patients if they think I can’t focus on them and their medical needs because I’m too distracted by wondering whether or not my girlfriend is going to call me.
I roll my eyes at myself.
Not that she’s my girlfriend.
God, even thinking that word makes me feel like some moronic high school freshman hoping to get lucky between classes. I haven’t used the termgirlfriendsince I was a sophomore in college, and that girlfriend became my fiancée and then my wife.
Regardless.
She’s not my girlfriend.We barely know each other. Paige is…
Well, I don’t have any fucking clue if I’m being honest.
Who she is to me? No idea.
What shedoesto me? A completely different story.
Which is why I’m so irritated with myself as I give in to this new, maniacal sort of desperation and glance at my phone, my lips twisting when I see the same blank screen I’ve seen at least a dozen times already over the past hour.
I don’t know why I keep checking.I’msupposed to callher, not the other way around. Her directions were clear.
“I’ll be waiting for your call tomorrow,” she told me in that sexy, satin smooth voice of hers, her lips tilting up and her eyes dancing as she gave me a wink before heading inside her house.
I still have a few hours before I’m done with work, so it will be a while before I can go home and give any real thought to what will happen once I give her a call. A perilous kind of idea when I think back to the fact that it has been twenty years since the last time I called a woman with any kind of anticipation like this.
Jesus.
Twenty years since the first time I called Jen and asked her out.
I picked her up at her sorority house—Kappa Kappa Nu—and we walked to the cheap theater in downtown New Haven to watch the Wednesday night 80s flashback movie,Labyrinth, before heading to my favorite pizza place on Chapel Street facing the green.
Not at one moment during that date did I feel as much excited trepidation as I do about a simple phone call with Paige Andrews, and I can’t figure out whether that’s a good or a bad thing.
My phone vibrates in my hand and I nearly drop the damn thing in surprise, then I curse at myself when I realize it’s just an email notification.
Clicking into my app, I glance over the note from my assistant about my interview withSouth Bay Lifestylenext week, reminding me to take my suit to the cleaners.
Stupid PR fluff.
It’s this kind of shit that I hate about being back in Hermosa, though I guess it wasn’tthatmuch different when I was in Seattle.
The chief pretty much outlined to me when I accepted this position that I’d be expected to do any and all media interviews to help boost the visibility of the hospital. In the wake of the extensive renovation completed over the past few years, including an overhaul and expansion of the pediatric wing, the board of Roth Memorial Hospital wants to have a near constant stream of positive media driving residents of not just the South Bay, but all of California through its doors.
And apparently, being the Protector of Pike Place—a ridiculous nickname some local reporter bestowed upon me when I saved a little boy’s life in the middle of Pike Place Market during a crazy storm back in Seattle—will come with a wave of interviews I would rather avoid and, truthfully, don’t have time for.
Not that my opinion matters.
