Page 12 of Already At Risk
Especially because my work right now included a very pretty trauma surgeon who was just a little bit distracting whenever she appeared in my brain. Which happened to be a lot. It was likely concerning, especially since she was apparentlysopermanently in my head that she seemed to be materializing right now, before my very eyes.
Oh my God. What waswrongwith me?
That couldn’t really be?—
“What are you—who are youstaringat?”
Collins twisted in the direction that I’d been looking, but I’d already ducked my head to stare down into my gin martini.
“No one,” I said, taking a swift drink of it.
Fuck, I needed to get my shit together.
I took another sip. Downed the whole damn thing, actually.
And then forced myself to look up again, not really sure if I was hoping to learn that I’d been seeing things or if I wanted it to be real—wantedherto be real.
But before I made up my mind, our eyes connected, and I knew, without a doubt, that there was nothingnotreal about the way Natalie London made me feel when she stared straight into my fucking soul from across the restaurant patio.
CHAPTER FOUR
natalie
MY THERAPIST. ANY ONE of my brothers. Allfourof my brothers. The teacher in high school who told me I’d never make it past my freshman year of college. The professor who said I’d never make it through med school. The charge nurse on the fourth floor of SCMC who kept us all on our toes.
All of the people I’d rather see right now than Cameron Bryant.
His brown eyes, filling me with the kind of warmth that could easily be from embarrassment or awareness—take your pick—trailed over me once, lingered, and then traveled to the man sitting across from me.
Right.
My date.
Cameron’s lips dipped into a frown. And then his entire expression pulled tight. I watched as his fingers flexed around his drink as he brought it to his mouth, not taking his eyes off the man across from me.
I realized that I’d probably given him the impression that dating wasn’t in my wheelhouse, what with the explosion of explicit content in his office and the subsequent insinuation that I had no sex life. All that, combined with the way I’d shut himdown and pushed him away that night at the bar, probably led him to believe I didn’t go out much.
And I didn’t, really.
But it wasn’t that I didn’twantto date. Or have sex. I was just trying to be careful about how I approached the topic. Even if I wanted to brazenly push forward on both fronts, I knew I had to be mindful of the damage my previous marriage had caused. I would be irresponsible to ignore it—proof Ihadlearned things in therapy—and the uncertainty that had filled my entire body when Cameron sought that kiss six months ago told me Icouldn’tignore it.
I just needed a little practice.
Time to warm up, if you will.
And the way I’d felt with Cameron, it hadn’t been warm. It washot. Burning. It had felt uncontrollable and frantic, heading straight toward something I justknewI wasn’t ready for, not after the last time I’d experienced a rush of emotions like that and the decisions I made from it. It wasn’t the kiss that I’d been afraid of; it was what I knew the kiss would lead to with the chemistry flaring between us, undeniable and indescribable.
I needed to be responsible about dating. About what I exposed myself to. What I exposed Chloe to. I needed to be responsible about how I took care of myself when I finally had life going in a direction that I wanted it to, when I’d finally created something good for us—for Chloe and me.
So tonight’s date was as simple as that; it was just practice.
With someone safe, who caused no feelings of rampant desire or urges I couldn’t control.
Because Josh, my online date, had barely stopped talking. He was explaining some kind of tech that his start-up was designing, a new socials app that he wassurewould blow up. He hadn’t asked me a question once. I found it hard to believe that he took a look at me and thought I didn’t have one interesting thing to say, but what did I know? At the very least, he could ask about my job. What trauma surgeon didn’t have a good story or two to tell? Ormy daughter. I personally thought my nine-year-old was the most interesting person on the planet.
I sighed, wishing Cameron would stop scrutinizing him. Even though that was exactly what I was doing, too.
So I stopped and looked athisdate instead. She was a gorgeous woman with brown skin and a bright smile. Curly shoulder-length hair. A coral fitted dress that probably cost the same amount as one of my paychecks. Which was, well, a decent amount. Just saying.
