Page 22 of Doc Showmance
“I wouldn’t have given you the number if I didn’t want to get this resolved as soon as possible. I hate keeping this kind of shit lingering. We need to talk about this catastrophe. I don’t like you. You don’t like me. We have to… Hell, I might vomit. We have to figure out how to like each other. Or at least get along. I think they’re going to make us actually kiss.”
“That’s harsh, Amber.”
“For years I’ve dreamed of slamming a fist into each of your nuts and watching you scream like a little girl.”
I involuntarily cupped my balls. “I don’t think that’d go over well for what they want on TV.”
“It’d be funny, though.” She giggled an evil sound that made me smile it was so preposterous. I heard her take a deep breath. “Meet me at Dave’s in the Valley in a half hour. Eight forty-five. It’s a hole-in-the-wall diner that never closes. Far enough away that none of the camera crew should be there.”
“Our first date.” I shouldn’t needle her, but it’s so much fun. I’d forgotten this.
“Go lick a duck.” She hung up.
8
Amber
The things that kept me awake at night weren’t physical. Mostly, I worried I’d failed a patient or forgotten to do something for a client. I often convinced myself if I failed one dog or one cat I’d lose this job, which was ridiculous. Medicine was an art. It wasn’t perfect. I did the best possible with the information in front of me. What would Marino, Bruno, and Joley do if I got fired? I don’t know that we’d end up homeless, but they’d have to work more to help out when everyone already had too much on their plates.
Now I had the added worry that some asswipe loan shark would murder us in our sleep. Also, if I didn’t figure out how to pretend to like the one man I despised, I’d lose everything.
Stress was always there for me in one form or another. I didn’t have time or funds to spend an hour a week in a therapist’s office to work through my issues. To cope, I tried to handle stressors I could control right away. Like Ian Todd.
The twenty minutes to the diner wasn’t nearly long enough to work out my nerves. I arrived on time. I was that kind of person. Being on time was important to me, having been left by adults that “forgot” too many times as a kid. Thanks to foster parents that weren’t reliable in my younger years, it got to the point that I understood the bus system of this city better than most residents. At nine years old.
As I walked in, Ian pushed off from where he’d been leaning near the door, still dressed in work scrubs like he’d been too busy to change. Or maybe I wasn’t worth dressing up for on our “first date.”
This isn’t a date.
I shouldn’t be disappointed. Yet, I’d expected him to pull something out of his designer wardrobe. The clothes said it all as to how much of an impression he wished to make.
Even in scrubs, tall and in fantastic shape, my poor, stupid heart gave a thump in recognition of an attractive man worthy of an extra gawk.
Then my brain stomped that idea to death.
Ian wasn’t anything special. Just another too good-looking guy.
I was fine. Totally fine.
So maybe he wasn’t a complete douche in a clinical setting and seemed to care about the pets as much as I did? So he’d been on TV, where he’d championed veterinary medicine and shined a spotlight on endangered species around the world?
I was entirely fine.
The scrub top tucked into his bottoms showed off his flat abdomen. His biceps bulged from the short sleeves.
He winked at the hostess, who waved him inside. He’d winked at her? His one eye had done a definite open-and-shut as if they had some sort of secret code he’d set up in the few minutes he’d been here before I arrived.
“She a friend of yours?” I asked. Shit, I sounded like a jealous harpy. That wasn’t me.
“We talked while I was waiting.”
“Future date, then?”
“My dating life is about to get complicated enough without adding in a random hostess.” He led me to a table in the far corner and sat in the booth seat facing the entrance. The main dining room glowed a burgundy hue from the dropped glass covered ceiling lights. The light gave the place a cozy ambiance, even if the food was hardcore sixties diner fare.
A waitress set plastic menus in front of us and took our drinks order.
“Are we eating?” He flashed me a smile. I noticed the six o’clock shadow coming in brown on his face. Oh, my. That was a dimple in his right cheek. It was…cute.
