Page 12 of Speak of the Devil

“Who are you talking about?” I follow her gaze to the front doors. The bright afternoon sun sneaks in, keeping a man in the shadow of a silhouette. Sunglasses shield his eyes until he turns in our direction and tugs them off.

Oh God.

He’s here.

At my job.

Inside Parkdale Retirement Community.

Shane Faris.

The most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

My husband.

I bite my lip to savor that for a hot second until I remember what I’m wearing.Dammit.Anything in my closet would have been better than an ill-fitting beige skirt and a matching blouse that ties in a droopy bow at the neck, making me look like I’m auditioning to play the part of a Parkdale couch in this scenario. Absolutely nothing about this outfit is sexy while he’s looking every bit the rock star.

Naturally.

“There’s always a first if he hasn’t,” she whispers.

“Maggie, please behave,” I beg under my breath as a kaleidoscope of fluttering fills my stomach.

Twisting her sash, she marches forward. It’s at that moment I realize she has no intention of behaving, and worse, she’s going to take me down with her. Clearly, we’re meant to be best friends.

“Sir, could you help me with this?” she asks, suddenly sounding like a doting great-grandmother in a TV Christmas movie instead of the spitfire she is.

“Of course.”

She turns, facing me with a smug smile, and I swear I detect a devious glint in her eyes.Trouble.

Shane’s eyes find mine, and a slight smirk comes into play. Then he says, “You’re good to go, Mrs.—?”

“Mrs. Winston but call me Maggie.”

“Hi, I’m Shane.”

Not letting an opportunity pass her by, she squeezes his bicep and then glances my way as if to tease me.That little minx.“You’re so big and strong, Shane,” she says, making me think maybe she lied and did make out with Marty Freedleman. I wouldn’t put it past her after seeing her in action.

“Thanks, Maggie. I work out regularly.”

“It’s paying off.”

Chuckling under his breath, he looks from her to me again and nods in my direction. “Would you mind escorting me to see?—”

“Nurse Cate?” she asks, grabbing his arm and staring up at him like he’s James Dean reincarnated. “She’s single, and it’s been a long time since she’s had an orgasm.”

I cease to exist, withering from the inside out from mortification.

“Is that right?” His Mediterranean Sea–blue eyes lock onto mine while the most roguish grin I ever did see escapes him.

Unfortunately, I still exist in this reality where my orgasm history is on display for everyone. I try to hide the humiliation inside, to act like the little lady is so funny and full of tall fables. “Ha. Ha. Ha.” I laugh, but it sounds so fake that I start laughing for real.

Dragging him over to where I’ve set up for my appointments today, she presents me like an entry in a pie contest with her hands stretched forward, displaying her baked goods. “And here she is.”

I’m too caught up in the way he’s devouring me whole to care about Maggie’s antics. I swear that look alone could do me in, and the way he drags the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip has me biting mine. With a smile tugging the corners right up, he says, “Hello, Nurse Cate.”

And this is how I happily die . . .

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