Page 44 of Whiskey Wednesdays

I smiled a little. “She likes the blanket.”

He sat down next to me. “Did you pick it out?”

“Uh-huh. And the pink tutu. Dad called your assistant, Sherrill, when you told me it was her birthday. That day you were firing orders at me.”

He took my hand and ran his thumb across the back of it, then sighed. “Yeah, I remember that day.”

Goosebumps erupted across my skin, but I didn’t pull back. “Sherrill ordered everything and used your credit card, so the presents technically came from you.”

He studied me. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you do that after the way we met, and the thing with Noah?”

“Because she’s only five years old. I didn’t want her to think her dad had forgotten her, especially on her birthday. And it was before you and Noah accused me of felony burglary.” I pulled my hand back.

Connor leaned over and rested his elbows on his knees. “I never accused you.”

“But you never said you didn’t believe it either. You sat there and let him call me a thief and a liar in front of my dad.”

He reached over and squeezed my knee. “I’m sorry. There are a lot of things I’d do differently. Hindsight is a bitch sometimes.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I sent Elodie a few things for her birthday too. But nothing she likes as much as this blanket.” He sounded a little annoyed.

I patted his thigh and tried not to gloat. “I got lucky.”

My competitive streak was coming out. Liam and my dad both told me it was one of my worst traits.

Connor smelled like expensive sandalwood body wash and something else I couldn’t place. His body heat warmed my side, and I suddenly realized how close we were sitting.

I stood up. “Okay then. Let’s get her room straightened out.”

We cleaned up the plastic drop cloth and tape, then installed the canopy and twinkling lights over Elodie’s bed. As we worked, we talked about his hockey career and Elodie’s Mémé. He told me Elodie called her almost every night, and she’d talked to her mother once. He didn’t tell me how that had gone, but the fact it’d only been once was telling.

Connor also asked me about my clinical rotations. “Are any of the players giving you trouble?”

I glanced at him. “Why does everyone think they aren’t going to behave? They’re fine. I get hit on more from one of my thirteen-year-old pediatric patients.”

He shook his head. “You’re lying.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re gorgeous and have a great ass, and most of them are degenerate fucktwits.”

I jerked on the stool where I stood placing lights in the canopy, and he grabbed my waist. My shirt had ridden up above my waistband, and his hands landed on my bare skin.

His touch felt like a live wire zinging through me, and I involuntarily shuddered. He felt it and slowly stroked me there.

I sucked in a breath. “I’m good. You can let go. I’d return the compliment, but if your head got any bigger you’d fall over and break something.”

He chuckled and slowly pulled his hands away. I pulled my shirt down, and finished placing the lights. Connor stood right behind me, and I brushed against his body as I stepped down.

I leaned down to plug in the lights. “Let’s see how they look.”

He turned off the overhead light, and the lights twinkled in the gauzy white fabric, letting off a soft glow.

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