Page 37 of Paging Dr. Summers

“But what?” I was hoping she’d recognized all the character flaws I’d begun to notice in him the past week at work. Things like how flirty he was with some of the nurses and how he was always reading those ridiculous pirate books from the breakroom. I saw right through that.

To top it off, he did magic tricks for the sick kids who came in. He was just doing it to show off. Did I realize how nonsensical this all sounded? Of course I did, but I felt anything but rational about this situation, and I hated it.

Brooke rubbed her pouty lips together. “I don’t want to make assumptions. And I know we would have fun together.”

I knewwewould too.

“You should see how it goes with Dr. Everett,” I grumbled.

“Okay,” she whispered and turned away from me to stare out the passenger side.

A weird tension hung between us that I didn’t care for, but I didn’t know how to make it better. That wasn’t true. I just wasn’t willing to make it better for fear Brooke’s hold on me would only deepen.

I was thankful when we pulled into the parking lot of Mystic Ink Studio. “My friend Tristan says this is the most reputable place around,” I assured her.

She offered me a small smile. I had obviously hurt her feelings—the last thing I wanted to do. But I couldn’t explain myself without telling her about my own conflicted feelings, which I couldn’t do because she only wanted to be friends.

Without a word, she got out of the car, clutching her mom’s old band T-shirt like a teddy bear, and stared at the Victorian-style house with a flashing brightTattoosign in the window. The house and sign didn’t match.

I exited the car and met her around the side. “Are you nervous?”

“A little bit,” she admitted. “I don’t like needles.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I do.” She walked toward the studio.

I followed, feeling the urge to hold her hand again. Part of me hoped she and Dr. Everett would hit it off—she’d probably hang around my house a lot less. Then I wouldn’t have to overhear conversations about her getting a tattoo and feel compelled to ensure she didn’t end up with hepatitis B or C—

Or worse, my heart.

An eerie, mystic chime sounded when I opened the door for Brooke.

“Thanks.” She slipped in quietly.

I wanted bubbly and even babbly Brooke back. I was apparently turning into a masochist. I gently tugged on her arm before she pushed the bell on the unmanned front desk covered in dried paint spatters.

“I know a great place we can go zip-lining next week if you’re still up for it.”

She pressed her lips together, purposely holding back her smile. “I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to do.”

If only she knew how badly I wanted to, maybe she would think twice about spending time with me. “You wouldn’t be forcing me. I enjoy hanging out with you. It’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” I reluctantly admitted.

She nudged me with her hip, her bright, warming smile back. “I knew it.”

Before I could respond, an ethereal-looking woman with a bright-blue pixie cut and overalls pranced out.

“Are you Brooke?”

Brooke nodded timidly.

The woman reached out to her. “I’m Tina. Follow me. There’s no need to worry, I’m a pro.”

Brooke bit her lip and gave the woman her hand. Women were so odd that way. Never would I give some dude I didn’t know my hand.

“Your boyfriend can come too,” Tina said.

Brooke giggled. “We’re just friends.”

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